Nom de Plume

Have I mentioned how much I love bookmooch? Maybe once or twice … Prose, in typical fashion, turns her sharp, skewering eye on college writing programs and the paranoid atmosphere of sexual harassment in the 90s. Swenson, a professor of creative writing at a second-rate New England college, is in a rut. His own writing languishes, while his students are remarkably (to put it charitably) uninspired. When the talent and neediness of one of his students erupts into this stagnation, he is caught up in a heady sense of purpose, love, and obsession. Prose’s greatest achievement, to my mind, is her description of the interior life of Swenson–fabulous–though to some degree I can’t help but think of this novel as an update to Lurie’s somewhat dated War of the Tates. (And can I say that the blurb, which states that “Blue Angel does for creative writing programs what Upton Sinclair’s The Jungle did for the meat-packing industry” is a little over the top?)

On a side note, both the student and Swenson’s wife make remarks regarding Jane Eyre’s extreme rage in the novel. Interesting, I thought, and promptly bookmooched Jane Eyre for a reread … perfect timing for the new BBC production, which I have not yet seen.

Actually, we didn’t do a thing. I had to run to the store in the afternoon, though, so I called Steve to see if he needed anything. What were we doing for dinner, he asked. I replied that I had thawed some fish. “But it’s Valentine’s Day!”

“Yeah, so?” I replied.

“And you’re my bitch!”

He’s so cute when he tries to be misogynistic.

Well, we all know by now that I despise the New York Times Reviling of Books, and tend to disagree with them about everything out of principle.

However.

It turns out that we agree on one thing: Harr’s The Lost Painting is fantastic. It’s a shameless page turner about the various people involved in finding a lost Caravaggio painting. I could barely STAND the tension.

Another kiddie lit novel, in which Tom Ward–who is the seventh son of a seventh son–starts his apprentice with the Spook, whose job is to rid the countryside of various supernatural beings. The story itself wasn’t that thrilling, but the illustrations–done by the same guy who does the covers for Gregory Maguire’s novels–were fantastic and truly creepy.

What better book to read while in Jordan than a lovely foodie memoir of a Jordanian-American? Diana Abu-Jaber chronicles her youth as the daughter of a displaced Jordanian man who loves to cook and an American mother–and I have to say, her prose sings. It’s gorgeously, gorgeously written (and much more enjoyable than either of her novels, as far as I’m concerned). But the most exciting thing was eating all the dishes she describes. Like knaffea:

…Aunt Rachel removes the knaffea from the oven and places it on its sumptuous tray; the shredded phyllo dough is crisp and browin, crackling with hot, rose-scented syrup. Nestled within, like a naughty secret, is the melting layer of sweet cheese. THe pastry is freshly hot, the only way to eat it, really with its miraculous study in contrasts–the running cheese hidden within crisp, crackling layers of baked phyllo …

Our driver took us to the “best bakery in Amman” for knaffea two days after I read this description. I can’t describe it any better than Abu-Jaber does, so I won’t even try–except to say that the cheese was slightly salty and that added contrast of sweet and salty was better than just about anything I’ve ever eaten in my life.

Well, the title says it all, doesn’t it?

Still, credit must go to nonanon, who is wresting some meaning out of this beknighted day. It’s all about love affairs … with the written word. Sure, books can’t buy you chocolate. But they don’t line the coffers of Hallmark either.

1. Got up this morning (Amman time) at 5.
2. Fog so bad at Queen Alia airport that plane is diverted to military airbase (the old airport). We are bussed there.
3. Missed only direct flight from Heathrow to Seattle.
4. Redirected from Heathrow to Vancouver, then Alaska Airlines from Vancouver to Seattle–adding nine hours to travel time.
5. The Vancouver airport is really confusing.
6. Alaska Airlines flight cancelled because flight attendent ruptured eardrum. For a while there, there was the possibility that no flight would go out tonight, in which case I would have rented a car. But they have another plane coming in; now we arrive at 11:20-two hours later than the original flight and 11 hours after the original booking.

I am trying to be positive. So:

1. BA has tons of movies and individual passenger screens.
2. Managed to sleep the entire London-Vancouver leg and switch out of a middle seat.
3. My luggage actually got transferred (one clears U.S. customs in Canada apparently)
4. Contrary to expectations after traveling to the Middle East, I was not questioned by Homeland Security regarding my trip. I was, however, asked on a date.
5. Alaska Airlines just sent someone around offering coffee, drinks, and snacks. Must caffeinate. Adios.

Yesterday, we rode–and the night before we stayed in a camp. This was the best place we stayed–despite being really cold at night. Lots of conversation, Bedouin tea, and interesting people, including Attalah Sweilhin who runs the horseback riding facilities, the sheik of Wadi Rum, Dr. Faizl, and a Danish archaeologist who was digging in the palace at Aqaba.

I ended up buying a disposable camera for Petra because my SIM card was too small, and if I get around to it, I’ll get those as digital images too. But for now, all you get are photos of Little Petra–which pales when compared to the big site. But since we saw this beforehand, it was still pretty impressive.

Amazing.