Eleanor Rigby by Douglas CouplandCopyright 2004
Bloomsbury/Fiction
249 pages
Back by popular demand (not really, but a couple of people really liked it so I'm going back to the prior version of this post, white-coated tranquilizer-carrying mental health experts be damned): the original version of my Eleanor Rigby review -- it's long and rambling and scary. Sorry, it just is. Huge apologies about the triple repeat - I didn't mean to save the post to draft form, the second and third time. Some days . . . Anyway, here you go:
Every now and then, I get totally sick of myself and the typical blog format, so I have to change things a bit. Therefore, I'm going for the self-interview routine, today. You can always rely on Bookfool to add a little "bizarre" to your day.
Me: First of all, I must know why you chose to read Eleanor Rigby. It's relevant.
Me: First of all, I must know why you chose to read Eleanor Rigby. It's relevant.
Myself: Great question. Relevant to what?
Me: I was kidding, actually. I'm not sure anything you do is really relevant. But, for some reason "relevance" reminds me of acid rain and the freedom of children to play till dusk without checking in with the parentals, since the seventies and how things have changed since then seemed to be an underlying theme in this book.
You might ask, what was a twelve-year-old girl doing alone in a semi-remote place near a big city? Simple answer: it was the seventies. Past a certain age, children just did their thing, with little concern shown by their parents for what, where, when or with whom. Chase and Hunter probably have chips embedded in their tailbones linked up to a Microsoft death-satellite that informs William and Nancy where they are at all times. But back then?
"Mom, is it okay if I hitchhike to the biker bar?"
"Sure, dear."
I loved those seventies remarks. Very witty. You asked me why I read Eleanor Rigby and I'm going to tell you, right now, before my Mountain Dew loses its fizz. I really enjoyed Douglas Coupland's Girlfriend in a Coma in 2006 (this link leads to my review) and immediately added everything Coupland's ever written to my wish list. After nearly two years, I still hadn't managed to acquire a copy of Eleanor Rigby the cheap way (Paperback Swap), so I sucked it up and bought one. Actually, I was in Oklahoma and saw a copy on a table. Ding-ding went the little bells. Canadian!! Creak went the gears. Book you've wanted for two years!!! I knocked over three old ladies in my hurry to check out. Kidding. But, I was excited.
Me: Wow, you sure can prattle on.
Myself: Sorry, it's a chemical problem, as in: "Chatty runs in your blood." Here's another great quote:
I felt like a prisoner of conscience. My pillow was the size of a Chiclet, the mattress as thick as a saltine cracker. I curled myself into a ball and cried quietly, doing that thing that only young people can do, namely, feeling sorry for myself. Once you're past thirty, you lose that ability; instead of feeling sorry for yourself, you turn bitter.
Me: What's the deal with the floating mattress?
Myself: I'm not sure why the mattress on the cover is floating (unless it has to do with the farmers -- just read the book), but that particular item is significant. Wait, would you ask me what the book is about, first?
Me: Sure. What's the book about?
Myself: Loneliness, of course. You know the Beatles song, "Eleanor Rigby", right?
Me: Right. "All the lonely people." Death, misery, people going to hell.
Myself: It's not quite that dreary, though. The story is about a woman named Liz Dunn. Liz is overweight, plain, and leads a dull life working a dull job and then going home to her lonely, sterile condo. She's friendless and loveless, although her family (brother, sister, parent) adds some color to the story. Then, one day she gets a call from the hospital. A young man is unconscious in the ER and her name and number are on his emergency bracelet. Since Liz has no friends, she thinks a mistake has been made. But, then she realizes who that young man is . . . and her life changes.
Myself: It's not quite that dreary, though. The story is about a woman named Liz Dunn. Liz is overweight, plain, and leads a dull life working a dull job and then going home to her lonely, sterile condo. She's friendless and loveless, although her family (brother, sister, parent) adds some color to the story. Then, one day she gets a call from the hospital. A young man is unconscious in the ER and her name and number are on his emergency bracelet. Since Liz has no friends, she thinks a mistake has been made. But, then she realizes who that young man is . . . and her life changes.
Me: Are you being deliberately vague?
Myself: A little. Wouldn't want to give anything away. Let's just say the young fellow lights up her life for a time. He changes everything; she's no longer lonely. He eventually ends up selling mattresses, hence the cover image. But, then Liz becomes lonely, again. However, all roads lead to Rome . . . or, at least Vienna. She ends up in Vienna, toward the end of the book, and there's an exciting bizarre scene involving a deadly meteorite and airport security and there is a connection to Rome, actually. Then, believe it or not, the trip overseas leads to an almost happily-ever-after ending. It's all rather convoluted but in a good way.
Me: Would you call the book "quirky" or "off-beat"?
Myself: I would, if it didn't sound like I removed those two words from a can.
Me: Would you call the book "quirky" or "off-beat"?
Myself: I would, if it didn't sound like I removed those two words from a can.
Me: If you could meet Douglas Coupland, what would you want to do? Hear him read from one of his books? Go hiking or canoeing or drink coffee together? Pummel him with questions? Think Canadian.
Myself: I'm not into readings, although I really, really enjoyed hearing Douglas Adams read from The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. So, let me think . . . I'd want to meet him on his home turf, naturally, because he lives in Vancouver and Vancouver is way at the top of my wish list of Canadian places to see. I'd let him choose what to do, but I'd have to ask him to wear his favorite toque (or carry it) because I require an excuse to say "toque" repeatedly. I'd be glad to go canoeing or hiking, browse bookstores, drink coffee, eat Canadian bacon, look at art or play Scrabble with him. Whatever. I'm not so big at pummeling with questions; I tend to be the follower in a conversation, simply because I love listening to people rattle on. I think it would be fun to hang out with him for a day. He'd probably express disinterest. "Who? She wants to do what with me?"
Does Douglas Coupland hike or play Scrabble? I just don't know. What about Battleship? Now, there's a great game.
Me: Does the book take place in Canada? Or is it just a "Canadian" book because the author is Canadian?
Myself: Liz lives in Vancouver. So, yes, it takes place in Canada, as well as Rome and Vienna.
Me: What is your most prized Canadian possession?
Myself: I have a loonie and a $5 Canadian Tire bill (which was generously donated to me by my eldest son).
Me: That's two items.
Myself: I never can stick to one.
Me: How many books have you read for The Second Canadian Book Challenge, Eh?
Myself: Eleanor Rigby is my third. The first two were Anne of Green Gables and The Best of Robert Service.
Me: What do you think of Canadian writing, so far?
Myself: It's awesome, eh?
Me: That was uncalled for.
Myself: Sorry. You didn't ask, but I will definitely read more books by Douglas Coupland.
Me: Good to know. And, I wish you a deliriously adventurous trip across Canada and a toque of your own. Do you recommend the book?
Myself: Awww, you're just saying that because you're Me. Yes, I recommend it. Coupland has an interesting way of injecting spirituality and meaning into his books -- at least, the two I've read have been pretty heavy on life, death and where we might go when it's all over. I like that.
"It can be so beautiful, you know -- earth, I mean"
"Look, Jeremy --I, uh-- I'm not like you. I have a hard time understanding beauty." I thought maybe Jeremy was lonely like me. Perhaps loneliness was genetic. Maybe, but he tried to make his loneliness shimmer, while my own loneliness flickered like a failing fluorescent tube.
Me: What do you think of the Canadians, in general?
Myself: Excellent neighbors, very tidy and friendly, love the accent. Not the slightest bit inferior to the United States; in fact, I'd say Canada is better because it's cooler, in general, and people are less prone to shoot each other. But, the Canadian border official who didn't want to let us leave Canada with our adorable little dimpled kiddo (then about 4 years old), merely because we'd forgotten his birth certificate? Too uptight.
Other reviews I located by cheating (aka "googling"):
Favorite photo from Saturday's swim meet (I call it "Swimmer Foot Sandwich"):
Currently reading:Walking Through Walls by Philip Smith
Far World: Water Keep by J. Scott Savage -- Kiddo read this one, over the weekend, and enjoyed it.
Sunday Short Story:
I read "At the Bay" from The Garden Party and Other Stories by Katherine Mansfield. I absolutely loved it and feel clueless as to how one would describe the story. I'm not sure it had a plot, but it didn't matter. I loved the characters and used a lot of Post-its. Perhaps I'll just post some excerpts, later this week.
Best Advice My Mother Ever Gave Me:
Use plenty of sunscreen. You won't believe how fast those wrinkles appear.
Weekly Geeks Quote of the Day:
Let Yourself be silently drawn by the strange pull of what you really love. --Rumi
