Tagged: books.

You do like to challenge me don’t you, Cloggo. I can’t and won’t read JA owing to my 6th-form experience (force-fed Northanger Abbey, refused to read it, AAA+ for assignment nevertheless after masterfully cribbing something together from reviews found in the public library). A mix of The Pallisers and Brontes would be more realistic, though the only way they could meet is for Glencora Palliser to go out incognito (and she would, she was quite wicked).  Agreed the hound of the Baskervilles is a must, as is the moor xo  
Well I better get cracking then.

cloggo:

Another triumph for Judith Avery. Read how Georgiana Darcy meets Heathcliffe on the wild Derbyshire  moor above Pemberley—— how an enraged Fitzwilliam Darcy hunts him down with his pack of Baskerville Hounds—— how Hindley Earnshaw becomes Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s toy boy——how Mr Rochester kills George Wickham in a duel over Jane Eyre’s honour—— how Sherlock Holmes solves the mystery of the Flesh Eaters of Wildfell Hall.


You do like to challenge me don’t you, Cloggo. I can’t and won’t read JA owing to my 6th-form experience (force-fed Northanger Abbey, refused to read it, AAA+ for assignment nevertheless after masterfully cribbing something together from reviews found in the public library).
A mix of The Pallisers and Brontes would be more realistic, though the only way they could meet is for Glencora Palliser to go out incognito (and she would, she was quite wicked). Agreed the hound of the Baskervilles is a must, as is the moor xo


Well I better get cracking then.


cloggo:

Another triumph for Judith Avery. Read how Georgiana Darcy meets Heathcliffe on the wild Derbyshire  moor above Pemberley—— how an enraged Fitzwilliam Darcy hunts him down with his pack of Baskerville Hounds—— how Hindley Earnshaw becomes Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s toy boy——how Mr Rochester kills George Wickham in a duel over Jane Eyre’s honour—— how Sherlock Holmes solves the mystery of the Flesh Eaters of Wildfell Hall.


03:01 am, reblogged  by kg13 6  |
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Guantanamo Bay from the inside (as described by David Hicks)

Three excerpts from a book that will be must reading for those interested in Guantanamo Bay …

“I first witnessed the IRF (Instant Reaction Force) team a day or two after my arrival. An MP (military policeman) stopped outside the cage of an Afghani, my closest neighbour at the time.
“He was the detainee with the prosthetic limb, who had been on the two ships with me. The MP demanded to know what the Afghani had scratched into the cement. He had not scratched anything and could not even speak or understand English.
“I heard the MP read, Osama will save us. The detainee had no idea what the guard was on about, yet the MP was furious when he did not respond. Ill teach you to resist, the MP threatened and stormed off.
“Suddenly six MPs in full riot gear formed a line outside his cage. The first one held a full-length shield. He entered the cage first, slamming the detainee, pinning him to the cement floor with the shield, while the others beat him in the torso and face.
“The last to enter the cage was a military dog handler with a large German shepherd. The dog was encouraged to bark and growl only centimetres from the Afghanis face while he was being beaten. In later cases, the dogs bit detainees.”

David Hicks
THE long-awaited book by former Guantanamo Bay detainee David Hicks has been released.

It describes the journey of a young man who left Adelaide in 1999 and returned eight years later after being held a prisoner of war for more than five years by the US military.

Excerpt 3: Guantanamo

I awoke on a concrete slab with the sun in my face. I looked around and saw that I was in a cage made out of cyclone fencing, the same as the boundary fence around my old primary school. Internal fences divided the cage into ten enclosures, and I was in one of the corner-end cells. Around me, I saw five other concrete slabs with what looked like birdcages constructed on top. A fence covered in green shadecloth and topped with rolls of razor wire was wrapped around these six concrete slabs, able to house sixty unfortunate human beings. Hanging on the inside of this fence were signs saying, If you attempt escape, you will be shot, complete with a featureless person with a target for a head.

All around the outside of the shadecloth, civilian and uniformed personnel cleared and flattened grass and trees. They poured cement and assembled the wire cages, calling them blocks. There was nothing much else around us except guard towers boasting large, painted American flags and manned by armed marines.

My block was only the second to have been built, but that would change over time. As this prison grew out of the grass, more detainees, as they liked to call us, rather than POWs, arrived. About a month later, around three hundred and sixty of us lived in these outdoor enclosures. They were open to the wind, sun, dust and rain and offered no respite. The local wildlife was being disturbed as their homes were bulldozed to make room for the concrete blocks, and scorpions, snakes and nine-inch-long tarantulas tried to find shelter in what were now our enclosures.

My cage, like all the cages, was three steps wide by three steps long. I shared this space with two small buckets: one to drink out of, the other to use as a toilet. There was an isomat (a five-millimetre-thin foam mat), a towel, a sheet, a bottle of shampoo that smelt like industrial cleaner, a bar of soap (I think), a toothbrush with three-quarters of the handle snapped off and a tube of toothpaste. When I held this tube upside down, even without squeezing, a white, smelly liquid oozed out until it was empty.

This bizarre operation was called Camp X-Ray. Our plane was the first to arrive on this barren part of the island, and we remained the only detainees for the first three or four days. We had been spaced apart because of the surplus of cages. Every hour of the day and night, we had to produce our wristband for inspection, as well as the end of our toothbrush, in case we had sharpened it into a weapon. These constant disturbances prevented us from sleeping. We were not allowed to talk, or even look around, and had to stare at the concrete between our legs while sitting upright on the ground. If we did lie flat on the concrete, we had to stare at a wooden covering a foot or so above our cages, which served as some type of roof. Apart from blocking the sun for about two hours around high noon, the roof offered no other benefit.

Sitting or lying in the middle of the cage, away from the sides, were the only two positions we were allowed to assume. We could not stand up unless ordered to, while the biggest sin was to touch the enclosing wire. If we transgressed any of these rules, even if innocently looking about, we were dealt with by the IRF team, an acronym for Instant Reaction Force. The Military Police (MP) nicknamed this procedure being earthed or IRFed, because they would slam and beat us into the ground.

04:25 am, by kg13 1  |  Comments

Some books that have stayed with me over the years


that I have reread, bought again, sought again etc

(not definitive)

1 Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass (Carroll)
2 Jane Eyre (Charlotte Bronte)
3 The Fatal Shore (Robert Hughes)
4 The Diary of a Young Girl (Anne Frank)
5 Neither Here Nor There: Travels in Europe (Bill Bryson)
6 The Hound of the Baskervilles (Conan Doyle)
7 A Town Like Alice (Neville Shute)
8 The House of the Dead (Dostoyevsky)
9 Night (Elie Wiesel)
10 Dracula (Bram Stoker)
11 Keywords for Astrology (Banzhaf/Haebler)
12 South: The Endurance Expedition to Antarctica (Ernest Shackleton)
13 The Black Death (Philip Ziegler)
14 The Floating Brothel (Sian Rees)
15 Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee (Dee Brown)
16 The Prophet (Gibran)
17 Our Lady of the Flowers (Jean Genet)
05:52 am, by kg13 4  |  Comments

LIVING IN A LIBRARY

Ever since I learnt about Dewey Decimal Classifications — the first time I went to a school with a LIBRARY! — I have wanted life to be categorisable in a similar way.

I say this because I live in constant chaos and can’t keep things separated, whether we’re talking about household items, ideas, people or yolks and albumen.

An ideal holiday from this cacophony would be to spend a week, preferably longer, at the Library Hotel in New York, where everything WOULD conform.

Had I found this place 20 years ago, when I first visited the US,  I would have booked Room 133 or 150 and read everything, and perhaps everything in between too if the guests allowed me in.

Then I’d need to extend the stay, but get moved to Room 001 or 002, which would obviously be in the basement considering the subject matter.


If I could get into Room 90 or 91 for at least a look, I would get shivers down my spine - they hold the old illuminated manuscripts and hand-painted books of hours that still make me tingle all over.

(Other than those two rooms the ground floor would be pretty much admin and peopled by clerks in cardigans).

For years I could have booked any room between 390 and 399, while specifically avoiding the 400s and 500s  but could be right at home anywhere on the second or ninth floor.

For sheer comfort I could hunker down in 745 or 746 and year after year I’d return to 728 to see what’s been added.

~ ~ ~

In 2003 the owners of the Dewey system sued the hotel for using their numbering system, but a deal was reached and the Library Hotel is still operating.



From some bumpf about the hotel:

A ten floor hotel, with each floor dedicated to a category of reading, and each bedroom to a specific theme. From romance to astrology - choose your reading matter and relax. The Library Hotel in New York City is the first hotel to arrange guestroom floors, room art and reading material in the 10 major categories of the Dewy Decimal System of book classification.

Floor choices include Science and Math, Language, Literature, History and Technology - with sub topics further defining individual rooms. Each of the 60 rooms is uniquely adorned with a collection of books and art exploring a distinctive topic within the category or floor it belongs to.

  06:25 am, by kg13 7  |  Comments

Victory over self

"It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen. Winston Smith, his chin nuzzled into his breast in an effort to escape the vile wind, slipped quickly through the glass doors of Victory Mansions, though not quickly enough to prevent a swirl of gritty dust from entering along with him."

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(scroll down a very long way)

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"He gazed up at the enormous face. Forty years it had taken him to learn what kind of smile was hidden beneath the dark moustache. O cruel, needless misunderstanding! O stubborn, self-willed exile from the loving breast! Two gin-scented tears trickled down the sides of his nose. But it was all right, everything was all right, the struggle was finished. He had won the victory over himself. He loved Big Brother."

T H E E N D

The entire book is online here but for God’s sake buy it if you haven’t read it. It doesn’t cost much.

09:35 am, by kg13 4  |  Comments

booklover:

bookspaperscissors:

Book sculpture (via de Luque)

06:57 am, by kg13  Comments

booklover:

libraryland:unknownskywalker:

stockholm library rendering

It looks like some sort of spaceship prison library… I hope this doesn’t catch on.

  06:06 am, reblogged  by kg13 503  |
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