Deviate from Books

I checked in at the Booking Through Thursday blog, which is the host for a weekly book meme or blogging prompt. Here is this week’s prompt:

What’s your favorite hobby OTHER THAN reading?

Work. Does browsing the bookstores count? (Chortle) I make a stop at the neighborhood bookstore on the way home. Buying books is like making a grocery run—it’s life-sustaining. Anyway, when I’m not reading, I like to work out, to hike, and to make day trips. The Bay Area is home to many beautiful trails that are within an hour drive from the city. The world renowned Napa wine country is just an hour north of the city. You can read my post on Château Montelena yesterday—the winery that put Napa to the forefront of wine making in the world after a panel of French judges picked their chardonnay over the French in the celebrated 1976 Paris Tasting. Closer home I like to take my dog to one of the gems of city parks and open spaces that are unknown to tourists. On the weekend, I also like plane spotting at the water park near the airport. I’m an outdoor guy so you’ll find me sitting outside with a book.

Treasure Mine or Rubbish Pile

“As much as a man may who has no money to spend. Now and then I pick up something in the rubbish heap; and I go and look on at the big sales.” The House of Mirth, Edith Wharton

The Community Thrift in the city is a treasure mine for those who are up for a bargain. They’ve got lots of books for under $2. From time to time I pick up something in fairly good condition from there. Books are grouped under categories and genres, in alphabetical order of author’s last name. They have new arrivals every week, thanks to the hoarders living in small quarters in a small city.

O Library!

Working in an academic institution makes me forget how depressing a visit to the public library is. Public library is a place for the community to learn, to research, and to read. I have been a firm supporter of our public library–in terms of donation and patronage, and will continue to show my support. But I can’t help feeling sad about how the nature of library use has deviated from its intended cause. The Main Library has become not so much a library as it is a haven for the homeless, the crazy, and obnoxious kids. Plan on using the computers, especially the public internet stations? Bring some Lysol, Purell, and a face mask. You’re going to be sitting next to crazy people who haven’t seen a bar of soap, shampoo, or, likely, toilet paper in quite some time. If the stink doesn’t get you, then the ranting will. Now that summer has arrived and that school is out for break, joining in the competition for these computers are kids. I don’t really care for the computers since internet has never been my purpose for a library visit. But it’s their noise that unnerves me. I guess the parents are not teaching them about self-entitlement–the need to purge it. Isn’t it ironic that you’re learning–in a library–that so many of today’s youths have absolutely no future?

The best part is about complaint. If you talk to someone at the information/reference/help desk, they would just shrug apologetically and smile. They’ve heard it all before and will have no solutions whatsoever. What can they do, really? I actually feel sorry that their professionalism is inevitably reduced to handling with guests whose interests are far cry from what library is created to function. The whole floor is filled with people from the streets who hang out there all day, with their luggage in tow and phones charging at the study tables. If anyone has to brace against the filthiness, the smell, and the madness, it’s the poor staff. Now I map out my visit and get out as soon as I’m through. No lingering around to read and to work on the laptop–I’ll go find a cafe.

Now the bright spot of my library visit is the weekly step sale in which every book is $1. There are great treasures to be had here if you’re patient to work your way through the tables because it can be blustery. I scored five books in excellent condition.

4

Looking for Mrs. Madrigal

I have only started to read the Tales of the City series, which famously describes a skein of characters, native and transplanted, to which Armistead Maupin thoroughly lays claim as an author. The dynamics of his tales and his uniquely etched characters truly up live to an Oscar Wilde’s saying that Maupin himself quotes at the beginning of the book: “It’s an odd thing, but anyone who disappears is said to be seen in San Francisco. It must be a delightful city and possess all the attractions of the next world.” What amazes me even more is that the main setting of the series is actually in my own neighborhood. Macondray Lane is a small pedestrian lane on the south-eastern side of Russian Hill in San Francisco. A wooded enclave in the heart of the city, and very inconspicuous, it was recast by Armistead Maupin as Barbary Lane. I just had the pleasure to visit this wonderful literary landmark (not known to tourists).

The entrance of Macondray Lane is on taylor Street between Green and Union, up the scaffold of wooden stairs.

At the top of the wooden steps I was able to grace the cobble stone and the lane opened up to have historic buildings on both sides. This is a mythical place, one of those places that make San Francisco the most wonderful place to live. As to Mrs. Madrigal’s house, I cannot really find it since there is no Number 28.

What a beautiful, romantic, out-of-the-way place! While I wouldn’t suggest going too far out of the way for this place, but if you like Tales of the City, you would love what Macondray Lane has to offer. I enjoy the tiny pool and the bench where I can sit and read, and enjoy the quietness.

Warm Furlough Day

Where would I be on a warm furlough day? Bookstore. Just get lost in it, browsing with insouciance, pulling random books whose spines speak to me. After a full morning of reading For Whom the Bell Tolls, I agree Hemingway’s style is strong and detailed, but with so little happening over so many pages, I found myself becoming impatient with the story. Perhaps just a sign of the times and my own personal taste, I put the book down after reading only half of it today. Off I went to Dog Eared Books to see what might catch my attention. On an unseasonably warm day, foot traffic is sparse, let alone the money-spending crowd.

Dog Eared is one of my favorites in town. It’s right in the middle of Mission/Valencia, where good food and delicious coffee are to be had. It’s the perfect place to be stranded in. I was looking a copy of Somerset Maugham’s The Writer’s Notebook, but to no avail. On the tables nearest to the cashier are heavily discounted new books, including selected NYRB titles. Last time I got Evelyn Waugh and John Williams books at heavy discount. Today upon careful probing I have discovered two new authors whom I have never heard of: The House Behind the Cedars by Charles W. Chesnutt and A Meaningful Life by L.J. Davis. The former concerns a black family that decides to cross the color line in order to claim their share of the American dream around the turn of 20th century. The latter reads like a comedy of a city dweller’s effort to will himself a meaningful life by purchasing and renovating a collapsing ruin. Two promising books that will accompany me to Asia.

Author in the House

Crouching tiger, hidden dragon among us. Neither does she bare her teeth like a tiger nor is she bestowed with power a dragon in Chinese mythology. She is Ruthanne Lum McCunn, author of God of Luck, a novel about coolie trade in Peru, which was gifted to me by the author herself. Speaking fluent Cantonese with perfect tones (each Cantonese sound has 9 tones that in many cases distinguish the meanings of characters), Ruthanne puts many of us in shame, as we Chinese manage only with some sort of pidgin English with smatterings of Chinese words. For a long time she’s known as the American lady who speaks perfect Chinese and with whom we exchange stories of growing up in Hong Kong. Often a lighthearted question would lead to a very facetious reply. She’s totally amiable and kind. In fragments of conversations over months Ruthanne let on more biographical information than I can imagine.

Ruthanne Lum McCunn is an Eurasian of Chinese and Scottish descent. Born in 1946 in San Francisco’s Chinatown, she grew up in Hong Kong, where she was educated first in Chinese and then British schools. In 1962 she returned to the U.S. to attend college. Her grandmother was Chinese, thus the linguistic and cultural root planted in her. I cherished talking with her, and listening to her reflections on Hong Kong before my time. If you just listen to her talk alone, you would never realize she’s Eurasian. She talks like locals, using colloquial expressions and slang. It’s just wonderful to discover a published author among the coffee shop clientele—who speaks your native language! Is there a better way to start the new year with an autographed book from the author herself?

Valencia – Dog Eared Books

Like yesterday, I took a break from reading The Sound and the Fury and had a walk. I finished Part III of the book (one more to go), which is the easiest installment because the narrative is actually linear. I could have continued the novel but decided to let what I have read thus far gravitate. Off I went to Valencia/Mission where a friend operates a collective boutique on 18th, The Mission Statement. On the way to her shop I stopped by a bookstore I should have shopped more often, Dog Eared Books.

What I like the most about this independent/neighborhood bookstore is their dedicated NYRB classics section. Dog Eared carries both used and new books, and has a very good children’s books selection. Today some of the new NYRB classic titles are marked down to $7.98, and almost all of the new Evelyn Waugh books are $4.98 each.

After much deliberation, the haul contained a variety of titles that are both intent purchases and impulse buys: The Plague Dogs by Richard Adams (I was looking for Watership Down), Love, Etc by Julian Barnes (have never read him but since he recently won the Booker Prize, okay), The Crying of Lot 49 by Thomas Pynchon (guilty for not having read this), Scoop by Evelyn Waugh (brand new for third of original price), and Angle of Repose by Wallace Stegner (a brand new copy but priced as a an used book). The biggest satisfaction (other than the books) is that I support local and indie businesses.

The Master and Margarita: Translations

Taking a break from the dense The Sound and the Fury, I took a walk around the neighborhood. The window of the picture frame shop has this poster of Behemoth the Cat matted in a frame. The print is exactly the same as my t-shirt. It was a prop but the owner let me have it for $20. Now I just have to find the original Signet edition of The Master and Margarita with this cover.

Although I did not find exactly what I wished for, but luck is definitely on my side today. A short walk from the frame shop is Aardvark Books, where the residence orange tabby, Owen, who once out of either boredom or insecurity assaulted me. Today he was oblivious of the activities in the store, for he slept right at the window, soaking up the winter sun. Despite his skittishness, Owen is a cutie. I have to give him credit that some people go into Aardvark because of him.

Among the few copies of The Master and Margarita—Mirra Ginsburg (1967), Burgin & O’Connor (1995), and Pevear & Volokhonsky (1997), I found a copy of Hugh Aplin (2008). This new translation, published by Oneworld Classics, is based on the recently restored, unexpurgated edition, which benefits from over three decades of Bulgakov scholarship. My next reading of the novel would be Aplin translation. The new copy is available online for £8.99 but I bought it at ta bargain of $9. So the search for the Signet edition, translated by Michael Glenny, goes on; but up to this point, I still think Burgin & O’Connor is better, and more carefully done. The standard by which I compare different translations is a passage, a rather awkward one, the demons Azazello, Hella, and Behemoth the Cat, have just escorted the eponymous couple downstairs and are loading them into a car chauffeured by a magical rook (a crow?).

Having returned Woland’s gift to Margarita, Azazello said goodbye to her and asked if she was comfortably seated, Hella exchanged smacking kisses with Margarita, the cat kissed her hand, everyone waved to the master, who collapsed lifelessly and motionlessly in the corner of the seat, waved to the rook, and at once melted into air, considering it unnecessary to take the trouble of climbing the stairs. (Pevear & Volokhonsky translation)

This particular passage made a huge impression in me during the first read because I had to read this paragraph four or five times before I figured out that it was not the master who “waved to the rook, and at once melted into air,”, but rather “everyone” in their company: Azazello, Hella, and Behemoth. From the context and logic, it’s the demons, and not the master, who have demonstrated magical powers. The translators shall have no excuse to confuse the readers, when the muddle can be avoided through taking a little more care with pronouns. Burgin & O’Connor resolve the pronoun issue but the paragraph still feels cluttered:

After returning Woland’s gift to Margarita, Azazello said good-bye to her, asked if she was comfortably seated, Hella enthusiastically smothered Margarita with kisses, the cat kissed her hand, the group waved to the Master, who, lifeless and inert, had sunk into the corner of his seat, then they waved to the rook and immediately melted into thin air, not considering it worth the trouble to climb back up the stairs. (Burgin & O’Connor translation)

As you can see, both Pevear & Volokhonsky and Burgin & O’Connor contrive to express a complicated series of actions in one sprawling but faithful sentence. While translator should try not to break down Bulgakov’s long sentences to preserve his original style, it’s more important not to sacrifice clarity. Now Alpin offers:

Having returned Woland’s present to Margarita, Azazello said goodbye to her, enquiring if she was comfortably seated; Hella gave her a smacking kiss and the cat pressed itself affectionately to her hand. With a wave to the master as he lowered himself awkwardly into his seat and a wave to the crow, the party vanished into thin air, without bothering to return indoors and walk up the staircase. The crow switched on the headlights and drove out of the courtyard past the man asleep at the entrance.

Alpin also resolves the pronoun issue, but the sentence is still somewhat cluttered. I do have expectation for this new translation, especially it’s coming out of the U. For new readers my advice is to shy away from Pevear & Volokhonsky and read Burgin & O’Connor.

City Lights

Wooden rocking chair at City Lights Bookstore in San Francisco. This chair, in the poetry room upstairs, is where I usually sit and read when I pay a visit. Students from a spring 2011 anthropology course at Berkeley digitally documented the cultural heritage of City Lights Bookstore to show the cultural and spatial relations between City Lights and Vesuvio Café. Click here to see the entire set of pictures.

Library Sale

The last day of the Friends of San Francisco Public Library book sale had a surprise for book lovers—Everything is $1 each. I wasn’t going ballistic, just keeping an eye on target authors, ones you recommend and ones with whom I fall in love.

Raise the Red Lantern Su Tong
The Painter of Shanghai Jennifer Cody Epstein
Latecomers Anita Brookner
A Shooting Star Wallace Stegner
Two Lives William Trevor
Force of Gravity R.S. Jones
Echo House Ward Just
Death in Summer William Trevor
A Mercy Toni Morrison

Books with the most copies seen: Da Vinci Code (several boxes), The Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood, Plainsong, Tales of the City, and Bridget Jones’s Diary. Also abundant in supply but all of which are in poor condition is The Fountainhead, a book I actually want to read. I saw a couple copies of Crossing to Safety, but had no luck with The Spectator Bird. For a quick two-hour scour, I thought I did well with finding books popping up in my radar.