Big Ben and pretty debris
A couple of weeks ago, a storm erupted in the blogosphere over the cover of Justine Larbalestier's upcoming book, Liar. Justine posted about it here, and her post includes links to other posts if you're interested in following the conversation further.

From Justine Larbalestier's post: "Micah [the main character] is black with nappy hair which she wears natural and short. As you can see that description does not match the US cover." She also included a photograph of the US basketball player whom she pictured Micah as resembling (Alana Beard, if you want to google her).

The US cover features a white girl, despite objections from the author.

There's a lot more information in Justine's post, but the basic problem is this: publishers believe that putting a picture of a black person on the cover of a book will put off potential buyers.

I'm just one person. But I'm a passionate reader and have been all my life. I blog, I post on facebook and twitter about what I'm reading, I'm a member of a book club, I talk to friends (many of whom are also passionate readers) about books all the time.

As a white, middle-class, heterosexual British woman, I am interested in stories that reflect other experiences. I want to know how it feels to be black or Asian, or First Nations, or Australian Aboriginal. I want to know what it's like to live in Japan, or Vietnam, or the Congo. I want to know how a gay man or woman experiences the world through which I slip so easily with all my privilege.

It's easy to write about me, and it's boring to read about me.

So that's why I seek out books that do not reflect my own experience. Another reason, one that I think is far more important, is that everyone needs someone to identify with. Here is an essay by Pam Noles on the lack of minorities in science fiction and fantasy and how this affects people of colour.

Justine Larbalestier has a passionate post entitled Why My Protags Aren't White. The entire post is well worth reading, but I'm going to quote just a small part of it:

Because a young Hispanic girl I met at a signing thanked me for writing an Hispanic character. Because when I did an appearance in Queens the entirely black and Hispanic teenage audience responded so warmly to my book with two non-white main characters. Because teens, both here and in Australia, have written thanking me for writing characters they could relate to. “Most books are so white,” one girl wrote me.

Dorothy Koomson is a bestselling author whose covers feature black people - that doesn't appear to have put off readers.

A quick glance through my most recent fiction reads brings up the following:

Crystal Rain by Tobias Buckell, in which Carribbean culture is transplanted to a sci-fi setting.
Jazz and Beloved by Toni Morrison, about whom I hope little needs to be said.
Pictures of Perfection by Reginald Hill, in which the main character is a gay policeman.
Holding the Man by Timothy Conigrave, a memoir by a man who was caught up in the first wave of HIV cases in Australia.
Disobedience by Naomi Alderman, about a lesbian Jewish woman coming to terms with her past.
The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian by Sherman Alexie, a painful but beautiful book chronicling the struggles of a Spokane Indian teenager.
The Whole Day Through by Patrick Gale. The main story centres around a heterosexual couple who have a second chance, but the novel's true success story is a gay man with Down's Syndrome, pretty much the only character who emerges happy and well-adjusted.
Song for the Night by Chris Abani, about a child soldier in an unnamed African army.

(It would be interesting to see how many of those books featuring people of colour actually reflect that on the covers.)

I...don't quite know how to wrap this up. I just feel it's important to get the message out to publishers that readers are interested in books about minorities.

Oh, yeah, I know. To publishers and marketers: STOP WHITEWASHING BOOK COVERS. STOP UNDERESTIMATING YOUR READERS. STOP BEING RACIST.

There.
BSG Starbuck and Roslin
I'm not sure how, by roasting peppers, blending them with passata, and adding to sautéd shallots, chilli, garlic, slivered almonds and chickpeas, you end up with something that tastes suspiciously liked Heinz baked beans, but that seems to be what I've achieved.

It's very nice, anyway.

I've finally caught James's flu, which means I'm having a lazy, nerdy week. I have a ticket to see Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince at the imax cinema tomorrow evening, and I'm also working my way through Battlestar Galactica. I've almost finished series 3, and will then probably power on into series 4, because damn, this is brilliant tv, and I'm desperate to talk about it, but terrified of being spoiled at the moment.

I've been thinking about why I'm enjoying it so much, because I really don't watch much television at all. It bores me mostly, and feels like a waste of time. The reasons I've come up with so far as to why I'm loving BSG are:

A large cast of multi-dimensional characters - the good characters aren't perfect, and the bad characters aren't evil. Some of the "good" characters turn out to be pretty damn bad, and vice versa. There are a lot of characters to empathise with.

Strong female characters who play pivotal parts in the plot and don't exist merely as love interests or mothers. My two favourite characters (see icon) are awesome.

Mostly excellent pacing - some storylines carry through several episodes, while individual episodes wrap up with either a strong emotional ending or a cliffhanger.

Consistent characterisation.

Questionable moral issues and a lot of messing with people's minds.

Oh, and a dystopian setting in which the future for humankind looks very bleak. :)


Anything else? And does anything else on television fulfil many of these criteria? I'd love to hear a few suggestions, because if so, I've been missing out!
Sparkly flowers
In the world of writing, as in many other aspects of life, the internet has shortened the gap between producers and consumers. Writers have blogs; so do reviewers, and some people who do completely different things in their working lives keep blogs entirely for the purpose of reviewing books. Facebook and, more recently, Twitter, allow writers to keep their fans up-to-date on everything from what they ate for dinner to the book they're working on.

Sometimes this works brilliantly; young adult author Justine Larbalestier's blog is a constant fount of witty entertainment, and I suspect it conveys a pretty accurate picture of her offline personality, which is great for fans. It also translates into business: I suspect I'm not the only one who's bought her books after becoming hooked on her blog (they're worth reading, by the way).

At other times, I'm tempted to think that authors should be kept well away from the internet, as well as from sharp implements. For example, there's the small matter of public responses to bad reviews.

Look. We all know that writing is a scary business; many authors put their lives and themselves into every book, and so it must be easy to take criticism intensely personally. However, the way to deal with it is not to post an angry rebuttal to negative reviews on Amazon, post a vitriolic screed as a blog comment and tell the reviewer you will hate him til the day you die, or posting the reviewer's phone number and email address to Twitter.

...

I've long suspected that Anne Rice was a bit batshit; now it seems that Alain de Botton and Alice Hoffman need their internet credentials revoked as well. (From a personal point of view, I am experiencing some schadenfreude over Alain de Bottom, whose On Love I recently suffered through for a book club, but am disappointed in Alice Hoffman, whose writing I adore.)

Anyway. If a review pisses you off, put a bullet through the reviewer's book if you have to, or write long, furious screeds about how they've ruined your career...but do those things privately. If they become public, people will mock you; it's as simple as that.
Vegan
I've been having FUN eating out recently, so here's a run-down of what I've been up to.

First of all, I met up with some other local vegans and vegetarians at a pub in the city: Yulli's (which doesn't seem to have a website, but there are a couple of reviews here and here) was a cool, cosy place offering an all-vegetarian menu and several vegan options. I went for the vegan version of the massaman pie, which was delicious and sparked a discussion of other sources of vegan pies. The pie was definitely the most popular dish of the night, with half of us going for either the veggie or vegan version. I was also tempted by the tofu with papaya salad, but couldn't resist the pie in the end.

It was a lovely night, and so relaxing to be among people with similar mindsets. I'm looking forward to the next meetup.

On Saturday, I scooted across to Newtown for a vegan breakfast at Naked Espresso, a vegan brekkie place that shares premises with Basil Pizza. Newtown is on the other side of the city from Manly, so by the time I got there it was after midday and I was worried that they'd stop serving. After I sprinted along King St, I think the owner was a bit disturbed by my incoherent gasps of "food - are you still doing food?" But he kindly sat me down at a table and let me catch my breath.

I'd obviously just missed a rush, so I had plenty of time to look around while waiting for my food. I noticed two things: 1) the place was obviously doing very well, and tables were never empty for long; and 2) most of the patrons looked disgustingly healthy. After checking myself in the mirror, I decided that I looked pretty healthy, too. Must be all those green vegetables!

As well as sprinting across Newtown, I'd also been for a run that morning, so decided I could justify the big breakfast. It was fantastic! One of my major complaints about Australian veggie food is the lack of decent fake meats; I don't eat that sort of thing very often, but when I do I have high expectations, and the stuff that's generally available in Australia is pretty disgusting. The big breakfast came with two soy sausages (there's a photo of them in this blog post - yeah, I know the sausage looks pretty disgusting, but so are meat sausages when you think about what's in them), and they were delicious. Yay! I would've asked the staff where they got them, but I was still a bit flustered and in a hurry, so I'll have to find out next time. There will most definitely be a next time.

Next on the agenda was the Sydney Worldwide Vegan Bake Sale, which had entirely sold out by the time I got there. :( That was great news for the organisers and the charity that it was in aid of, though, so I can't be too sorry. I shall just hope they do it again soon. One of the organisers has a write-up here, with lots of fantastic pictures of all the goodies.

Finally, I met up with some friends at The Bentley on Saturday night. I'd already emailed them and been promised some vegan food, but I've been promised that by other restaurants and have ended up with a plateful of shredded vegetables and nothing else, so my expectations weren't high. Nevertheless, the food I got at Bentley was amazing. As a group, we went for tapas, so I picked my own dishes while my friends shared various others. I got the artichokes off the regular tapas menu (delicious - I love artichokes anyway, but these were something special), a polenta tapas, and black sesame and pea fondant with snow peas, both of which were adapted from the main menu. The black sesame was one of the highlights of the night - even the omnivores admired it, and it tasted even better than it looked. I also ordered some braised red cabbage, and even that was delicious.

I was also offered a vegan dessert, but decided I didn't have room, so I made do with a glass of dessert wine.

The Bentley isn't cheap, but we were very well looked after, the staff were friendly and informative, and I particularly appreciated their unobtrusive but helpful attention to my dietary requests. I'll definitely be going there again when I have something to celebrate.
Book and sea
There seems to be growing confusion about the proper use of the verbs "to lie" (to recline) and "to lay" (to place or put down). I see it on the internet all the time, and among other things it seems to be endemic to the fitness profession in real life. Here's my attempt to straighten things out.

Essentially, lie is a "doing" verb, while lay is a passive one. A person lies down, but a thing must be laid down BY someone. (In grammatical terms, "to lie" is an intransitive verb while "to lay" is a transitive verb that requires a direct object to complete it.)

Conjugating 'to lie' )

Conjugating 'to lay' )

Examples:

INCORRECT: Lay down on your mat.*
CORRECT: Lie down on your mat.

INCORRECT: They lie the yoga mats on the ground.
CORRECT: They lay the yoga mats on the ground.

INCORRECT: The cats were laying on the bed.
CORRECT: The cats were lying on the bed.

CORRECT USE OF "TO LIE": I lie on my bed, remembering yesterday, when I lay by the beach in the sunshine. I have lain there many times, listening to the waves.

CORRECT USE OF "TO LAY": I lay down the teacup carefully. Yesterday I laid it down carelessly and spilt the tea. I have laid down many cups in my time, and have a tendency to be careless with them.


*Yoga instructors, I'm looking at you.

I'm not an expert, but I do work with languages. I hope this post clarifies things a little, rather than confusing them! Also, I think it's the rule that anyone posting about grammar or spelling errors has to make an embarrassing error somewhere in the post, so if you notice anything, please feel free to point it out.
Book stack
Wuthering Heights is not a love story.

Heathcliff is not a romantic hero. He is a self-involved lunatic.

Wuthering Heights is about what happens when two utterly selfish people fall in love (or more accurately, become obsessed with one another). Most of the story is about the fallout from that (which affects EVERYONE AROUND THEM because they're so bloody selfish).

This rant was brought to you by Literary Cads and Bounders on the ABC.

Clearly I need a ranty icon.
Book stack
With Marilynne Robinson winning the Orange Prize to the gushing of the judges, perhaps this is a good time for me to admit that I HATED Gilead. Hate hate hated it.

A bit of background: Gilead, Robinson's previous novel, won the Pulitzer Prize and received pretty much universal praise and adulation from critics. It's about a clergyman who believes he is dying as he looks back on his life. I was predisposed to like it.

Sadly, I was bored stiff after about thirty pages. Thankfully it was a short book. I wouldn't have struggled through it, except that about halfway through, I gave up on any idea of reading it properly and speed-read for the only aspect of the story that interested me. I have no idea whether it was well-written or well characterised, or anything else for which it has received so much praise, because I was too busy going, "Why? Why, why, why would anyone think this is interesting?" (I repeated this mostly to myself, but occasionally to my long-suffering boyfriend.)

Anyway. Interestingly, her new book Home picks up the only plot strand in which I was interested in Gilead. And since it won the Orange Prize so overwhelmingly, I suppose I'll have to pick it up to see (much like I did with Gilead) what all the fuss is about.

No doubt I'll be either ranting or raving about Home here soon, so watch this space.
Old coat new book
I had a gorgeous weekend away from my life last weekend; it involved lots of walking (in the pouring rain), watching tennis, exploring gift shops and lots and lots of reading. Here are the results:

Jazz - Toni Morrison: ****

I was never going to love this as much as Beloved, but it bears many Morrison hallmarks: prose that often reads more like poetry, multiple points of view, and a narrative that starts with a situation and then explores its history. I also found the setting (1920s Harlem) fascinating - who doesn't enjoy reading about a place they know nothing about, particularly if it's in Morrison's evocative prose?


The Whole Day Through - Patrick Gale: ***

I love the way Patrick Gale writes, but I felt rather ranty at the end of this book. Two characters who have allowed life to defeat them somewhat are reunited unexpectedly when they both move to Winchester to care for relatives. As usual with Gale, The Whole Day Through is not a linear story; instead, layers are exposed and re-examined one by one, and I found this process absorbing.

Gay characters are a common feature of Gale's novels; in this case the gay man was my favourite character, Ben's brother Bobby, who has Mosaic Down's Syndrome. It was great to see him portrayed as such a well-rounded character who is not defined by his medical condition, despite it being a big part of him.

Because this is Gale, nothing about the characters' relationships is straightforward, including the ending. I can't discuss that without spoilers, so please proceed at your own risk - don't click this cut tag if you don't want to know the ending. )

Ahem. Anyway. Beautiful writing; frustrating characters.
Book and sea
***** (out of *****)

Bad Science is Ben Goldacre's passionate, poignant and entertaining look at science reporting in the media and how people at large are suffering from this. He also has an (occasionally very sharp) axe to grind with the people and industries that have benefited from the same phenomenon, but that is not the focus of the book. The chapter on Patrick Holford descends into a rant, but hey, it's a hugely enjoyable, articulate rant, so who cares? There's also a moving chapter on a nutritionist named Matthias Rath who peddles vitamins to HIV sufferers in South Africa and encourages them to give up their antiretroviral drugs (ugh).

Apart from the few cases mentioned above, Goldacre's problem is not with individuals, but with the media's role in science today. He tries very hard to show the reader how to look for signs of problems in research and reports, as well as exposing "big pharma"'s role in medical research. The result is a book that is accessible to people like me, and I enjoyed it a lot.

Goldacre's blog (largely a mirror of his Guardian articles) is here.
Blue Flowers
I went to this the other day, and it was the best night's entertainment I've experienced in a while. All the performers were brilliant, and it was so great to see these intelligent, passionate people engaging with their audience. They got a richly deserved standing ovation at the end.

Links, videos and lyrics under the cut )
Book stack
** (out of a possible *****)

I'm amused that the first "official" review on here is going to be such a negative one, because I'm usually quite a soft reviewer. I'm easily pleased: I can overlook a few flaws if a book has moved me enough.

Unfortunately, Restless failed to move me in the slightest, unless you count the number of times I rolled my eyes when I bumped up against yet another cliché or problem.

I should probably say that I enjoyed the book despite its flaws. It's an easy read, and a vaguely interesting one at times. I was keen to read the wartime setting, since that's an old favourite of mine, and the first chapter, in which twentysomething Ruth introduces us to her son and her widowed mother, was pretty engaging.

The book moves between 1976 (Ruth's storyline) and World War II (her mother's story). Ruth's chapters are told in the first person and Eva's/Sally's in the more distant third person POV; this may or may not be relevant later on.

It was when we moved onto Eva's story that the eyerolling commenced. The very first words of her story are "Eva Delectorskaya". Eva Delectorskaya? Delectorskaya? Come on, Mr Boyd. You just wanted to make everyone think of "delectable" when they saw her name, didn't you?

Cut for discussion of plot points with mild spoilers )

Mainly, I found the characters and plot implausible, and it's always annoying when you spot the baddie in chapter three and spend the rest of the narrative yelling at the characters for being so dim.