The Cider House Rules by John Irving

The Cider House Rules is an amazing, thought provoking book. I had complained that I felt as if I was in a modern museum gazing at carefully contructed works that nonetheless left me cold. Then somewhere around three hundred pages into the novel, I sat down in front of a Rothko and let my eyes focus on its red-orangeness and allowed myself to move into its bands of color and see its complexities and feel myself expand. In other words, I got into it. The characters, the ideas emerged. My head is spinning with Irving's presentation of the modern hero, the role of fiction, the ideal versus the real world and where we fall as citizens.

I tried to look up commentary on the novel but have found very little that I can access. I want someone to read this novel so that I can hash out its meanings! I would definitely recommend this book for my book club. It has a rich plot and sympathetic characters. Most of all it has controversial ideas about what we owe to society, in particular to children and fallen soldiers. I get Homer Wells; he is my hero. The passage about the Ferris Wheel is riveting. Did I mention it is set in Maine and concerns orphans, abortions, apple trees, love in unexpected equations and fighter pilots?

Some quotable quotes and memorable language:

"Sometimes when we are labeled, when we are branded, our brand becomes a calling."

"The coastal winds gave the brittle orchard such a shaking that the clashing trees resembled frozen soldiers in all postures of saber-rattling."

"Grown-ups don't look for signs in the familiar. . . but an orphan is always looking for signs."

"But who seeks the truth from unlikable sources?"

"Always be suspicious of easy work"

"Reality for orphans is often outdistanced by their ideals; if Homer wanted Candy, her wanted her ideally."

"Don't think so badly of compromise; we don't always get to choose the ways we can be of use."

"What is hardest to accept about the passage of time is that the people who once mattered the most to us are wrapped up in parenthesis."

"Rules, he guessed, never asked; rules told."

"How we love to love things for other people; how we love to have other people love things through our eyes."

"his happiness was not the point, or that it wasn't as important as his usefullness."

Marosvasarhely: fel Sziget Festival

We loaded into the car and took off through the pine tree laced mountains and over the rough Romanian roads. Usually the air here is fresh and the summer tempuratures mild due to the elevation. This summer is different. And the temperature rose as we headed out toward Marosvasarhely. Dog meleg volt. It was "stinky corpse" hot, as the saying goes. It was about a 4 hour drive. No air conditioning. It is only 150 km, but the roads are filled with rustic wooden carts loaded 12 feet hight with hay. Suffering souls labor on bicycles between the villages. Large trucks travel at a snail's pace. Roma(Gypsy)families wave cars down and shout out their wares: freshly picked blueberries, rasberries, honey, onions and roka mushrooms (which are plentiful due to the torrents of rain that fell before we arrived). All of these obstacles require constant attention and endless perilous passing around curves and over hills. I am always grateful when we arive anywhere. I do everything possible to avoid driving myself. Instead I sit in the passenger seat and swear mildly or grunt meaningfully in the directon of the driver.

The festival, the "fel Sziget", was a smaller offshoot of a huge festival that will take place later this summer in Budapest. Typical summer stuff: food, tons of people, beer, swimming and concerts galore. No corn dogs; no root beer. Plenty of miccs (the beef/pork speciality) and gulyas.

People wore as little as possible--thongs and shorts so short that perfect little half moons of flesh peeked out the hems. I was told that the topless habit is new, however. It is seen as a Western European habit and has been taken up by the young and perky. There were many gothish types--wearing black, sporting cheaply dyed hair in strange colors and showing various body tattoos or piercings. Lots of families and young mothers with strollers. Teenagers roamed in packs. For the most part we parked in one place or the other and drank lots of cool beverages. I did learn how to play Imperial, a card game, and lost tragically. Two nights in a row we stayed out until three in the morning: we danced in the finally cool air to techno or Tom Waits.

Marosvasarhely is about 50% Romanian and 50% Hungarian and is larger than Csik. While you hear Romanian in the market in Csik, you rarely hear it on the street. In Marosvasarhely Romanian seemed more common and I had more difficulty ordering food or shopping. I know how to say thank you in Romanian, but that is it. Marosvasarhely has a large Orthodox temple that dominates the city center, while here in Csik the Catholic Church is the center of town. Yet Marosvasarhely had a McDonalds while Csik still does not.

On the drive home we decided to stop at a so-called medieval festival. It was decidely not medieval, but it was packed with lots of interesting art and folklore. And lo and behold I met a soul mate--an "instant poet" who was selling quatrains for 10,000 lei or 30 cents. He asked for a theme and produced the verse on the spot. The theme I chose, for no special reason, was the American Women. The verse is in Romanian, of course. The poet had dark eyes and was extremely amused that I used his service.



Other services for sell: kisses for a price, free hugs, marriage decress good for the duration of the festival, and a guy in Renaissance costume who had a knife stuff in his chest with fake blood who would let you take a photo with him. Cool. Mostly we were hot. Did I mention that his festival was in Segesvar, the home of Dracula's birth and childhood? Do I need to tell you about the Dracula t-shirts and coffee mugs?

We slept well last night; glad to be home. This morning I had my first tennis lesson of the summer. Our tennis teacher is nearly 70 and talks constantly, all in Hungarian. He has more energy than I can muster when I am fully caffeinated. He is a blur. Unfortunately so is my backhand.

I want to write more about what I am reading and have read, but that will have to wait as I am running of out time in the Internet cafe. I am almost finished reading Irving's Cider House Rules.

Csikszereda, Transilvania: Arrival

Our trip through the mountains and into Transilvania had a few unexpected twists and turns. Laci's passport decided to fall apart between the Hungarian and Romanian borders. The page with his photo and all the official information just fell out as Dani opened it. The border guard in Romania decided to look the other way and just noted in his passport that the page was loose. This means that we might have to return to Hungary several days early so that L. can apply for a new passport. Not a tragedy, but a hassle.

We arrived two hours late to Csik and the morning air was chilly to be sure. L.'s dad met us at the train and we loaded all of our luggage into two cars for the short trip to his mother's Communist block style apartment. After a breakfast of the local cheeses (notice cheese theme), god-kissed tomatoes (in Hungarian, the same word is used for tomato and heaven, "paradicsom"), yellow peppers, fresh slices of thick bread, salami, and, of course, cake, I fell into a deep bath and then into a deep sleep until 2pm. Then I was awoken for lunch: stuffed peppers, sour cream, fresh bread, mineral water and fresh raspberries in cream for dessert. The rasberries were picked from the mountains that surround us. I did manage to stay awake to walk to the next village to visit family, then fell asleep until dinner. I had vowed to eat only fruit for dinner BUT his mother had prepared a local speciality, a kind of meat that is a blend of pork and beef and cooked kind of like a sausage link. I indulged. Then I slept again. Laci went out about 9 to meet friends. I was too tired. Thus passed day one.

This is a typical first day for me in the mountain air. The thick oxygen content in the air, the large doses of heavenly food on the table and the restless night on the train all equal deep sleep and strange dreams. Among other nightly ruminations, I did dream that I was teaching a Latin class. Poorly.

I finished The Stone Diaries on the train and to read all of pictures of hollis woods by Patricia Reilly Giff yesterday (a short young adult novel). More thoughts on these books later. More impressions of this city and the people as well.

Now I think I shall leave this internet cafe-filled with young boys playing shooting games and pulsing with American/Hungarian/Romanian pop music--and head downtown with my boys to sit in the summer air at Tilos (a cafe), drink a Fanta and wait until it is time to return home for lunch.

On the Train to Transylvania

Today is yet another travel day. At 4 pm we board a train bound for Romania and we will arrive bleary-eyed some time around 5 am. Most of the trip takes place in the cover of night, which eases my nerves. As the train sways back and forth climbing up the Carpathians, I would rather have my eyes closed in sleep. I shall have plenty of time to read my current novel The Stone Diaries by Carol Shields. I am not sure why I picked it up, other than an affection for the author's work. Thus far I would recommend it to readers. It takes place in Canada and Bloomington, Indiana. You can't go wrong with limestone quarries and ladies coming of age.

Sunday Afternoon in Budapest

It is Sunday afternoon in Budapest, and I have just awoken.

Last night we had dinner at our favorite fish soup place near the castle. Then we had cake at the Gerbeaud and finally drinks at the teaming Liszt Ferenc square. Budapest remains bursting with people and trams and the sounds of Hungarian language, more and more of which sounds familar in my ears.

Our adventures near Mont Blanc deserve more chronicles than I have time to spare. Just know that we played outdoor chess (Dani won); ate a ton of cheese; hiked down and into a glacier grotto; and climbed in the tree tops where I was rescued by a very cute French mountaineer when I forget to use my pulley. I was mortified to be stranded midair, but mollified by his firm thighs wrapped around my waist as he took us to the ground. Laszlo just laughed and kept shouting at me to throw down the camera, which was in my back pocket. I was too busy be rescued to comply.

Now it is off to an afternoon in Budapest...the baths? shopping? strolls through the lovely streets? cakes and coffee?

Mont Blanc

Hello All,

Just wanted to send a quick note to let you know that we all arrived safely in Europe, rented a car, and managed to find our way to this amazing spot way up near Mount Blanc. Laszlo is giving his talk right now; he will give another tomorrow morning. Then we will have lots of free time to explore these mountains. I am not sure if there are any bears here. But the cheese will drive you to sublime heights and the fresh mountain air nearly hurts as it cleans out the toxins deep in your lungs.

I wish I could write more, but I am jetlagged AND this keyboard has the letters slightly rearranged....these silly french.

Best,

Janet

ps Dani turns ten on Monday; we will be in Budapest by then.
pps I am on page 355 of The Master Butchers Singing Club by Louise Erdrich. I read straight through the flight. It is a jewel.

July Book Club: Time Traveler's Wife

Five wonderful bibliophiles arrived promptly at 6:30 pm for our monthly ritual: dinner, check-in and talk about our book of the month. We are avid readers with voracious tastes. My book club rocks. This month we discussed The Time Traveler's Wife by first time author Audrey Niffenegger. This month I have probably read five other books, just for kicks. I love to read and read deeply.

I was engaged in TTW throughout all five hundred something pages, but was miffed when I finished. What was it all really about? It has been said that the author’s main theme is…waiting. Perhaps if I wait, the novel will grow on me. As the hostess this month, I was in charge of dinner: gazpacho, sardine spread on fresh bread, grilled pork with pineapple and fresh Michigan blueberry pie. It is after 11:oo and I have done most of the washing and tidying; my brain is too saturated with blueberries to write much of anything worthwhile.

Next month’s book is Louise Erdrich’s The Master Butchers Singing Club. Between now and next month I will be on the road: Mont Blanc and the Carpathians beckon. The time traveler's wife was never so lucky.

My First Post

I must give credit where credit is due. Due to a long chain of circumstances, I chanced to meet R. Beyer as he was passing through Indiana on an epic journey. A mutual acquaintance brought us together in a computer lab at the University of Notre Dame. Within five minutes we had established all the basic facts about our similar life timelines and I had foisted upon him my latest piece of writing. I hope you are ready to sign our secret pledge, R.B! He in turn shared with me his blog. I had sworn that I would never have a blog. Never. How public. How pathetic to place my ramblings on the web and leave them there for all to peruse. As if anyone out there would want to read my thoughts. Oh well. One turns 30 and suddenly it becomes crystal clear that my prerogative matters. So come along, read along, and see the world through my descriptive narrative, poetry and occasional blather.