When did I first learn about Robertson Davies? Probably in 1991, when I bought The Lyre of Orpheus from the Co-op. The word "lyre" likely caught my eye, and when I read something on the back cover about the Fisher King (I think), I was hooked. It took me some time to realize that that was the third in a trilogy, and in the intervening dozen years the only Davies I have read I listened to, Murther and Walking Spirits. I remember only that I didn't adore it. Also I had this idea that Davies would intellectually intimidate me.
I loved The Rebel Angels, which stimulated but didn't intimidate me. I can't wait to get hold of What's Bred in the Bone.
is Trainspotting. I think I need to own this, not have it from the library, because it will take me a while to read the dialect fluently. It's harder than A Clockwork Orange, easier than The Canterbury Tales. I could read--if not pronounce--Chaucer fairly easily after a few weeks, and that's how I need to approach this.
It has a movie cover, and--did I just say this about Fight Club?--I finally realized a good reason for my elitist aversion to movie covers: how do you distinguish between the book with a movie cover and the novelization of a movie?
Other people kindly toted all the loot to Clove's car, and two took it upon themselves to put the leftovers away while I hostessed otherwise, and the house is nearly normal despite recently containing a baby shower, but I woke up loooong before sunrise (nerves, I expect) and scurried about all day, and now I am content in my chair with my buddy-goiter and finishing The Rebel Angels and reading the first 20 pages of Trainspotting with .03% of its sentences in regular English. I think I will take myself off to my freshly laundered bed with I, Juan de Pareja, about which I know nothing other than that it's a Newbery. And therefore a children's book, damn it.
The theme for the baby shower was Zero Percent Twee, though I confess to cooing in unison when Clove unfurled tiny little newborn outfits. One bib had giraffes on it: I can't resist that. In the spirit of the Theme, there were No Humiliating Games. Honestly, the suggestions I found online were horrifying as well as utterly craven and wanting in taste (one required guests to write out their own thank-you note envelopes). I admit being tempted by Guess the Mother's Circumference, but I suppressed that temptation like a guinea pig in court right quick. I liked CGK's sister's one-line summations of nursery rhymes from this summer, though, and that inspired me. I didn't produce this until late in the day, in honor of No Humiliating Games, but it turned out to be a hit.
Select the text for answers, if you didn't view source before.
Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day
the eponymous Babar
the eponymous Cat in the Hat
Chester the Cricket (most famous for The Cricket in Times Square, though this is from Tucker's Countryside)
the eponymous Corduroy, who is adopted by a little girl named Lisa
Make Way for Ducklings
the eponymous Ferdinand
the eponymous Frederick
Curious George
Goodnight Moon, though if you're under 50 and didn't get this I would prefer you not read my journal anymore, you cretin.
Harold and the Purple Crayon, which ditto.
Horton Hatches the Egg
Sam-I-Am from Green Eggs and Ham
Little Bear's Friend
Max from Where the Wild Things Are, the third absolutely vital picture book.
Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel, Mary Anne
Pat the Bunny
The Story About Ping
Mr. Popper's Penguins
Ramona the Pest
The Runaway Bunny
The Wind in the Willows RDC guessed "something by Mark Twain." I pointed to Ratty and Moley and said yeah, these were Huck and Jim. That's my next doctoral dissertation, the two pairs' river experiences.
I considered all of these dead easy, and omitted poor Frances (and Gloria and Albert) for being perhaps obscure. Jessie reprimanded me for that.