Filed under books

heading to victoria again

Tonight I get on the train to small-town Victoria again to do some training at a regional health library. Woo! Actually that’s not even a sarcastic woo, because Holly’s going to come too. She has to take an earlier train back than me so she can get to work on time (stupid-early-o-clock) but I’m going to be working anyway.

Maybe we won’t exhaust all the excitement Shepparton has to offer right away, but if we do, Holly’ll get to at least spice it up by driving. We’re renting a car and while she can legally drive here, I don’t have a license for Australia (apparently you can use your North American one for three months, which I have been here longer than).

This is sort of a warmup for December when we’re planning a bit more extensive roadtripping up to my friend Mel’s place and maybe inland a ways. I like deserts.

Other than this excitement, things are just ticking along. Holly made Chinese noodles last night that tasted very approximately like the noodles you get everywhere in Nanchong. She’s in charge of that kind of cooking – specific cooking. My technique is more “Let’s combine a bunch of stuff and see what happens” which isn’t untasty, but it’s hard to know how to make something happen.

I’m reading a bunch of SF&F books for the class I’m taking, which is a fun way to spend my time. Not that I didn’t enjoy my recent social media class, but reading about Vikings and faery and space travel and thinly veiled Christian allegories is a much nicer way to spend a Saturday.

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a saturday of acquainting

I’m slowly getting things together here. And by getting things together I mean, haven’t dissolved into a gibbering wreck just yet. In some ways it’s crappy that my work permit hasn’t come through, since it means I’m not, you know, earning money to pay for living here. But this enforced delay is giving me a bit more time to get acquainted with Sydney.

I went out walking again this morning. I read for a while and watched some birds in Hyde park. Then I took an excursion around the long way to get to the Rocks, the touristy harbour zone where the opera house is. While I was sitting on a bench watching a “sail” boat leave the wharf, I saw a crowd of nicely dressed (probably for a wedding) people running for cover. I got my rain jacket out of my bag just in time to get caught in the pissing rain. I went to share the wedding-folk shelter for ten minutes and then it eased off and then stopped and now it’s sunny and beautiful out.

I’m in the State Library reading room which is quite nice. It’s a huge old building with wooden shelves lining the walls three floors up, but the centre is completely open, with tables and computers and a couple of information desks. There’s a passage way down to the reference library which is housed in the neighbouring and more modern building, but I’m kind of a fan of this space.

Soon I’ll have to set out again. I need to get a SIM card to phone my boss to see when I should show up on Monday to meet people (and definitely not work because that would be illegal). There’s also a game store a not unreasonable distance away. I’ll keep busy.

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so close to vagabondery

Yesterday I did my advance voting and there was an Indian gentleman in line in front of me. He was probably in his fifties or sixties and he was pissed off at the election volunteers. See, he gave them ID when they asked and then they had the temerity to ask for something with his address on it (as per Elections Canada rules). He seemed to take it as an affront to his citizenship, saying stuff like “I have lived here for these forty years! You are wrong” Why do you want me not to vote? Fine! I will not vote!” The volunteers were saying that they just needed a bill or something that proved he was voting in the correct place, but he was just angry and convinced everyone was stupid but him. After the supervisor came over to help, he stormed out, leaving his passport behind so he could go get “some stupid piece of paper that I don’t even need!” They were really happy when I was easy to manage.

Then I picked up a pile of great books from Abraham, one of my classmates. A whole shwack of stuff about Chinese history and language and religion, plus a bunch of Italo Calvino books. So good. He’s pared down his books to two boxes which is really impressive. Some days I feel like I’d like to do that. But my books are important to me. I’m not as conflicted about them as I was last year. We’ll see how I feel when I move them away from Vancouver.

And today I packed up all my books and clothes into my storage space. I was very conscious of the order I put stuff in there today, so the most necessary books are more accessible than the infamous theology books. Also, my winter gear is right at the front and accessible for when Holly and I return in December from the height of Antipodean summer and stop off to go to Virginia for Xmas (and for me to make Santa Claus jokes I’m sure no one in that state has ever heard).

I like living in a city undergoing a traumatic sporting event. Everywhere today, people have been talking about this Canucks game tonight. The buses always have their Go Canucks Go signs in their lights, but today they felt a little more urgent. At the van rental place the guy said they might be closed by the time I returned the van “because, y’know, the game.” We’re hosting (I say “we” and “hosting” in the same sentence like I’m actually doing stuff beyond showing up – hell, Marlis is cleaning the kitchen right now while I type) a potluck tonight but it came to our attention that we’ll need to have the hockey streaming or else everyone would stay home. I doubt it’ll be like this in Winnipeg if they really do get an NHL team back, but maybe I’m just a pessimist.

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a pleasant time

Xmas day was beautiful in Nanchong. Actually sunny, and without wind or rain to drive you into a huddling mess. Today, not so much, but you take what you get.

We went to the foreigner Xmas at Karen’s out at the Xihua new campus, where we ate sausage and jiaozi and mashed potatoes and drank coffee. We also played Scattergories, which I played exactly the way Holly had imagined I would play the game: annoyingly. Although to my shame I blanked on a book beginning with R. Just after the buzzer went off, Revelation Space popped into my head. But I prevented Mark from scoring Revenge of the Sith, because the actual title of the book is Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith (this is what being annoying at Scattergories looks like).

We left early to come back to the bakery, where it was busy as all get out. As in all the people in Nanchong got out of their houses and came to the bakery for pizzas and sangria and such. (I just tasted the wine being used for the sangria – it’s fizzy and weird and not at all like a red wine is supposed to be. Holly’s going back to the place she bought it to get mad.) It was the bakery’s best single day in sales. I washed a lot of dishes.

Today after teaching Sam we had lunch. The first part of lunch almost killed me. Sam’s mom asked if I could eat crab, and foolishly I said yes. I didn’t make the connection that the crabs would be brought to the table cooked whole and bound in string, looking exactly like the armoured spiders of the sea that they are. I got mine open with help from Holly, but couldn’t get past the hairs on the crab legs sitting there as I tried to pick the orange meat from around the guts and brains of the huge bug. I hit these walls when it comes to food in China sometimes. Last time it was that hard was at the pig brain hotpot in Nanjing. But I made it through (and Holly got to eat two crabs).

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fundrive finale

Last night was the CITR fundrive finale show. The theme was 90s covers so piles of bands were up there playing a couple of songs. It’s funny the stuff that survives 15 years down the line. By the time I left bands had only played two songs I really liked, El Scorcho (which was sung terribly) and Where It’s At. I recognized a lot of the rest of the songs but songs I didn’t like when I was 15 haven’t suddenly gotten better, just because I remember them.

Also, I think this is where DJs have a distinct advantage. I was hoping for interesting covers and reinterpretations and stuff because I’m used to mashup type juxtapositions. The very first guy did a novel interpretation of that Chumbawumba song all slow and mournful with lots of distortion on the guitar. It’s too bad he was so terrible. But that’s why he was first, I guess.

The evening wasn’t a total loss. I read a great Samuel R. Delany story, Star Pit. It’s about freedom and being trapped and being able to leave and the psychopathy of those who get to see everything. I was happy to find a pillar with a light at the Biltmore so I didn’t have to stand around awkwardly listening to music I wasn’t that into.

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free as in oatmeal stout

After a meh sort of meeting at school today, I stopped off for ice cream and beer, both of which were sorely lacking in my part of the fridge. I’m walking up my street, bag with ice cream in one hand, box of beer in the other, and as I was approaching a skinny woman probably in her 20s, she said “Hey, how’s it going?” I think that’s what she said. I wasn’t sure if she was talking to me. I glanced at her, and she was wearing big sunglasses and clothes that rode that thrift-store-hipster/actual-hobo line pretty well. She had been talking to me, and she eyed my box of beer.

“Hey, umm, would I be able to trade you a pack of smokes for one of your beers? ‘Cause I’m really hung-over and you’d just be saving my life,” she said. I stopped, and kind of made my “I don’t think so” face as I formulated the sentence about me not needing a pack of cigarettes.

“Please,” she continued. “I just need something to drink. I’m so hung over.”

That’s what convinced me. The fact that she felt that her being hung over was a reason that’d convince me to trade beer with her. It just seemed so illogical there was no way I could not reward it. This might seem to contradict completely my denial of Halloween candy to that kid for not having a costume last week, but he didn’t even try to convince me. His heart wasn’t in it. This woman really wanted a beer, and this was her form of legitimate reasoning. She was so convinced it would work, she said it twice. I had to respect that.

So I opened my box of beer and gave her a bottle. She was rummaging for smokes and I told her not to worry about it. She told me karma would smile on me and I told her to have a good afternoon.

And then when I got home I found, not five dollars, but my copies of Machine of Death waiting for me. I’ve only read a couple of stories so far, and I think I’m going to wait till December to really sink into it. I’ve got the electronic version ready to go on my reader so it’ll be good travelling material. If you want to buy a copy, now that the “Let’s Be an Amazon Bestseller for a Day!” push is over, I’d probably get it from Topatoco, where you can buy loads of other books/T-shirts/gewgaws made by other indie creators I’m proud to be, however tangentially, associated with.

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main & hastings with the lwb

Librarians Without Borders’ SLAIS Student Chapter (LWB@UBC) was doing a book drive for the Carnegie library in Vancouver’s Downtown East Side this past month. We collected tubs and tubs of books and today went down to the library to give them away. The idea is that the library sets up a table outside on Fridays at 2:30 and gives books away. The library is on East Hastings street, with an alley that’s full of crazy drug happenings and such, so the idea of giving books to people is something I can get behind.

I got to chat with a couple of guys who picked up some books. One was there telling me about the books he’d bought at other places and how he was a great harmonica player who knows all the old Englebert Humperdinck songs “and not everyone can sing those! Spanish Eyes? It’s really hard!” He had a moderate Indian accent, and spoke with the same intensity my step-father does about politics or science, which was a neat bit of cognitive dissonance.

The other guy was complaining about the security cameras the police have up at that corner that can see all the way up to Cambie (which I’m not sure is possible because of the bend in Hastings; he might have meant Carrall) at such resolution that two blocks away they can read your watch. He was also worried about the chips they’re putting in babies now, and how Big Brother was coming to watch us all and lock us away if we’re crooks. “Good thing I’ll be dead before it all happens,” he said, and I managed not to talk about life-extension technologies.

There was also a guy who came up yelling “This is a stickup!” but he was just trying to be funny. I got told off for not buying a guy pizza. I said “Sorry dude” and he said “Yeah, well god bless ya anyway.” But as he walked away he got more angry and said “Maybe Satan should bless you instead.” He didn’t actually swear at me, which was pretty good.

Before hitting the street we got a tour of the community centre from the acting branch head. The Carnegie branch is a weird little branch serving a very specific community, which affects their policies in many ways. There’s a special Carnegie Library card you can get, which doesn’t require any ID. The fines are fairly flexible and while they only have three full-time staff, the part-timers who work there tend to work there a lot, because you need to develop rapport with the people, and not everyone is all over that.

Also, if I heard correctly, all of the books are non-catalogued (ie they don’t have specific representations in the VPL system and are listed basically as BOOK with a barcode). They do this because their loss-rate is so high, they’d constantly be recataloguing things as missing. This way it’s easier to reprocess books, but means they can’t search the computer to see if a book is actually there. It was interesting stuff.

Also in the building is an education centre, a very popular cafeteria, a gym, a theatre, a seniors’ centre and lots of space for people to hang out and play 象棋, Chinese chess. Because this library is also right in Chinatown. So it serves an interesting community. Really, when Holly comes to Vancouver I kind of want to live around there because it’s interesting. Probably a little less safe than where I live now. I’m not going to lie and say I wasn’t a bit more wary of the people on that block than I am out here in Mount Pleasant, but I think it’d be a good place to be.

There are also certain barriers to access. At each of the doors there were signs saying that people must behave in a civil and proper manner inside. Randy also explained that meant they couldn’t be intoxicated or on other drugs. These are rules that come from the building being a community centre, and there’s a lot of interesting interplay between the community centre and the library aspects of the place.

I’m really glad I got the chance to go see this, and get the tour and stuff instead of just showing up one day to look around. Good job, library school.

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fallible machines

First: Tuesday October 26th is the day it’d be awesome if you bought Machine of Death on Amazon. I’ve got a story in it and it’d be wonderful to see this little indie book that could be a bestseller for a day. /endsalespitch

I love finishing assignments, as I can then waste like two days rewarding myself with pleasure reading, which is much more fun than the procrastination reading I’d been doing. Tomorrow I’ll be getting back to work on schoolish stuff.

This afternoon I went to a Librarians Without Borders meeting about developing a library in Kabul. It’s all very interesting and laudable, but it seems a bit over a student group’s head to help with. It’s funny because you want to “fail boldly” and such, but when face to face with a big issue it’s very much “I don’t actually have the capabilities to do anything about that right now.” I suppose you could make it your thing, just throw yourself into it and get to the point that you’d actually be useful, but I certainly don’t feel at that point already. Maybe after I left the meeting the speaker got into some more concrete stuff he wanted out of us. I’ll have to check the notes my co-secretary was taking.

I had to leave early because one of our profs had arranged a tour of an exhibition “Following A Line” at the Contemporary Art Gallery, which was downtown and entailed some busing. It was an interesting exhibition, multimedia and contemporary art-ish. The best part was one exhibit which had two slide projectors running and projecting gelled photos by Agatha Christie on opposite walls. Part of the thing about the piece was supposed to be that you can’t see both pictures at the same time, and how “these cliched images we’ve all seen before” are affected by being shot by Christie (“a notable racist”) and the colour added by the artist. The funny part (and what made it the best) was that the bulb on one of the projectors had burnt out, so as the curator explained about the images she was pointing at a blank wall, saying “Unfortunately today you can’t see these ones at all.” As the machines clacked on.

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forty days till i’m gone over the ocean

Today, after an entertaining couple of hours at the Writers Festival listening to David Mitchell and Katherine Govier talk about their historical novels set in Japan I went looking for shoes and then came home to pretend to work for several hours (and actually work for a couple).

The talk itself was great. Both of them read interesting bits of their novels, and David Mitchell found a continuity error in his. He was funny and halting and tossing in digressionary asides and was generally awesome. He seemed like he was genuinely thinking about the questions being asked, though he had a few funny bits that he’d brought out a few times. Katherine Govier was also interesting, and I think her book The Ghost Brush sounds really good.

I got David Mitchell to sign my copy of number9dream, and told him I felt bad for the copy being so new, since I’d read it as a library book then gone out to buy this one. So it didn’t have the feeling that I’d already read and loved it. He sort of missed the point but I didn’t want to be the fanboy overexplaining myself in the line. Though I was the youngest person in that line by a good 20 years so I was probably the only fanboy regardless.

Some days I don’t know about this whole library thing. Really, all I want to do is read books and tell Holly stories (and if both those things happened in far off lands I would not complain). I mean, seriously, filled with professional ambition I am not. And going to these events and listening to writers talk about their craft, I get very frustrated at myself for going to school to knock over the domino that allows me to maybe get a job some day. But whatever. I like the things I’m learning too. It’s not bad being back in school. It just seems so backwards somehow.

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darwin’s bastards @ the writers festival

This morning I went to the Vancouver International Writers and Readers Festival for an event. Zsuszi Gartner was hosting three of the writers from Darwin’s Bastards. With four writers reading from their work, there wasn’t as much conversation as I might have enjoyed, but it was entertaining. The split between the bigger writers (William Gibson & Yann Martel) and the smaller writers (Adam Lewis Schroeder & Anosh Irani) was something that could have been more interesting to explore. There was a question from the audience about whether they write for an audience or think about their works as marketable items, which is a fundamentally different question when you’ve written a “big” book like Life of Pi, vs created a genre, vs are a playwright no one has ever heard of.

I think my favourite part of the panel was watching the writers listen to each other reading. Martel seemed very contemplative, inwardly focused while Gibson listened carefully and openly loved the funny bits. Also, he did his “imaginative fiction being every kind of fiction” thing which I do appreciate when people try to pigeon-hole sf. The way Irani read his story was much less flippant than the voice that was in my head, but that seriousness made the black comedy of that womb-creature even more stark. Schroeder also sang a song, in a Feist-like way. He was pretty fun, very much the dramatizer of his tale.

After the discussion I stood in line to get my copy of Darwin’s Bastards signed by the four of them. And it’s funny, but when I’ve been talking about this book to people in person, I’ve tended to tell them about the Schroeder story first. I told him that, and he seemed to appreciate it. I didn’t mention that William Gibson is the first author in the collection I mention.

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