Review: A Secret Life of Bees

My parents are by far two of the busiest people I know, and although they live next door to me I don't see them nearly as much as you might think.  They are constantly either traveling for work or caring for their aged parents, and are in general the sort of people who seem unsettled when not engaged in some sort of useful or (at the very least) helpful activity.  

Therefore when my mom and I went to see the movie The Secret Life of Bees together this past Wednesday, it officially qualified as a rare and wonderful event.  Although she is an accountant by day, I choose to believe my mom is really a closeted lover of literature.  As a rule she appreciates stories that are engrossing and original, but not too "out there" or depressing.  

A Secret Life of Bees turned out to be exactly what we were looking for - sentimental but not TOO maudlin.  Set in the racially-charged South in the 1960's, the story tells of a young girl named Lily who runs away from her abusive father with the family's African American maid Rosaline.  They seek refuge in the home of three honey-making sisters August, June, and May, where they learn about love and what it means to have a family.  My favourite thing about is movie its aesthetic beauty; yellows, purples, and greens fill the screen, and sitting in the theatre I could practically feel the heat of  the South and taste the sweetness of honey.  The film also features excellent performances from all the actresses (Queen Latifa, Dakota Fanning, Jennifer Hudson, Alicia Keyes, and Sophie Okenedo), making it extremely enjoyable to watch.  

Overall, A Secret Life of Bees reminded me of the sort of movie I'd have gone to see five years ago, before my frequent theatre-going companion became a 25 year old man who thinks anything in which the main character is a woman is automatically romantic and trivial.  (Of course he denies this, but everyone knows it's true).  I would certainly recommend it to anyone who loves a good story (and good acting, cinematography, etc) but is not put off by things that obviously try to hook you with sugary sentiment.

Is there anything better than good food?

My favorite "Kingston restaurant" isn't actually in Kingston, but a 45 minute drive away in the delightful little town of Picton.  Finally recovering from a week-long illness never fails to fill me with an elated, seize-the-day sort of relief, inspiring me to try and experience as much aesthetic pleasure as possible in a limited amount of time.  So even though the choice to go to Harvest for dinner last night was probably a bad one due to lack of funds, at the time it seemed like the best idea I'd ever conceived.  Ever the willing partner in crime, Steve happily agreed and off we went.

Oh it was wonderful.  After a minor glitch caused by our forgetting that the Glenora ferry runs every half hour at this time of the year (as opposed to every 15 minutes in the summer) and being half an hour late for our reservations as a result, the evening was absolutely perfect.  I love how every time I go to Harvest the menu has changed.  There's always the staple beef, chicken, fish, and pasta dishes, but they're altered to reflect what foods are in season.  Whenever possible, the restaurant tries to serve local food from Prince Edward County, a concept I absolutely adore.  Even the wine we had, Trumpour's Mill Pinot Noir, is from the area, and as far as I can tell it's just as good as any from France or California (although according to some people I have no palate for wine).  

To start we shared an appetizer consisting of goat cheese, beats,  and mixed greens.  I never liked beats growing up, but am amazed by how their taste is so dramatically improved when accompanied by goat cheese.  I like to pretend this isn't because the taste of the cheese so overwhelms that of the beats you forget what they are, but to be perfectly honest that probably does have something to do with it.  For the main course I went out on another limb and ordered duck..... medium rare!!!  I recently came to the conclusion that it makes no sense whatsoever to frequently eat cookie dough and eggs over easy, yet recoil in horror at the thought of undercooked poultry ("we don't want to invite Sam 'n Ella to the party....").  I was not surprised to find duck is greatly improved when not burned to a crisp.  Like steak, it is much more flavorful and easier to chew.  The duck came with a scrumptious rice and dried fruit medley that added a pleasing citrusy twist.  The best part of the meal, however, had to be the slice of pumpkin cheesecake Steve and I shared for dessert. It differed in texture from most cheesecakes, and reminded me more of pumpkin pie or creme brule with a hint of cream cheese.  The cake was drenched in a maple syrup sauce and little maple biscuits instead of crust.  I never wanted it to end.  Oh, and Harvest is one of the only restaurants in the Kingston area that makes real cappacinos.  I always forget about that until I order one and am pleasantly surprised when the waiter brings out espresso and foam (i.e. instead of espresso, a mug full of steamed milk, and a thin layer of foam on top).  

Truth be told, if I could live anywhere in the world I think it would be Prince Edward County, even if it would mean a 45-minute commute to Kingston.  Maybe I'm biased, but I think it's the most beautiful countryside I've ever seen.  I feel a bit guilty about last night, but overall I'd say it was totally worth a week of eating nothing but cereal, Kraft Dinner and chicken fingers :).

How Yoga Works

This Thanksgiving was an unfortunate one for yours truly.  It's Monday night and for the second day in a row I'm unable to leave the couch due to illness.  Perhaps the only good thing about being sick over a long weekend is the ability to waste the day away reading and watching comfort movies free from guilt.  As a result, I was able to finish How Yoga Works by Geshe Michael Roach and Christie McNally.  It was chosen as October's book in my yoga book club, and I really had no idea what to expect.

How Yoga Works explains just that:  the ways in which one can use yoga to not only better oneself but also to promote good in the world at large (but of course everything is really one, so in doing one you also do the other, etc).  The book explains how yoga works within the context of a charming little story about a young Tibetan girl named Friday who is wrongfully imprisoned in India for carrying with her the Yoga Sutra (a book that is deemed far too old and important looking for such a young girl to lawfully be in possession of).  In order to prove that the book is really hers, Friday must teach the prison's captain yoga.  This eventually leads to the practice being spread throughout the community, and consequently to an enhanced quality of life for the townspeople.  

The story itself drags a little in parts, but overall I thoroughly enjoyed reading it.  The whole concept of Buddhism/Eastern philosophy in general is quite new to me, but the more I learn about it the more I like it.  Much of it seems like hidden common sense - ideas we all know instinctively but need to be told outright before we can realize how brilliant they are.  At one point, for instance, Friday uses a bamboo pen to demonstrate how, although the Captain understands it as a tool for writing, a cow understands it as something good to eat.  Therefore it is neither a pen nor food in and of itself; any meaning it holds is relative to the individuals who are perceiving it.  This concept leads to a detailed explanation of the powers of the mind and relativism.  I will not attempt to explain it all here, but the philosophy lays out a truly beautiful way of understanding the world which could undoubtedly lead to healing on all levels.

 

Closely related to the principles discussed in How Yoga Works is the idea of holistic health.  This concept is also quite new to me, yet it makes perfect sense when I think about it.  For instance, there's no question that the reason I've been so irritable lately is that I have a cold.  Any physical discomfort, from being overly full and bloated to having a headache affects my mood in a very negative manner, just as feeling healthy improves it.  Conversely, mental turmoil causes afflictions such as insomnia and headaches, and the whole thing turns into a vicious cycle.  Therefore you can't possibly maintain a healthy body without also having a healthy mind and vice versa.  And even if this isn't scientifically proven, if you think it's true then it is true because everything we perceive is determined by our minds.  It's all so simple...I can't believe I didn't think of it like that before!!!

On Elitism and Obama

elite /I'li:t, ei-/ ~ 1 (prec. by the) the best or choice part of a larger body or group.  2  a class or group of persons possessing wealth, power, prestige, etc. (the ruling elite) adj of belonging to an elite.

That's how the Oxford Canadian Dictionary defines "elite", a word that has become synonymous with "a quality you would never, ever want in an American president".  For the record, politics are not my thing.  I have neither the time nor the inclination to argue about them, or to push my loosely-informed opinions on people I don't know very well. Words, however, are my thing.  I am fascinated by how easily they can be twisted, re-defined, and used out of context so frequently that their meanings literally shift while the vast majority go oblivious to the seismic transmutations that are occurring at the epi-centre of American culture. In France, they have the Academie Francaise, a pre-eminent learned body that acts as the authority on matters pertaining to the usages, vocabulary, and grammar of the French language.  In English, there is no equivalent; nor, in my opinion, should there necessarily be one.  The Academie's presence demonstrates the extent to which the French people view language as an integral part of their culture.  It is something that is self-consciously contemplated not only in France but also here in Canada, where the French Canadian population makes a concerted effort to pass legislation in order to preserve their language, and, by association, their culture.

I don't know this for a fact, but it's hard to imagine a word being thrown around as readily in a culture that honours the sanctity of language as "elite" and "elitism" are in American politics. From following the current American election, I have come to the conclusion that being an elitist can now mean any or all of the following:

 - Anyone who has achieved the "American Dream" by pursuing educational endeavours and being successful as a result.   Or for that matter, who admits they enjoy learning in any capacity, and/or makes no attempt to disguise their intelligence.

 - Anyone who lives in a major urban centre, or along one of the two major seaboards.

 - Anyone who pronounces the "g" at the end of words like "being".

- Anyone who drinks lattes, or enjoys a sprig of arugula in their mid-day salad

- Anyone who does not boisterously express their love of America by doing things like loudly chanting U-S-A and wearing flag pins.

 - Anyone who is "out of touch" with the "Average American" - something that in turn seems to be defined as one who goes bowling, shops at Walmart for their guns, and does not value education.

Is Barack Obama an "elitist" by its official definition?  Of course he is.  As a senator and presidential candidate he certainly belongs to the ruling class, possessing vast quantities of wealth, power, and prestige (hmmm...sounds a lot like another presidential candidate we've heard so much about).  Perhaps the republicans should pay closer attention to the first part of elite's definition before so readily labeling Obama: "the best or choice part of a larger body or group".  But why should they when they seem to have been so successful in re-defining the word?

For his part, Obama does his best to prove that he is not elite by its evolved definition, thereby upholding the new understanding of the word, and conceding that it is negative despite all appearances to the contrary.  By participating in things like bowling, altering his speech so as to play down the pronunciation of g's and t's, and wordlessly conceding that wearing a flag pin is perhaps the best indication of one's love for America, he consistently finds himself playing defense, and thus round-aboutly admitting that everything associated with intellectual culture is essentially "elite" and inherently negative.  

I'm no political scientist, but I often wonder what would happen if Obama straight out admitted that his education and intelligence are good things.  George Bush came from a wealthy, traditionally elite background, yet does not act elite by its new definition.  Can anyone really say Bush was in touch with the average Joe sixpack in any respects other than those that are entirely superficial?  Look at the mess the country is in after eight years of his policies.  Obama is almost the exact opposite:  he came from very humble beginnings, yet is now considered to be among the elite by all known definitions.  Why wouldn't you want someone who has a proven record of intelligence ruling your country?  If one person enjoys Bud Light and another Pinot Grigio, does that necessarily mean they are entirely unable to relate to one another on any level?  These are the kinds of things Obama could point out.  Instead of trying to prove that he's not elite by appealing to his background, perhaps he would do better to point out the positive aspects of who he is now, and why the combination of his newly acquired elitism and working class beginnings could perhaps yield the perfect sort of leader.

It's probably too late for him to do so this at this point, less than a month before the big election.  Education, arugula, and proper pronunciation of words already have too bad of a wrap to be re-defined so quickly, even in the ever-malleable English language.  Yet I continue to be amazed by the superficiality of it all.

Unless

A couple weeks ago I finally got around to reading Unless by Carol Shields.  It had been on my list of things to read since it came out in 2002.  Alas because it was never required reading for any of my courses, and because over summer breaks (when not reading ahead for the coming year) I was usually in need of brain candy in the form of fun chicklit or fashion mags, it sat untouched on my bookshelf for half a decade.

I should point out that Carol Shields is one of my favourite authors. I fell in love the day I opened The Stone Diaries and found a family photo album in the midst of the novel.  It seemed so wonderfully bold to take pictures of real people and pass them off as fictional characters from the book.  Actors play fictional roles all the time in plays and films, but to take a photo of someone from many years ago and pass it off as a newborn character is another thing entirely.  Those pictures epitomize what is so appealing about Shields' writing.  Most of the characters in her books remind me of people I know:  they aren't trying to do anything sensational or groundbreaking, nor are they looking to turn their day-to-day lives into a fairy tale or grand aesthetic experience; they are simply living their lives and experiencing what they can while they can.  Yet the right words in the right order can turn an ordinary existence into an extraordinary work of art, and that is truly a beautiful phenomenon. 

Unless comes off as a deeply personal novel, and I get the impression Shields was in a lot of pain when writing it.  Its aura is so profoundly impactful I found myself constantly depressed while reading it (but in a good way!!!).  It is a novel about a woman writing about a woman writing about women who write (or something like that...Shields has fun with this sort of layering at various points in the novel).  The protagonist, Reta Winters, is a writer and mother whose comfortable life is turned upside down when her eldest daughter mysteriously leaves home to live in the streets of downtown Toronto.  Reta is left to contemplate the status of women in the 21st century as she tries to understand her now mute daughter's motivations.  In many ways we appear to have achieved equality, but what about cultural institutions like the literary canon that virtually ignore women?  Reta is a translator, as well as a writer of "light fiction" and those cheerful little greeting card-esq books you find in Hallmark.  Fittingly, she believes women and their accomplishments are often viewed as miniatures of men and what they have achieved.  She writes letters to those whom she sees as perpetrating this belief, none of which she sends, and all of which become increasingly imaginary (by the end, it is clear she is merely constructing the letters in her mind).  

I'm going to do the unthinkable and presume Shields shared at least some of the anger experienced by Reta in the novel.  Her fiction is known for its accessibility, and perhaps she thought of herself as being perceived as a "lesser writer of light fiction".  If so, this is a shame because to me (and to a lot of other people) she is one of the greats.  Reta Winters gives up on the fight to give women a voice she never begins in the first place.  Yet Shields, in writing Unless and her other novels, ostensively fights back with all her might.  She writes internationally celebrated novels that have unquestionable literary merit.  With all her play on the theme of women writing about women...etc..., it's hard to believe she was unaware of this when writing the novel.  Time will tell whether she was ultimately successful, and perhaps Unless is more than anything an expression of Shields' own doubts regarding the test of time (personal and/or for women in general).  There's no doubt women still have a long way to go, but I'm inclined to be optimistic:  if we've come this far over the past 50 years, imagine what we can do with another 50.  And give me Carol Shields over James Joyce any day.

Mmmm-hmmm...That IS Some Tasty Batter

Tonight I baked a ginger cake with hard sauce.  Several weeks ago I volunteered to make dessert for Thanksgiving dinner, so tonight's venture served as a trial run.  I figured if I didn't volunteer far enough in advance I'd never end up making anything, and was probably right.  I was close to chickening out a couple days ago, but decided to persevere and be productive for once in my life.  As usual, I think I ingested more calories while in the process of making the cake than when I actually had a piece after dinner.  I swear it's like a compulsion, in league with not being able to stop buying books and movies whenever I go shopping.  What can I say...things just taste better in batter form.  Nevertheless the cake still tasted good when it emerged from the oven.  All in all I think it was a successful trial run.

Speaking of compulsive purchases, I invested in two new movies last night (well, I'd seen them before, but never owned them):  About Schmidt and Forgetting Sarah Marshall.  I went to the mall to get my phone fixed (for the third time in three months...honestly, why don't they just give me a new phone???).  Upon arriving at the mall I realized I had forgotten the phone, but was too lazy to drive all the way back home to get it then all the way back to the mall.  So I went shopping instead. Steve and I  thoroughly enjoyed both films this evening.  Thank god for people like Jack and Judd Apatow. 

Quote of the evening:

"When life gives you lemons, fuck the lemons and bail."