Maybe I’m cheating a little because, as I watched it today, I remembered how much it tugged at my heart when I first discovered it and Levni Yilmaz’s other morsels of human insight, early last year, and I realised that I’m already a step away from that person. Of course, getting to the point where watching this with merely a nostalgic chuckle is a multi-year project, in itself, so maybe I’m not cheating that much.

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

This book is a beautifully detailed portrait of a young love and marriage, corrupted by both the selfishness of a man and his mistress but also by every person, including his wife, who felt that somehow his genius, his work meant that different rules applied. As “bohemian” as those in Paris were attempting to be, Hemingway and Hadley made very traditional, formal vows and, thus, he should have been held to them. In fact, in not holding him to adult standards, they ignored a man in great need of help and they share in responsibility for his suffering and his suicide.

The Paris Wife is, of course, also the story of the beginning of a second marriage and the picture that McLain draws of Pauline, from Hadley’s point of view is brilliant. Pauline is one of those limpet-women, who insinuate themselves into the company of the men to whom they wish to attach themselves, so that by the time they have their suckers in, it is she who appears to be the victim if anybody suggests she does not belong. Perhaps women like that might read a novel like this and, assuming they even see themselves in Pauline, experience a little of what they do to the women upon whose men they set their sights.

Lastly, I’d like to comment upon the declarations by many in the book, even Hadley, that “his work” was worth all the suffering he experienced and caused. Such sentiments are understandable, but I hope that they are not serious and rather an attempt to alleviate the guilt and helplessness of not being able to know what was wrong and to help him. Being bi-polar myself, when I hear “it was all worth it because he was a writer of a generation” I hear only cruel romanticism and a total lack of understanding.

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I can’t think of a better way to honour him than to re-circulate one of his articles which sought to shine light upon the showboating of a pope, the hypocrisy of his money-grubbing, brain-washing institution and the dangerous, anti-women, pro-poverty fanaticism of “Mother Teresa of Calcutta”, all of which culminated in the farce of her “beatification”.

If after reading the linked article you want to dismiss it as wrong for logical, definable, reasons, that is your right — in fact, post your proofs in the comments. If your instinct is to dismiss it as wrong before you’ve even read it then at least know, just privately for yourself, that you might be one of the brain-washed and read it to prove that you aren’t. If you really can’t bring yourself to read it because it makes you angry to even think that an article exists that might express the sentiments above, then I hope that being confronted with the fact that you don’t even have the free will to read an article which might question your beliefs will at least niggle at you and, eventually, set you free.

Those of you who read my previous post “What would your air shipment say about you”, or  have moved abroad will know that, often, when you move, you are given an allowance for a small air shipment to transport the things you feel you can’t live without, for the 6+ weeks it takes the Sea Shipment to arrive. The air shipment to Thailand, we were told, takes up to 15 days, depending on processing. 

Today was day 15.

At this point, those of you who have done the moving to Thailand thing will know what’s coming and be laughing, I hope fondly, at my frustration, so I want to say one thing first: when we moved to Japan EVERYONE told us to expect our shipments to be late – and they weren’t. Air was estimated at 7 days and arrived on day 7. Sea was estimated at 4-6 weeks and arrived well before the 6 weeks was up. So, as per usual, Japan had set the bar high.

Back to Thailand:  Being the 15th day, I called Allied Pickfords to see if there was any date we could be expecting our computers and the rest of my project notes, so I can get back to my WIP (I did actually just say “air shipment” but that was what I was thinking.)

Answer: It hasn’t left Sydney yet.

Reaction:  —

Question: Why?

Answer: Superman doesn’t have a long term work permit yet.

Reaction: —

Question: He won’t for another 6 weeks, at least, are you saying you can’t ship them till then?

Answer:  –  Yes.

The thing is, I do actually understand – bureaucracy is bureaucracy – it’s almost always a long, annoying process, whatever country you are dealing with so I wouldn’t have been upset IF someone had mentioned AT ANY POINT BEFORE DAY 15 anything OTHER THAN: "The air shipment will take 15 days." Leaving us expecting to receive goods which will start to make this hotel room a home and not telling us that, in fact, they haven’t even left Australia – THAT is NOT okay, in fact it’s borderline cruel. What is more, that lack of communication has nothing to do with Thai bureaucracy, it’s straight customer service, from either side.

To make sure I’m being fair, considering I’ve mentioned the company’s name (which has been fantastic, so far),it was pointed out that Superman had been asked to supply his short term visa and the long term one when it came – apparently he should have realised from that what the situation was. Well. No. See, he doesn’t spend all day dealing with Thai import law. He’s been a tad busy with a major IT project for a major car company to make himself aware of the subtleties of Thai goods importation. He did make an assumption that the short term one would suffice as the goods were shipped and that the goods might sit on a wharf in Thailand for a while until his long-term visa came through but it would only be a matter of a week or so if the shipping took 6 weeks. What’s really important, though, is that he was only guessing because there was no communication about what was actually happening.

And here’s the kicker: that final “Yes” answer, above, turns out, with some probing, to actually be: “Not necessarily, but it’s for your own good.”

It seems that the hold-up is that importing goods on a long term visa attracts less tax on those goods (yes, your own, second-hand goods which you won’t be selling to anyone) than a short term visa (possibly the long term visa makes you exempt entirely, but I’m not sure – I’ll try to update.) So, Allied Pickfords are trying to do the right thing by us and save us money – and maybe it’s a lot of money, maybe too much money but, I’d have preferred that they offer us the choice.

Here’s where “it’s the little things” comes in – it’s not a reference to the goods at all, but to Choice. It’s not genius to observe that the lack of choice, and therefore control, is the source of so much expat-spouse malaise. Making decisions, however small or inevitable they might seem to others, is all we really have in this life. Our decisions about how to handle whatever comes our way – be it poverty or great fortune – make us who we are. And, yes, I know how lucky we are to live this life, and I am grateful for it everyday, especially considering where I came from, but it’s no “white whine” to observe that when you take away a person’s choices, when you make decisions for them, no matter how well intentioned or well aligned with the choices they would have made, you are taking away their humanity – or, at the very least, signalling to them that you have no respect for it.  For expat spouses, a group of people who have, for the most part, already given up what Western society uses to define a person – work – taking away even the little choices is no small thing.

I had today to myself because the people Michael will be working with wanted him to spend a couple of days with them, and I opted to have only one day house-hunting without him (tomorrow). Thus, this morning, after checking how #storycraft had gone without me (perfectly well) and putting up the transcript, I found myself in the hotel room facing a choice: let my apprehension guide me and stay in the air-con all day, “recovering from the flight” or; pluck up some courage and get out there and see for myself whether all these dangers that I’ve allowed to fill my bucket of Thai knowledge, actually come upon me. Rain – bullet-like, tropical rain – gave me an excuse to put off a decision for a couple of hours, but I’d left a bag of carefully decanted, 100ml portions of shampoo & such at home, so when it cleared I headed out with a goal, but no particular time frame.

I didn’t take a camera on my promenade, so apologies for no pictures but I find that I feel that I’m hiding, or at least setting myself apart, when I’m taking photos and that would have defeated the purpose.

So here’s a list of things I saw and did in my few hours walking around on my first day in Bangkok.

I crossed a Bangkok street.
Okay maybe that doesn’t sound like a big deal, and it was only a two way street (not including parking lanes) but this was one of the things I was worried about – so I decided to do as often as possible on my journey toward the Skytrain station (where I assumed there would be some shops.) Here’s how the first crossing, right outside the hotel went: The traffic was solid (but moving at a good 50km – no grid lock) so I ducked in front of a tuk-tuk, which was going the right way, and waited in the middle of the road for a gap in cars doing the same but on the other side of the road, then, just as I was thinking it was something of an anti-climax, I had to dodge two motorbike-taxis which were winding between cars, just as I was (but much, much faster,) heading to park with their mates at the rank across from the hotel. Perfect – tuk-tuks moto-taxis, trucks and cars all navigated – check!

Saw why some have called Thai electricity scary.
The wires that are strung between poles sag, some of them so much so that Superman would have to duck if he were walking on that part of the footpath, and the wires at intersections criss cross each other in a way that makes me want to spend some time with my Engineer father in-law (does he get to be Jor-El, in my silly anonymity game? Except if he’s also Batman’s Dad, then he’s dead… sorry) so that he can explain to me why they don’t spark each other and start fires. Did you notice that I said, “the wires that are strung between poles”? Well, some aren’t, they are sort of coiled in the way one coils an extension cord, and hung on hooks on the poles, with their ends either going back to the top to become part of the string again, or just hanging free. There will be photos.

I saw and smelled my first street food.
Boy did it smell good!? (I NEED a font with an interrobang) I’m not going to risk street food this trip, we’ve been told to ease our stomachs into that (and mine is so damned fragile) but I’m looking forward to it when we are living here.

Walked ON a Bangkok road with the traffic
Maybe this is another ‘so what?’ but this is all about addressing how wimpy I’d become in the past few weeks, and remember? So this felt like an achievement, because I could have crossed to the other side, where there was a footpath. Basically, there was a large block boarded off for building and the boards enclosed the footpath, a string of street food vendors had set themselves up in the parking lane, so the only place to walk was with the traffic. Moto-taxis were riding right up to the vendors and buying food, so I thought for a second that maybe it wasn’t a place for walking but then I thought: I’m a great big white woman wearing an enormous, cerise* shirt, I might as well BE a traffic cone, no-one’s going to hit me.  A couple of moto-taxis swerved in front of me rather close, but they knew what they were doing.

Discovered that there is something called “Visitor’s Gold”
“Vistor’s Gold” gives you 5% off when purchasing some items, thus reducing the 7%VAT to 2%. I assume it’s some kind of ‘duty free’, which I’ve never quite understood, and I don’t really care about such things but the writer in me grinned at the image of doubloons for visitors. For those who are interested, it was applied on a purchase moisturiser at Clinique but not at Boots (a chemist), so I don’t know what it applies to – though I do know that even without it, the moisturizer was cheaper than it was at Duty Free at Sydney airport.

I found a shampoo that works for me!
For those of you yawning, this one is for Augusta and anyone who has lived in Japan and found it impossible to get shampoo that doesn’t stick your hair to your head (I mean literally, some of them stuck my hand to my head!) I wonder if the Thai women don’t die their hair as much? /shrug.

Some things I learned today:

• If you stand still for even a moment, a taxi, tuk-tuk, or moto-taxi driver will slow to offer you a lift but not in an aggressive away at all, just hopeful and when you smile and shake your head, they just wave, or nod, or smile and go on – maipenrai, I guess.
• The advice to watch were you walk, and especially to avoid walking on man-holes and other such covered openings on the ground is advice that the Thai’s, too, take. I saw many people carefully stepping aside and even waiting their turn rather than step on the kinds of cement hole covers that we’d happily walk over in Australia.
• This is the big one as I was approaching the hotel on my way back, I realised I was quite enjoying the weather. Yes, it was hot and muggy and, yes, I was hot and “glowing” but not through clothes or anything, it actually just felt like a nice, balmy day. Even my asthma was fine. I think the trick was that it was still overcast, had the Sun seared its way through the cloud layer, I’d have been miserable, as I was during the Japanese Summer, but despite it being a very wet heat, I found it was actually a little like walking through silk.

So, that was my day and, I hope, the end of my apprehension and the beginning of the honeymoon part of the culture shock cycle. I’d particularly like to thank Tim and Margaret at ICC (no anonymity, here, they deserve a plug because helping expats is exactly the work they do and boy do I appreciate them even more, now) and Mark Willis (who also deserves a plug for the work he does, but selling diamonds isn’t exactly relevant to soothing the mind of a distraught woma- hmm, then again…) each of whom took the time to help me out in different ways, with the assurance of future support, personal enthusiasm for Bangkok and even talking me off the “I’m going to go back to Melbourne and make audiobooks, instead” ledge.

*Re: the cerise shirt: any linen was hard to find in Sydney in Winter – don’t judge me!

This post is titled “The Up Side” because the up side of those kinds of friendships, forged in the fires of working out how to live in a new country without speaking the language, can become lifelong ones. As this post goes to publication, Superman and I are at the airport (or should be any moment) to meet Caesar and Augusta and bring them home for two weeks (and keep them trapped at the Arkham Horror game board for 14days and nights MUWHAHAAHAHAA!) Actually, I’m probably crying at least a little, because I do that at the drop of a soppy hat – maybe they’ll be too tired to notice.

The other great thing about their visit is that we will become tourists in Sydney, with them, and I might just be able to come up with some positive posts about things worth going out of your way to do, here. I might, possibly post during their visit, but more likely after. 

An interesting idea which the author, unfortunately, simply does not pull off. The internal logic is flawed, as is the logic of his (straw man) detective character. The author’s presentation of philosophy and logic, as well as Plato’s theory of the forms (which he insists on calling ‘the existence of Ideas”) are simplistic, and will annoy anyone who has studied it in any depth, at least as much as the liberties his translator claims are his right to take with the text, will annoy real translators. But none of that is what made it so haaaard for me to force myself through this book (it’s for a book club, so I had to.)

I found it impossible to become in any way absorbed in the story because Somoza constantly distracts the reader with the two parts of the project, which appear to be most interesting/important to him and, which the critics are loving: the translator commenting on the piece (don’t worry, I’m going to avoid spoilers, despite my rating) and the fictional literary device ‘eidesis.’ I’m sure plenty of people will say that this distraction was a deliberate part of the metafiction or, at least, that literary books aren’t supposed to flow, they are supposed to make the reader work. I accept neither of those objections; It is clear in the latter parts of the book that we are supposed to be absorbed, or at least care about these characters (in the main text and footnotes) and I’m afraid I was never given the chance to connect with them, because of these two devices.

First, the eidesis, which at one point is described as ‘subtle’ but is the opposite. The repeated imagery (it’s no spoiler to define “eidesis”) stands out incongruously from page 1 so that a) it just reads like bad writing and then b) once we know what it is, it still jumps out as bad writing but now we’re thinking, “alright already we get the image” and THEN we have to put up with the translator popping in to exclaim about the eidesis he has so cleverly discovered. Which brings me nicely to my second point.

Second, the translator. Any time I had managed to get past the writing (the eidesis wasn’t the only problem,) and just when I was starting to become absorbed in the main story, the translator would appear with his thoughts on the matter. That would be fine if I wanted to know what the translator thought but, unfortunately, he is not only unnamed but un-introduced and simply forces himself upon us. I quickly began thinking of him as “the interrupter” and it stuck. What’s worse, until fairly late in the piece, his comments are rarely anything that isn’t painfully obvious to the reader, already; in fact, on page 263 the translator comes up with a ‘revelation’ that I had wondered about on page 33 – now, an author has every right to reveal their story as they want but being 230 pages behind the reader suggests a need to credit their readers with a touch more intellect.

The sad thing about this book (without giving spoilers) is that there actually is no need for ‘eidesis’ to be invented to achieve what the author (fictional and real world) is attempting to achieve with it and so the language need not have been burdened by it. I know that might sound absurd to those who have read it, but it’s actually not needed – I’m sure plenty of others will have seen what I’m referring to, as obliquely as I can, I don’t think it takes a degree in Philosophy (though it will help!)

The saddest thing about the book, for me, is the portrayal of Plato’s theory of forms as some life-quashing philosophy, because it’s exactly the opposite – but that can be forgiven, after all, it is hard to see it from inside the cave.

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Utterly engrossing, and filled with information we should all know to combat all of the disinformation about Genghis Khan and the Mongolian Empire which still passes for common knowledge. I honestly believe that this book should be a standard text for all high school students, everywhere (at least, in my world where history is required to the end of high school, since it probably requires a 10th or 11th grade reading level.)

My edition was the audiobook and I must say that Davis was truly wonderful (and that’s a professional opinion!) His pacing was perfect and never once, during the 14 odd hours, did he sound as though he was anything but fascinated, which is essential for the listeners’ comprehension. There was the occasional strange edit or technical hiccough but only one or two that a layman would have noticed. All in all a wonderful production so kudos to author, narrator and producer/director!

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This is the first of, no doubt, many books that I will read on bipolar disorder, so I can’t compare it to others but I enjoyed this one very much. WTTJ is by no means a memoir, it is an expository piece, but it is written in a chatty style, easily and quickly read, and nevertheless makes it clear that the author is ‘one of us’ (oops am I identifying too much lol) rather than some doctor presenting information from on high (which, if you think about it, might actually make him ‘one of us’ – if he believes it of himself…) My point is that I appreciated the insights into the author’s own altered state experiences and the irreverence with which she approached the whole issue; I’m sure some who are not bipolar might think she perhaps should have cut the odd odd sentence or paragraph out for fear it may stimulate someone the wrong way but each of those sentences was both an inside joke and an example of the approach she champions in this book – to hold the diagnosis lightly.
I am least ten years older than the target audience, and I don’t live in the States so some of the information did not apply but plenty of it did and so I will do as Hilary invites us to as she closes the book: “Take what you like from this book and leave the rest… Live large. Think big. Go for walks.”

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My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Full of interesting information, this audio book makes for a good introduction to Japanese religions and spirituality. I was looking forward to hearing Kingsley narrate but, for some reason, he adopts a tone right out of a British war-time newsreel which, while amusing, highlights when the script occasionally oversimplifies topics (carefully explaining them in “Western” terms,) and the piece slips into the patronizing. Nevertheless, the information is clearly presented, aided by voices other than just “newsreel Ben” for quotes from other scholars etc…

A small warning for those who are not used to listening to Japanese speaking with a heavy “Katakana English” accent – a few of the Japanese readers might be a little difficult to understand.

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I’ve meant to address this question for some time because it is a logical question to ask when someone tells you that they are an audio book producer (“director” in US parlance).  For those who are interested, I’ve popped a new page up on my website: Dani’s Audio Books , where you will find the answer as well as I can give it (okay, so maybe there is a shorter answer, but I don’t think “Lots” really cuts it) and gives you links to a few of my favourite, internationally available titles, including my all time favourite, Saving Francesca, by Melina Marchetta and read by Rebecca Macaulay.

For as long as I can remember, I have been desperately concerned with my level of metacognitive skill. It was the reason I gave the first story I ever wrote for public consumption to my best friend to critique, I was seven and I remember vividly the relief that I had a chance to fix it before I read it to the prep class (the grade before grade 1, in Australia.) Metacognition is the ability to assess one’s own skill level and, of course, I didn’t know the word until my university philosophy of mind studies, but my greatest fear has always been not failure to achieve perfection but to have thought that what I had done was objectively good and then to discover that it wasn’t.

Whether a child, probably too young even to have metacognitive ability, should be worrying about such things is a valid question for another, more private, forum, but it has driven a life-long love of theory and research, if only to do as much as I can to make sure I don’t find myself in that situation. It’s what drives me to believe that editing and story analysis classes are more important for a writer than any “Express yourselves, dahlings!” creative writing classes. It’s also lead to a morbid curiosity about how on earth people have the confidence to, for example, audition for So You Think You Can Dance despite having no ability whatsoever. Aren’t they embarrassed? And how can they not know how bad they are?

The same questions come to mind when I read an terribly flawed piece of writing.* When I have been asked to give feedback (professionally or no) I have to try to work out why the writer hasn’t noticed these flaws so that I can work out the best way to approach giving my feedback in the hope that it will be taken as constructively as it is meant. I have found, again and again, that the level of confidence the writer has is an excellent gauge, invariably, those whose pieces need the most work are most shocked that any work is required and genuinely seem to have believed they had produced a masterpiece.

I have discussed this many times with Superman and he recently pointed me to a 1999 report which shed some interesting light on the subject and backs up the, now old-fashioned, belief that anyone who believes themselves to be the best at anything is unlikely to be even close to the best.

The Report: “Unskilled and Unaware of It: How Difficulties in Recognizing One’s Own Incompetence Lead to Inflated Self-Assessments”**

In their 1999 report, Kruger and Dunning outlined four studies they had undertaken which were inspired by previous studies which showed a correlation between level of confidence and lack of ability. Kruger and Dunning devised experiments in which they asked people to take tests in the areas of logical reasoning, humor and English grammar, then asked them to estimate both: what their specific test score had been and; which percentile their test results fell into (i.e., where their test result would fall in comparison to others’.) The aim was to find the subjects’ actual skill level in an area, and then see if they were aware of what their skill level actually was.

Their findings were unambiguous: the less skill you have, the more grossly you overestimate your ability and, perhaps more instructively, it seems only those with above average skill underestimate their skill. Thus, if you want to make an assumption about a person’s skill from their attitude, the best thing to do is to watch out for humility, not confidence!

“But, but, but!” I hear all the management-book-steeped would-be-Donald-Trumps of the world shriek, “That’s loser talk. Confidence is the most important thing! If you don’t think you’re the best, who will?”

This is an attitude that, as far as I can tell, began to seep into the world in the 80’s, as advertising men, salesmen and generic ‘business’ men began to make enormous amounts of money, and people started looking to them as icons of success. Suddenly, everyone was reading management and wealth-building books written by these ‘guru’s, and this requirement for uber-self-confidence was being applied in interview rooms across all sorts of industries. Quiet confidence and humility became associated with ‘losers’ – who just didn’t want it enough, or were cursed with low self-esteem – a condition which was to be treated like a highly contagious disease.

I’m not denying the existence of, or problems associated with low self-esteem. It may surprise some people who have met me, because I usually speak with confidence, but I’ve been close to crippled by low self-esteem for much of my life. When I speak up, it is with confidence, but that’s because I only speak up if I have done copious research, practice and, especially if it involved public speaking, throwing up, in private.  I understand completely that a certain level of confidence is required just to step into any arena of experience, some more than others, but beyond the minimum level of confidence required for the particular task at hand confidence is, as the studies demonstrate, more of an indication of lack of skill than of competence.

Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate that projection of confidence is essential in marketing, or sales, or any profession which requires one to convince others to willingly do what you want them to do. I also understand the philosophy that any interview is a sales pitch of yourself. It is not true, however, that every job is a sales job and anyone who conducts interviews for non-sales positions and makes their decisions based on who sold themselves most confidently really can’t complain when that applicant turns out not to have the skill they’d hoped (or has even lied on their resume!) Such interviewers are as responsible for the bad hire as they would be if they’d ordered a disappointing piece of exercise equipment skillfully advertised in the wee hours of the morning.

Of course, a study like this isn’t going to instantly change the prevailing culture but I thought it worth sharing with my small audience of, mostly, writers hoping to be published who are wrestling with their own levels of confidence, or perhaps should be

*Note: Any discussion of ability brings with it the jinx that there will be numerous grammatical and spelling errors in the very piece discussing it. I’d like to point out that metacognition is the issue here and I’m fully aware that this blog post won’t be perfect, unwilling as I am to spend more time than it takes to jot down the thoughts and get my creative juices flowing for my fiction writing!

** “Unskilled and Unaware of It: How Difficulties in Recognizing One’s Own Incompetence Lead to Inflated Self-Assessments”, Justin Kruger and David Dunning Department of Psychology Cornell University, © 1999 by the American Psychological Association For personal use only–not for distribution December 1999 Vol. 77, No. 6, 1121-1134

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying Social Media cannot or should not be used for promoting a product, of course it can. I have no issue with someone I have followed or befriended posting about their current project on their account so that I’m aware of it and can opt-in in some way, nor do I have an issue with someone I have directly corresponded with sending me a private message asking me to give them a little support in their project before they go wide with it – that’s the good, effective way to use Social Media for PR. What I do have a problem with is the number of messages I have been getting, supposedly ‘tailored’ to me, or not, from accounts clearly set up purely for PR, which show very little genuine interest in either me or the platform they want to exploit.

So, fwiw, here’s my advice to anyone wanting to use Social Media for promotional purposes:

Any time you send an unsolicited message about a product directly to someone on any of these social media, you are not being an uber cool company that is down with what the kids are doing these days – you are TELEMARKETING. Not only are you telemarketing, but you are calling during a dinner party. Imagine being at that dining table when the call comes through. Now imagine the talk about you and your product afterwards – it’s not going to be good is it?

If you want to use Social Media to promote something, you have to actually BE social – be ready to put in the time or it will all be for naught. Tweet or post about something other than just your own products, something which will be interesting to your target audience so that they will engage with you and wonder what you or your product is all about. Getting a good word of mouth campaign going used to be a real coup in the PR world, because it was subtle, if sometimes vulgar, work. Social Media is all about word of mouth, so you need to put as much creativity into encouraging those conversations as you did pre-social media – the size of these vast networks you wish to exploit make it a more delicate process, not a shortcut.

Illustration credit: Matt Hamm

"I have a thing for second hand bookshops which specialize mostly in non-fiction or old textbooks (there’s something brash and low self-esteem about second hand fiction, their titles somehow always seem to have turned into huge, slutty pink-foil letters!) The good ones have the musty-sweet scent of old paper and have no cafe, and no music, just floor to ceiling books with conveniently placed ladders.

My two favourite stores in Melbourne (Australia) were Dr. Syntax in Commercial Rd, South Yarra and what is now boringly called the Queenscliff branch of “Barwon Booksellers” in the old bluestone Wesleyan church in the main street of Queenscliff. I say “were’ because one lunchtime – god, a decade ago? – I headed down to Dr. Syntax to finally purchase the complete John Donne in pretty blue leather and the 1930s textbook on Australian Aboriginals and two other texts from the 50s, that I’d had my eye on for some time (I love old anthropology textbooks as a sometimes eye-opening, often hysterical history of the ignorance and arrogance of the ruling elite) to find it had gone out of business.  I was devastated, and felt fairly guilty for not having just bought the books in the previous weeks (my $120 surely would have kept them going!)

Some weeks later, on holiday in Queenscliff (a beach town around the bay from Melbourne) I wandered into the ex-church-bookshop and was browsing when I spotted a familiar little book with pretty blue leather binding. I snatched it up and, sure enough, it was my Donne – with the Dr. Syntax price still in pencil in the front flap!
I raced to the counter and breathlessly asked if they’d purchased the Syntax stock – they had! I found all four books that day and left with the odd feeling that I’d discovered that some lost friends had found themselves a good home."

The following picture was taken in on Sea Shipment Day, 2008, 6 weeks after we arrived in Japan – many of the books pictured were purchased at Doc’s