Howdy scholars!

I’ve hurt my back (to complement my hurt leg: I am, if nothing else, holistic in my approach to injury) and as such have had a bit of toes-up time. Actually, knees up, over a pillow, with feet on the mattress, but if you say “knees up time” people get the wrong idea. Where was I? Oh yes. Books. Books and their readings of.

Aching for Beauty: A History of Footbinding in China – Wang Ping

What a fascinating book! I initially approached the issue of footbinding from a post-feminist perspective: oppression of the body and through it women, demanding they be crippled in the pursuit of a sexual ideal (see also: corsetry, liposuction). But this book goes deeper and proposes the usurpation of footbinding as a process of female empowerment. Although an explanation of the footbinding process is necessarily included, Ping (thankfully) avoids ghoulishly lingering on the physiological and focuses on the social/cultural. China’s cultural history as written on the body and through its literature is explored through the text, identifying the ways in which footbinding, like literature, is reappropriated by the supposedly oppressed class and turned into a unifying tool against the oppressive class.

I believe beauty, gender, violence, social rites, and enculturation of the body (shut up is too a word) are threaded together inextricably in human culture, and the ways this manifests are fascinating. Ping’s book is a wonderful exploration of a particular facet of this issue, and one I know little about, making it even more satisfying and broadening to read.

A good interview with Ping about Aching for Beauty can be found here, and Ping’s website has a thorough listing of her books.

I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings and Gather Together in my Name – Maya Angelou

I can’t remember how I got on to Maya Angelou’s work: I think I read a couple of her poems online and decided to delve deeper, and when I got to the library found four volumes of her autobiography and grabbed those as well. Anyway, before starting on a book of Angelou’s poetry, I decided to read these first two volumes of her biography. If you’re at all familiar with Angelou’s life, you’ll know these are books that talk about some of the very hard things she’s experienced. But she handles them with such grace and strength that it’s hard to forget the powerful voice that would ultimately come from these experiences. I am struck with the honesty and wholeness with which Angelou treats the world in her biographies: she comes across as angered, but not embittered, by some of the experiences, and others she accepts as the result of inexperienced decision-making from her younger self. There’s a maturity to the way she approaches her experiences that I admire deeply.

Just Give Me a Cool Drink of Water ‘fore I Diiie – Maya Angelou

Angelou’s first published book of poetry (published 1971) shows the rhythm, tightness of imagery, and beauty that earned her the Pulitzer Prize. The rhythm of the poetry is what spoke to me most. The poems pulse. Reading this book between the two volumes of biography turns out to be a lucky strike: in the early stages of her publishing career, Angelou alternated between publishing volumes of biography and volumes of verse. If nothing else, reading them in that order meant I was more aware of the racial tensions threading a lot of the anger in the poems: an understanding I would have failed in had I read them without that background knowledge. They’re good, beautiful poems and I’m going to get another book of them when I take this one back to the library.

73 Poems – E.E. Cummings

I fell in love with E.E. Cummings’ poetry when I was studying my undergrad, although I had a little trouble articulating why. Now I think I can say: their joy and their intimacy. That’s not to say they don’t deal with some darker issues (child abuse, the mediocrity of ignorant living) but the works in this collection emphasise joy. Images of spring, the night sky, and self-dissolving love are repeated throughout this collection, leaving me happy and feeling well-fed by the end. The intimacy comes from E.E. Cummings’ famous use of whitespace and punctuation to break his words and verses into stammering, trickling, flowing and dribbling visual pieces. I love the poems that use this technique to weave words and phrases around each other, breaking words up mid-syllable to glance at another word, and forcing you to slowly step through a word’s letters as they halt down the page. Unlike Angelou’s poetry, most of E.E. Cummings’ work doesn’t want to be read aloud: it’s between you and the page. And as you read and reread the poem, its emotional force reveals itself to you, in your inner voice. It’s very beautiful.

I love library books. When these babies go home, more are coming back with me.

The alert among you may recall I had a frisky batch of hip surgery in October. Recovery has been steady but slow. I’m under the diligent care of an exercise physiologist — a slightly different critter to a physiotherapist, the exercise physiologist helps you manage chronic conditions with exercise; for me, that means helping me build up fitness while not compromising my brittle bones. (I like to imagine they’re made of the same stuff as lolly bananas.)

A big part of recovery has been learning patience. After surgery, as soon as I could get rid of my crutches, I was out walking in my lunchbreaks, desperate for the sunshine and fresh air and duckies. It took some gentle persuasion on the part of my endocrinologist to stop doing that until I’d seen the physiologist, which turned out to be A Very Good Thing. The physiologist has given me a daily walking limit as well as a whole bunch of stretches, squats and other startling exercises to strengthen the muscly bits all over while we slowly work back towards Dynamo Me. In December, I was walking 20 minutes per day, with rest days in between. Now it’s May and I’m walking 45 minutes per day.

Today I had to go very slowly and gently: as has occasionally happened after correcting some tightness in my recovering hip, my IT band is touchy and cranky. The IT band is the thick band of supportive tissue that runs down the outside of the leg, from the iliac crest (the top of your pelvis butterfly wing bones) to the tibia (the shin bone). Iliotibial is a lot of fun to say, but you and I are busy people so we’ll call it the IT band. Anyway, mine’s ouchy and I’m Limpy McGee. I went for a slow, cautious walk and it was good, but not great. It’s hard to enjoy the birds and the view if you’re thinking carefully about each step and how it feels.

limpy limpet says zingpowie

If I can only do a gentle 20 minute walk, it’s still worth it to get outside and move around. The temptation to go harder faster longer fiercer is all but dissolved in the knowledge that going harder will hurt and not make me feel at all the way I’d like to feel — if the goal is to feel amazing, going harder isn’t going to do that, even though it did once. Going up to 45 minutes per day is fantastic, but only because I was ready to do so. My legs are steady and stable, and there’s no threat to the bones. Hooray for the patient patient!

IT band ouchiness can be pretty easily treated (at this level, I mean: if you haven’t been able to use your leg for two years because of it, I’m sorry, but see a doctor). Rest, heat packs, cool packs, and my good friend the tennis ball are easing out the ouch. (Seriously, google tennis ball massage and you’ll learn one of the best self-care remedies in the history of the entire world.)

Another thing I’ve learned in seeing the physiologist regularly is that I may be an exceptional case because I actually do the exercises she sets me. The first time she asked if I had “had a chance to do those exercises I mentioned?”, I said yes, I’d been doing them three times a day. She was pleasantly astonished. I had a similar conversation with a sports massage therapist; and in the past I’ve had the same thing with a physio I saw about a shoulder issue — I get the impression that nobody ever does their homework. What the fuck, people? You pay good money to a specialist to get advice about how to treat a problem, and then don’t do what they suggest? Fer realz, people, pull your head in and your finger out and your socks up.

It’s reading time! I’ve been on a bit of a one-author kick lately, and that author is Christopher Moore. The books are a hoot: they’re quick, funny and clever. The characters are flawed but good everyperson characters, which hits a nice balance between individualised and identifiable. They’re pretty short and easy to read and a whole lotta fun.

Coyote Blue

Insurance salesman Sam Hunter’s apparently flawless life is overturned by the arrival of the Crow God Coyote, who invites Sam to face his past, his secrets, and himself. (That was a fairly glib summary, wasn’t it?) I liked this book for the way Sam changes over the course of the novel and for Coyote (who doesn’t change much but is damn cool to begin with). Sam’s mask slips and Sam becomes more likeable and vulnerable, and then deeper and stronger as a result. Coyote is a total hoot, and there’s a cool blend of Crow stories and adventure — over the deeper themes of truth, family and heritage.

Bloodsucking Fiends: A Love Story

You Suck: A Love Story

Bite Me: A Love Story

I’ve lumped these three together because they form a trilogy — something I didn’t realise when I started with You Suck. I got to the end and found it pretty unsatisfying — and then realised there was another book waiting for me. This story works really, really well as a trilogy. The overarching story is the love story of Tommy and Jody, but each book focuses on different relationship dynamics — the older vampire that turned Jody, the group of Tommy’s friends/coworkers called the Animals, Tommy and Jody’s friends, etc. It’s a very cool story, and each book stands well on its own. Urban vampire fantasy at its coolest. When I first started reading You Suck, the way the two main characters spoke to each other kinda bugged me, until I realised that was a reflection of their ages and personalities: as they, as characters, endured more and grew, the way they talked to each other changed and grew. And that’s awesome: I love characters that grow and change. The characters, overall, are a hoot, and Moore nails the dialogue

I’ve got a few more Christopher Moore books in the to-read bucket (note: not actually a bucket) and I’m pretty sure they’re going to be good. Nice one, Mr Moore.