Was just informed that the previous incarnation of this blog has been named one of the Top 100 Liberal Arts Professor Blogs by Online University Reviews. I’m a leeeetle suspicious that this is an advertising site, particularly as no author info. is listed, and they don’t seem aware that I haven’t posted on the old blog since last November. But while no such list could be complete, there are some new (to me) blogs on it, and for that, and for including me, I thank them.

• Jeff Somers, The Electric Church: The Barbie Murders meets Ocean’s Eleven meets The Bronx Warriors. Not sure why Somers didn’t just go straight to the screenplay. The underclass, as envisioned here, is barely more than a bunch of ragged extras with bad teeth; this society would surely not last more than a few months. That being said, the novel is fun to read and I will probably pick up the next in the series. And there is a dystopic-chic website.
• Alastair Reynolds, Century Rain: Cool idea. Reynolds can’t do characters, though, and the cringe-making references to Casablanca vis-a-vis the love interest made my jaw drop. However, the two human cultures — pro- and anti- technological augmentation — while a tad schematic are still interesting, and the poignant post-Earth scenario is always compelling.
• Richard Morgan, Woken Furies: So, you think you know Alpha males? Perhaps a select taste, but I really enjoy Morgan’s books.
• Richard Morgan, Black Man: Or, Thirteen, in the U.S.A. A meditation on masculinity. Really.
• Marjane Satrapi, The Complete Persepolis: I’m probably the only person who hadn’t read Satrapi yet. Really enjoyed this. The interplay between the bildungsroman elements and the scope of the Iranian revolution and its aftermath is fascinating, and the faux-naif art is oddly subtle.
• Stephen Hunt, The Court of the Air: A dollop of Jonathan Strange and Mr. Worrell, a good-sized dash of China Mieville, and a nod to The Difference Engine. Enjoying it immensely.

Back from the travel/study programme in London. A good three weeks; saw a lot that was new for me. The place we were staying had a considerable collection of books, and I pored over the case marked “secular,” where I found a new (to me) writer, Stephen Booth; revisited Len Deighton, an old favourite; and finally made the acquaintance of Alexander McCall Smith. Add Patricia Cornwall as airport reading and a trip to Chapters last week and the binge continues:

• Stephen Booth, Dancing with the Virgins (2001), Blind to the Bones (2003), Dying to Sin (2006): original main characters; atmospheric; wider issues skillfully folded in (did you know that the Peak district, site of so many fictional murders, is in fact disappearing because of acid rain?); marred by the occasional forced metaphor but still highly readable. Farm kitchen-sink UK crime fiction. Recommended.
• P.D. James, The Murder Room (2004): haven’t read her for awhile, except for the anomalous Children of Men, but remembered her novels for their bleakness. Here, though, she is channeling Dorothy Sayers, which would have been all very well in the 30’s but palls considerably now. The characters are ridiculously coy about sex, and James even has Dalglieish mention Captain Wentworth when he proposes; James really doesn’t give her readers much credit. Pretty bleak, at that, though it did link in to the course.
• Alexander McCall Smith, 44 Scotland Street (2004): laugh-out loud funny but a little coy at times. Reminded me of Armistead Maupin’s Tales of the City in concept, and in its idea of community.
• Len Deighton, Yesterday’s Spy (1975): not as complex as the Sampson trilogies, but the expected good read. Great cover; crumpling yellow pages: the complete nostalgic experience.
• Patricia Cornwall, Book of the Dead (2007): I know, I know. But the weird triple doppelgängering of Kay Scarpetta/Dr. Self/Cornwall herself is interesting in that it implies a certain self-reflection, previously lacking.
• Martin Millar, Lonely Werewolf Girl (2007): This. Book. Is. So. Good. Funny funny funny. Great gory battles. Emo teenagers. High fashion. Werewolves playing bagpipes. Just read it.
• Vernor Vinge, Rainbow’s End (2006): just began it but how can you not like a novel about a person recovering from Alzheimers’ and dedicated “To the Net-based cognitive tools that are changing our lives — Wikipedia, Google, and the others of their kind, now and in the future”? And, it’s fully available online.

Do not visit the Foundling Museum when missing the Jinker Boy.

[Image: Red heart token left by a woman with her baby when she turned it over to the Foundling Hospital]

here is a man.

is now trying to scrap a successful, decades old early French immersion programme.

Le garçon de Jinker est très fâché.

[source]

Recently read John Banville’s Kepler. A beautiful novel, densely packed though short. It came out in 1999 and I can’t imagine it was too widely read, despite the laudatory reviews by various heavy hitters, because of its somewhat arcane subject. But passing it up because of a lack of familiarity with or interest in Kepler or early-modern astronomy would be a mistake; it is first and foremost about the impulse to knowledge. And if you had told me ahead of time that I would have felt so indulgent towards a person so oblivious to others, so self-absorbed, I would have snorted. But such was the case. And not because genius forgives all, because it doesn’t. Because this particular genius is amusing. I mean, what can you say about a surly scientist, aggravated beyond measure to have been deflected from his life’s work in order to deal with his mother’s having been accused (with some justification) of witchcraft? Another element I liked: Banville has no romantic illusions about how rough or difficult life was in 16thc Europe, but he demonstrates beauty, for all of that.

The word “beauty” has appeared twice in one short paragraph. Do you need to know more?

At the moment reading Isobel Grundy’s Lady Mary Wortley Montagu. Yes, it’s been on my shelf for some time but right now it’s Reading Week at UNBSJ and for the first time in I don’t know how long, we aren’t dashing down to New York. It’s a wonderful biography. Rich and well-researched as one would expect, of course, but I am most taken with Grundy’s authorial choices. She is fond of Montagu, certainly, but one senses because of her foibles rather than in spite of them, with the result that the reader (this reader) feels considerable trust. Also, she wears her learning lightly: it is there, and it is formidable, but her tone is so deft and at times even amused, that one is charmed as well as engaged. She even uses the first person — rare in biography, one would think — and without intruding herself, but rather, as a means to draw in the reader. I am enjoying it immensely (though I am at the part where the forty-something Montagu is chasing after a twenty-something young man and I just want to shake her. Lady Mary! He’s just a punk! You deserve better!)

I blame Alexander Pope.

if Migrainelupe will help me? She looks like she understands migraines, what with that aura there, and the downcast eyes obviously indicating light sensitivity. I usually worship ice packs and Tylenol 3, but perhaps I should branch out.
(Migraine Chick made her with ImageChef).

just some links for a presentation on blogging and teaching I’m doing tomorrow.

Blogs in teaching

•  my pile o’ blogs

Blogging about teaching 

informal

• example of post about teaching situation and variety of responses: supportive, practical
• example of post about teaching philosophy and responses, and other posts/conversations (memes) it inspired: 1, 2, 3, 4, &c

more organized

• teaching carnival
• The Education Wonks with the Carnival of Education

Resources

• academic blog wiki
• Crooked Timber
• Weblogs in Higher Education
• my blog on blogging
• blogging at UNB
• blogging 101