Mike Atherton - Opening Up

      Here's another one for my howzat tag, an autobiography of Mike Atherton, the former England cricket team captain. Feel free to scroll on.
      Athers' autobiography maybe isn't all an autobiography should be, or at least I certainly wouldn't make that claim, but it definitely is just what you'd expect a famous sportsman's autobiography to be. Well, what you'd expect it to be if you're a sensible person and don't care about when and with whom he slept or what does his gardener like for dinner on Sundays. (Yes, I still haven't forgotten how rubbish you were, last biography I read.)
      The book is simple, honest, on topic. And with lots of pictures. Although if I formed my opinion on the basis of the book only, I would maybe imagine a slightly different person. But just you turn on Sky when a Test is scheduled to start and there he is, interviewing the skippers at the toss, part of the media he apparently hated so much in his time as captain. From the book he comes across as quite a cool, logic person, someone who keeps to himself and is prone to over-analyze his own performance. On TV though, he seems quite cheery and somehow more present. But I can see how not having that responsibility and difficult decisions to make would make you more carefree and make it easier to laugh when questioning those who have that responsibility now.
      The book briefly recounts Athers' childhood and introduction to the game through the university team and then concentrates on his time in the England and Lancashire teams in the 90s. Obviously, the players he talks about don't play anymore but a lot of them now work as coaches or commentators and it's interesting to try and connect the players he describes with the people now passing judgment over a cake on TMS.
      What I also found interesting was reading about his take on the dirt-in-pocket-gate or problems Atherton had to face as captain when dealing with the selectors. It's hard for me to even imagine a time without central contracts and the selection being such a mess. (Actually, that's not true. I can imagine the selection being a mess. Hello, Australia!)
      Of course, who knows how truthful this all is. And I always get suspicious - who really remembers things in this much detail? Things from 20 years ago? Even with a diary.
      Overall I'd say that the book has some interesting bits, well paints some players' portraits and quirks and doesn't get overly nostalgic, which is good. But at times, it can also get a little dull, simply chronologically describing the events. Like ball-by-ball coverage - informative, but you wouldn't want a whole book of it, right?
      But then again, I generally only stomach (auto)biographies in small, infrequent doses...

Jane Smiley - A Thousand Acres (Tisíc akrů)

Rose left me with a riddle I have not yet resolved: how we judge those that hurt us and show no remorse.      Indeed.

      This year's Birth Year Reading Challenge is going well! A Thousand Acres surprised me by being much more than I expected. Although really, I should've been prepared. There were hints. Like the Pulitzer prize. Or it being advertised as King Lear in Iowa. (I read King Lear a few years ago and since then successfully forgot what it's about. Shameful, I know, but at least I didn't quite expect the turns A Thousand Acres takes.)

      A girly detour: I should also admit that I made one serious mistake, otherwise I might've enjoyed the book even more. When the character of Jess Clark was introduced,  I decided it could be interesting to look up who played him in the movie based on Jane Smiley's book. I should never have opened google that day. Because that man, who comes and changes everything, who is so handsome and manly and seduces women and whatnot, is played by... click if you really want to know, stay away if you prefer that gorgeous man you dreamed up.

     Right from the start, one of the most important characters in the book is the land itself, those thousand acres, the kingdom of the farming family. And the king in his domain decides to sign the land over to his three daughters.  The middle one, Rose, together with her husband, is delighted with this move. Ginny,   the eldest daughter and the narrator of the story, is a bit more reluctant but as always sides with her sister and goes along with the plan, as does her husband. It's the youngest daughter, Caroline, who steps up and says she isn't sure it's the best idea. But she's also the only one who doesn't live on the farm anymore and  being a lawyer, doesn't have any intention to. In reaction to this, her father completely removes her name from all the paperwork with the attitude You don't want it, okay, you don't get it.
      The girls' relationship with their father is a complicated one and the two elder daughters tend to do what their father wants, because that's the simplest way to keep him happy. In their world, the farm and the family are everything and keeping their father happy is paramount to keeping the family together.
      This is a family drama but I think the characters' motivation is very well explained. The central fight to save the farm is surrounded by lots of smaller stories (well, smaller... I guess that depends on how much you like farms), all the characters go through personal problems that I believe help them to rethink their priorities and capabilities and in this way define the outcome of the whole story. Among other things, there's adultery (multiple), some proving one's worth, some maiming and even some dying. Well, Shakespeare.
      What I certainly didn't expect was the revelation that both Ginny and Rose had been used by their father when they were young. Ginny made herself forget all that but Rose brings those memories back to convince Ginny it's finally time to fight back when their father behaves more and more... irregularly. What makes this even worse is the fact that Caroline doesn't know any of that and thinks her older sisters (who have brought Caroline up and shielded her from their father) are only after the property.
      I won't go into all the details of the plot because what I think makes this book so good is the pacing of the narration and the way the land is omnipresent behind every decision made. (Also, you all probably have a pretty good idea what's going on because unlike me, you remember King Lear...) When I was reading it, I understood the motivations, felt transported to this to me strange vast country where everything depends on the land and the impression you make, scandals are kept hidden and a confident face is shown to the neighbours. I understand, but still would rather scream it out at the crossroad so that everybody could hear  than undergo all this. Hopefully.

     To sum it up, this book definitely deserved its Pulitzer...

Susanna Clarke - Dámy z Grace Adieu a jiné povídky (The Ladies of Grace Adieu and Other Stories)

      - Dámy z Grace Adieu
      - Na Vilným veršku
      - Paní Mabbová
      - Jak se vévodovi z Wellingtonu zaběhl kůň
      - Pan Simonelli aneb Elfí vdovec
      - Tom Brightwind aneb Jak byl u Thoresby postaven elfí most
      - Nestvůry ve výšivkách
      - John Uskglass a cumbrijský rytíř

      Tuhle knížku jsem si půjčila v podstatě jenom proto, že se mi líbila Jonathan Strange a pan Norrell, takže když jsem ji potkala v knihovně, přihodila jsem ji na hromadu už vybranejch knížek. (Půjčovat si knížky po hromadách je zábava. Člověk si je pak může rozložit na posteli a prohlížet si obaly, číst bláboly na zadní straně a rozmýšlet se, na kterou má chuť.) Musím ale říct, že zas takovej zázrak to není, na to jak byla propagovaná - a zjevně i úspěšná - když vyšla.
      Na začátku je falešná předmluva (Je pro tohle nějakej literární výraz? Určitě jo.) od jakéhosi profesora z ústavu, který zkoumá elfy, podle který je celá knížka sbírka příběhů a pověstí a vůbec folkloru/komerce bez literárních kvalit založený na folkloru, který pojí dohromady to, že se zabývají Férií, elfy, nebo vývojem magie v Británii. No a ten pán nekecá, většina příběhů je napsaná takovým jednoduchým stylem, v jednom případě i nepříjemně idiotským nespisovným stylem. Autenticita sama. To všechno určitě chce nějakej ten skill, ale po chvilce mě to začalo celkem nudit.

      Dámy z Grace Adieu nejvíc spojuje tuhle sbírku se světem knížky Jonathan Strange a pan Norrell, a to dokonce tak, že  v ní pan Strange vystupuje. Přijede i se svým povýšeným a moderním mužským přístupem k magii do jedný vesnice, kde čirou náhodou žijou tři dámy zběhlý právě ve starý, přírodnější magii krále Havrana, a ty ukážou Jonathanovi zač je toho loket a že s holkama se musí počítat.
      Na Vilným Veršku mě odrazuje svým stylem (to je samý ďouče a ďála a pánoj a poudal) a ani námětem mě moc neuchvátila, neboť je to jenom převyprávění pohádky o Tom Tit Totovi (u nás myslim Rumplcimprcampr, ne?), akorátže TTT je permoník z Férie. Hm.
      Paní Mabbová je zajímavější, o holce, která se po návštěvě nemocný kamarádky vrátí domů a zjistí, že jí nápadníka přebrala jakási paní Mabbová. A okolnosti jsou nanejvýš podezřelé... Než dívenka získá milého nazpět, dojde k několika střetům s paní Mabbovou, očividně elfkou, ačkoliv se vlastně nikdy nepotkají. Jejich souboje probíhají spíš jako by si holka šlehla a měla na tripu sen o boji s motýlkama a sousedi ji pak nacházej v lese a myslej, že je šílená. Zábava.
      Vévoda z Wellingtonu si musí kvůli vesničanům co nemaj rádi autority zajít pro koně do Férie. Potká tam holku, a co ona vyšije na ubrus, to se stane. Duke je ale hlavička a vyšije si tam, že jde v klidu domů, a taky že jo. Duke je pašák.
     Pan Simonelli aneb Elfí vdovec je asi nejdelší příběh z celý knížky a nejspíš i nejzajímavější. Simonelli nastoupí na faře v zapadlý vesnici, poblíž který žije bohatej elf, kterej si dělá co chce, čili unáší holky a tak. Simonelli to netuší a jde do jeho domu pomáhat s porodem. Když poznamená, že tam maj ohromnej bordel, elfímu chlápkovi to hned přijde divný, poněvadž to má samozřejmě začarovaný aby to vypadalo jako krásnej palác. Nakonec se ukáže, že Simonelli je napůl elf a elfího chlápka zabije a happy end. Ale je tam všechno - tajemnej dům, únos, mnohonásobný zásnuby, pronásledovní, vraždy, utajený příbuzný... paráda.
      Tom Brightwind má zase bezva dům, jehož každý dveře vedou do jiný části světa, aby se mu líp cestovalo. Taky má asi milion dětí, který se nehorázně nuděj. A taky má kamaráda, člověka, kterýho doprovází na pracovní cestu. Když projížděj městekem Thoresby, Tom Brightwind tam za noc postaví most. Nečekaně.
       Nestvůry ve výšivkách je povídka o jedný královně, kterou druhá královna uvěznila, a o tom, jak se ta první snaží tu druhou zabít smrtícím vyšíváním, kteroužto techniku odkoukala od jedný elfí dámy, která se směje jak naposled, tak nejlíp.
       A nakonec John Uskglass je vlastně jenom jiný jméno pro krále Havrana a tohle je klasickej příběh o tom, jak chudý uhlíř nakonec vyzraje nad samotným Uskglassem a dosáhne tak spravedlnosti, když mu Havran zabije prase a rozbije živobytí.

Marcus Berkmann - Rain Men

      So here's another one I'll be writing in English, this time simply because I wouldn't know how to write certain things in Czech. Literally. There just isn't the necessary terminology and I really don't feel like inventing one. It's a book about cricket, one of the things that prompted the formulation of my Theory of Layers and Unexpected Revelations(c), keep checking your favourite bookshop.
      Rain Men is mainly about village cricket as it's played, as opposed to idyllic images that keep appearing in British ads, and about what it means to be a cricket fan. And it's really funny, too. My favourite is the chapter on why cricket would make a perfect fundamentalist religion. Here, have an extract:

Why do you like cricket?
It is a question that arises time and time again. Non-believers cannot understand how anyone could allow themselves to fall under the spell of a mere game, and such an intrinsically silly one at that. Their sneers and contempt, not to mention their endless satirical use of the phrase ‘bowling a maiden over’, can undermine the most robust of personalities. What they don’t understand is that we know it’s stupid, but England are 82 for 4, for Christ’s sake. Which, needless to say, answers all their questions in full.
(…)
Cricket leaves no room for doubt. Its superiority as a sport is manifest. If the heathens cannot accept this, they cannot really argue if we have them horribly put to death.

       Marcus Berkmann describes how as a kid he had to hide his faith and pretend to like football to fit in. He later realized he wasn't alone and could openly profess his preferences in public, yet for some reason, they still wouldn't let him into any team just because he lacked any talent whatsoever. He therefore decided to start his own team, the Captain Scott Invitation XI and in this book now describes a typical year of such a team.
       It starts with the torture of the winter months when you can spend endless hours watching England lose every Test they play (the book was written in 95) or be denied TV or TMS and spend  days going about your business while constantly thinking about what the score is. Then the spring starts and you practice your cover drive with a ruler in front of the mirror and wait for the season to start. And then spend the summer playing with people who hate each other, cheat and insist on giving people out lbw when the ball pitches outside leg. You play in matches where neither side really cares about the opposition but everyone wants to have a better average than his teammates.
      Berkmann even includes an A-Z of Scott Batsmanship, a classification of the types of bowlers you might encounter in village cricket and a drinking game based on how much you screwed up on tour. A serious business, this.
      He notes how hard is the life of a cricket fan who has his head stuffed with cricket facts but remembers nothing from the textbooks they present him with at school. The sad thing is, I probably shouldn't be sitting here, thinking I know, right?! (Shut up, of course I know what Bradman's batting average is, everybody knows that.) Well, at least now England are actually winning Tests. And they stopped selecting batsmen with large bottoms. (He said it, not me!)
      And because this really isn't one of the books easy to summarize and its main strength is in the style and humour, have another - slightly longer because I like it and, frankly, because I can - snippet instead of me praising it some more:

Captaincy is a subtle art, requiring tactical insight, management skills, a firm chin, endless patience and a powerful set of lungs. Many hundreds of books have been written on the subject. Sometimes I feel as though I have read them all. Perhaps the best and certainly the most authoritative is Mike Brearley's The Art of Captaincy, mainly because when Brearley wrote it, he had skilfully fostered a reputation for having the largest brain in the world. It may be cleverer to be thought clever than to be clever, and to be thought as clever as Brearley is very clever indeed. But as his book shows, Brearley onle knew half of it. He was a superb test captain, undoubtedly, with a deep understanding of the way people tick, and an instinctive knowlegde of how to get the best of an unlikely raw material. But when did he ever have to collect tea money? When did he ever have to go to the opposition's skipper and say, 'Er, look, I'm terribly sorry, but we seem to have an extra man by mistake. Would it be all right if we played twelve-a-side?'
      For it is out here, in the uncompromising world of 'friendly' cricket, that a captain really earns his spurs. Anyone can marshall the world's best cricketers into a series-winning fighting force. But I can't imagine that Michael Atherton has ever had to ring around all his friends on the morning of a Test match because Graeme Hick has been told by his wife that he has to put up some shelves.
      The perfect illustration of this disparity is the phenomenon of 'stonedrift'. It has different names in different teams, but whatever it is called, stonedrift makes the life of every captain at village level a waking hell. In our team it was named after Paul Stone, an early stalwart and a master of the practice. You would ask him to field at cover point. Off he would trot, smiling and eager to please (thoroughly nice fellow, Paul, always smiling and eager to please). Ten minutes later you would glance over to cover point, expecting to see Paul Stone, hoping to see Paul Stone, sometimes praying to see Paul Stone. But at cover point, there was an uncanny absence of Paul Stones. Not one Paul Stone was there to be seen. Sometimes he had drifted off to the third-man boundary, sometimes to short mid-off. Invariably he had completely forgotten where he was supposed to be. Once he made it as far as square leg. But he would still be smiling - and so were the batsmen, as they clumped every ball through the convenient hole in the field. Paul Stone drifted off completely a few years ago, but his legacy remains. Some fielders stonedrift with astounding skill and timing, often disappearing from the allotted position only seconds before the batsman offers them an easy catch there. Sometimes they move closer to someone to have a chat. Or perhaps there is a left-hander in and they can't remember where they have to go. Some fielders can only remember two positions, one for each end, and when you want them to be in different places for each batsman, a form of intellectual short-circuit takes place and they wander around like long-stay mental hospital patients recently released into the community. And yet in our team many stonedrifters have been playing cricket regularly for fifteen years. When you try to move them back to the position you first put them in, they look utterly dumbfounded, and sometimes throw up their arms in despair, as if to say that you really should make up your mind. In fact, you already have made up your mind - to absentmindedly stab them with your fork during the tea interval.

Steph Swainston - Novodobý svět (Modern World)

      Jakožto taktní lidé budeme teď ignorovat skutečnost, že tohle je můj první post po ani nevím jak dlouhý době a půjdem rovnou k věci, ano? Dík.
      Po víc než roce tedy třetí díl série Hradební Mýty! Ačkoliv podle medailonku na konci knihy to vypadá, že se chystají nějaký prequely, takže není všemu Hmyzu konec.
      Kvůli týhle knížce budu asi muset vrátit odznak klubu sofistikovaných čtenářů, protože se ukázalo, že vzhledem k tomu, že třetí díl byl zábavný, druhý díl mě opravdu nebavil jen proto, že mě neskutečně štvala jedna z hlavních postava ne kvůli upadajícímu standardu. Jasný, známkou dobře napsaný knížky je, když v nás dovede vyvolat tak intenzivní emoce k fiktivní postavě, bla bla bla, pravda ale prostě je, že přes všechny kvality autorčina stylu mi to znechutila jen ta pitomá Námořnice Ata. Dosti však osobních výlevů.
      Asi není nutný popisovat hlavní postavy nebo o jakej svět se jedná, protože jestli nekoho zajímá 3. díl, pravděpodobně ho už zajímaly i první dva a je v obraze. Takže. Novodobý svět se odehrává asi o pět let později a po tom, co se v prvním díle řešil Hmyz a Jantova Závislost a ve druhým Ostrov Tris a Intriky Ohledně Nesmrtelnosti, se třetí díl zabývá hlavně Hmyzem a Kyan, dcerou Bleska Raroha. Tentokrát jde o to, že Architektka Kruhu vymyslela báječnej plán jak dobýt zpátky území okupovaný Hmyzem. (Už jenom z použití slova báječnej je všem jasný, že to bude epic fail, co?) Ten nemá rád vodu, takže postavila obří přehradu, která Hmyz vytlačila o kus dál a zažene je ještě dálejš až ji na ně Architektka vyleje.
      Bohužel se ukázalo, že Hmyz má námitky jenom proti tekoucí vodě, případně slaný vodě. Když se jim nabídlo takový krásný jezero, přihasil si to novej super lítající Hmyz, ve vzduchu se spářil a nakladl do vody miliony vajíček. (A taky do tý vody naházel spoustu nahnilejch mrtvol jako sváču...) Jupí.
      Vývoj událostí vyvolal všeobecnou paniku, kterou ještě podpořilo to, že sám Císař povolal všechny vojska země a vyjel v jejich čele na frontu. Přičemž se říká, že Císař Hrad opustí buď až se vrátí Bůh, nebo až nastane konec světa. (Později se ukázalo, že pravděpodobně kecaj jak dotyčné pověsti, tak sám Císař.) Plán přehradu co nejrychleji vypustit zněl docela rozumně, ale samozřejmě ho překazily Hmyzí larvy, který se v hojném počtu právě včas vyrojily z jezera a zdecimovaly vojsko. Nakonec se Architektce podařilo přehradu zbořit, ale sama se u toho musela obětovat. Kromě ní umřeli v bojích i další čtyři Nesmrtelní. (Pokaždý, když čtu větu Kruh se roztrhl, je to stejně špatný.) Čili okamžitá Hmyzí hrozba zažehnána, ale vzhledem k počtu mrtvých bych řekla, že Říše už toho má tak akorát dost.
      Druhá část příběhu se týká Kyan, která se objevila už v minulém díle. Od tý doby ovšem už trochu vyrostla a sedmnáctiletou lehce rozmazlenou slečnu teď přestal bavit komfort, ve kterým ji tatínek vychovává. To se rozhodla řešit tak, že uteče do toho nejšpinavějšího města v zemi, kde si nabrnkne pár vojáků a bude chlastat a fetovat. Logika.
      Jant ji letí na Bleskovu žádost hledat a přiletí právě včas, aby ji našel předávkovanou. Podaří se mu ji ještě oživit, i když kvůli tomu musí do Přesunu (Ne za pomoci drog, donese ho tam ženská složená z červů, co jste si mysleli, Jant je čistej!) a potom sbalí zbytek drogy co ležel vedle Kyan. (Přece jste nevěřili, že by odolal? Ačkoliv si to teď začal místo píchání mixovat do pití.) Pošle ji pak za tátou k přehradě, protože tou dobou ještě nikdo netuší, co se tam stane. Když potom všechen ten zmatek začne, Kyan se chová jako kráva a dokonce Vyzve Bleska na souboj o jeho místo v Kruhu. Císař Výzvu odloží na dobu po skončení boje a poněvadž mají Kyan už všichni plný zuby, po zbytek doby je zamčená v jedný z věží a akorát Jant jí tam nosí dopisy. (A ve slabý chvilce už z těch tajnejch schůzek málem i něco bylo, ale lámající se přehrada a všeobecná potopa to překazily. Ale to všechno ještě přijde, pamatujte na má slova. Ne že by Jant někdy opustil svoji manželku, to ne. No nic.)
      Jako vyvrcholení všeho co se dělo v jeho soukromým životě (ta blbka Vlaštovka, Rytmus by věděl jak na ni), s Císařem, s dcerou a světem vůbec, si Blesk nakonec uvědomil, že už po nesmrtelnosti netouží a při Výzvě, kterou všichni považovali za formalitu (přece jenom je Blesk nejlepší už 1400 let a Kyan je 17), naschvál prohrál. Kdoví jestli se Kyan v Kruhu vůbec udrží nebo jestli ji hned někdo zase porazí, ale rozhodně to změní vztahy s tátou.
       Další díly se sice mají odehrávat dějově dřív, ale doufám že potom zas budou nějaký v týhle linii, protože s každým dílem se Císař ukazuje o trochu víc jako Oh Wait Vlastně Celkem Bad Guy a já se těšim na okamžik, kdy nastolí všeobacnej evil teror...