Read in 2014 - 4: Forget-Me-Not

A book that has deeply touched me, creating a lasting impression like no other that I have read recently, is "Forget-Me-Not" by Ruth S. Ozan.

As an autobiography, it is far from complete: apart from pro- and epilogue, it spans only a few years in the life of the author, from 1939 to 1946. But those were crucial years in more than one way. Not only did they shape the attitude and character of young Ruth, but many of the events that formed our entire world took place in those few years, extending their influence from the past to the present and future of so many.

Ruth’s parents are German immigrants living and working in the US when she is born. In 1939, the family decide to go back to Germany because of a job offer from his old work place (the Krupp steel factory) her father can’t resist. At seven years old, Ruth is happiest where her parents are, but finds some things in her family’s country of origin hard to understand. She soon learns not to ask too many questions; her parents are often unable, sometimes unwilling, to answer them. But she is not stupid and notices things happening around her that should not be happening, such as an elderly lady being served last at the butcher’s because she is Jewish and wears a yellow star sewn to her coat.

Unfortunately, the family have chosen the eve of WWII for their return to Germany, something they were not aware of at the time, but which had consequences on every family member in a different way.

For Ruth, the outbreak of the war means the start of a period of instability in her young life. Time and time again, she is put into the care of more or less distant relatives, and at one stage even left at an orphanage. While the pushing about of the little girl from one place to the other is not always understandable (her parents had more children after her, so why was she sent away? Why did they have so many children if they were not able to look after them all?), it was not unusual – and obviously the most reasonable thing to do – for children from cities to be sent out in the country during the war, where they were safer from the bombings, and more food and fresh air was available.

The little girl gets so used to being separated from her family that she does not even want to go back with her mother when she has the opportunity. Instead, she really takes to country life and spends the happiest time of her years in Germany in a village with one of her aunts, who loves her very much and treats her like her own daughter. It is during that time that Ruth has the experience of sowing a field of wheat, which leaves a lasting impression on her young mind and heart:

"I am sowing a field of wheat! It will grow and when it is tall and golden, the wind will make it wave back and forth, and it will be my field, my crop. I'm making something live."

As the war comes closer to home and her father is drawn into the army, her mother and siblings come to live in a small country town together with Ruth. For the first time in years, she lives with them again. During the last terrible months of the war, all public life falls into disorganization. Regular schooling stops, and everybody just tries to get by and survive somehow. When finally the war ends and the Americans reach the small town, it is a new beginning for Ruth and her mother: They are among the few people who speak English; her mother’s help is enlisted for translating between the townspeople and the American military, and Ruth, now 13 years old, has her first kiss.

Various events and especially the attitude of people around her convince Ruth that there is no future for her in Germany. She wants to go back to America – this time, she is separated from her family on her own initiative.

Throughout the book, it is obvious that the author really lived through all the events described. The thoughts and ideas a little girl may have about the goings-on around her, with no understanding of politics, are very much like I would imagine a child really thinking at that age. Nothing suggests bitterness or trying to find anyone to blame for what certainly was not an easy, care-free childhood. I really came to care about Ruth and her siblings, and liked the way the book‘s title „Forget-Me-Not“ is explained by and by.

Mrs. Ozan is, to my knowledge, still alive. I have not found an author’s homepage for her, but wish I could write to her, letting her know how much her book touched me. It is available in German and in English. My mother, who was born the year before the war ended, read it in German and recommended this wonderful book to me. I, in turn, recommend it to all of you.

Guest Post By My Mum: A Good Advice

or: How a Walk Can Lead To a Guest Post.

Last Friday, I had the day off. My original plan was to go for a nice long walk, something I'd not done in a while and was really looking forward to, especially when Thursday was a beautiful sunny day. Friday morning, though, was grey and wet. I resigned myself into simply enjoying a lazy day at home, but in the early afternoon, it cleared up a little and looked as if, although still grey, it would not be raining again in the next few hours. So I rang my Mum and we arranged to go for a walk together.

If you have been reading my blog for a while, maybe you'll know that I have a thing not only about doors and doorways, but also about wide open spaces. Every now and then, some of my most highly esteemed fellow bloggers provide me with wonderful pictures of such spaces (you know who you are!), something I am always happy to look at.

When we reached the fields, there was hardly anybody about, it being a Friday afternoon and not yet quite the weekend. Our area has a lot of industry and certainly not the best air quality, and the landscape is really as featureless as it looks in these pictures, but it is our home country, and we are quite attached to it.

The pictures give you a pretty good idea of how vast it is just a few hundred yards from town, and what kind of weather it was. As you can see, the sun was trying hard! There was even a narrow strip of blue sky showing! That blue strip widened quite nicely later on, but I did not take any more pictures by then.

At some stage, my Mum said she wanted to tell me something that I might find strange. But let her say it in her own words, in the shape of a guest post (her first since last July):

A Good Advice

The older I become, the more I look back at my past, my childhood, my youth, and the more I regret that there is no-one left of the generation before me. The reason is: I cannot ask about  things and events anymore, which happened long ago, or about facts from our town, for example, which former building or square was on a certain corner.

And I also regret very much that I didn't always listen properly when my mother told me old stories, because now it is too late, I can't ask her anymore. Though my memory reaches far, nearly until when I was three, there are some experiences rather vaguely in my mind ore quite lost. And sometimes when I am thinking about a specific matter,  I would be very glad to have one of my parents or relations to help me further.

My brother is only five years older than me, and he remembers some things better, but he is the same generation as well.

So I said to my daughters, ask all the questions you may have now, while our minds are still clear, before it will also be too late.

Perhaps that sounds a bit sentimental, but as I talked about this topic with friends my age, most of them told me that they have quite the same feelings. So I give all the young people my good advice: use the chance to learn about the past, otherwise it will be lost for all times.

- - - End of guest post - - -

Maybe you are not too surprised to hear that I never tire of hearing the "old stories". I may not always show as much patience as I should, patience never having been one of my strengths, but that does not mean I don't want to hear about the past (my own childhood as well as from long before I was born).

My Mum's advice has always proved to be good, and I will certainly heed this one!

By the way, my next book review will tie in nicely with this post. 

An Evening With Friends Revisited

The first "Evening with Friends" post was this one, and of course there have been many more such evenings in the meantime; at least one every month with this particular group of friends. It still is our regular get-together on the first Friday of the month, and the day before yesterday, it was that.

The reason why the headline of this post has the word "Revisited" is that we went back to the same place. Because I remembered how much some of you liked walking along with me to the castle, I took my camera with me once more.

This time, though, it was quite different from that summer's evening of 2011: It was not particularly cold, but pitch black dark by the time I set off from home, and instead of the pink summer dress I wore last time, now I was in my padded winter coat and a knit dress with woolly tights and boots, plus the usual equipment of scarf, gloves and handbag.

When I got off the train in Asperg and started to walk towards the footpath that is the shortest way up to the castle, I found out that the street lights end at the bottom of the hill. I wasn't afraid of anything (or anyone) lurking in the dark, but I was not keen on stumbling on the uneven, steep path and maybe hurting myself - I need both my legs in top condition in order to be able to do all the things I like doing.

So back to the road I went, walking along there with cars whizzing by, something I don't like at all. 

Halfway up the hill begins the fortification with the gate. Cars are allowed through there, and the road is rather narrow. But as you can see, there are niches in the walls (where once soldiers stood), so I knew I'd be safe. In the end, no car went through there while I was walking up.

Looking back the way I came.

The gatehouse/tower from below. The restaurant where I was to meet my friends is behind the lit windows. Compare this to the pictures of the post from August 2011.
It looks easy from there, doesn't it, as if you'd just have to get inside the building now. But... there is no direct access from there. Instead, you have to go through the gate and the tunnel, turn right and walk up another relatively steep road, only dimly lit:

But once you've made it to the top, a nighttime view of the surrounding small towns and villages is the reward. The four lights in a row at the bottom right of the picture are part of the road I walked up, from the first picture.

When we were little, for New Year's Eve sometimes our parents would make us go to bed as usual, and then wake us in time for getting us wrapped up in our warmest winter clothes, and take us to the top of the hill. From there, we'd watch the fireworks over our hometown, which is clearly visible from the castle walls.

No fireworks that night, though. But my friends were waiting for me, there was light, it was warm (and very noisy in the small restaurant with the thick old castle walls!), and we had an evening of good food, some drinks and plenty of laughter.

I did not take a picture of my main course, since it was a very standard mixed salad (and I was not even given a piece of baguette, which usually accompanies a salad ordered as a main course). But the dessert was nice. Mine was chocolate mousse with rhubarb:

For the way back, I did not need to take the train. One of my friends went the same direction and gave me a lift, something I was quite grateful for.

Next time, we'll try a new Chinese restaurant that has recently opened in our area.

Read in 2014 - 3: Sir Humphrey of Batch Hall

[If you want to write your part for "The Hummus Hunters", you can do that here.]

First of all, my apologies to the author for having taken so uncharacteristically long to read the second novel he so kindly gave me as a free review copy. Sorry, Peter!

Earlier on this week, I finished „Sir Humphrey of Batch Hall“, and the actual reading did not take long at all – it was „getting round to it“ that took from the end of July until now.

The first novel in the Batch Magna series, „The Cuckoos of Batch Magna“, deals with the arrival of the American heir to an estate in an idyllic river valley on the border between England and Wales, and the changes this arrival brings to the land and its inhabitants, last but not least to the heir himself. I enjoyed „Cuckoos“ very much and was looking forward to reading the second novel. In short, my expectations were exceeded.

(You can find my review of the first book here.) 

Somehow I liked the second book even better than the first. The same characters the reader became acquainted with in the first book reappear, plus several new ones; some of them likable, some of them less so. The same poetically descriptive language fills the pages and the mind.

But the outcome of the first book was relatively predictable, because had things not turned out well in the end, there would not have been a series. „Sir Humphrey“ has more suspension in that unfolding events could lead to more than one possible result. While in „Cuckoos“ love stories develop between some of the characters, this time you're in for a proper mystery. The way it is solved is told in a manner that makes you alternatingly laugh and grip the book harder.

The chapters are of exactly the right length to read „just one more“ before putting the lights out, or to last me the short train ride to and from work. The language is, as I said, poetically descriptive, and that is maybe most obvious when the river is depicted, especially at night. So atmospheric you feel quite „there“. 

My favourite characters are the Commander and his wife. I also like Humphrey and Clem, but am not too fond of Jasmine or Phineas, although I can't really put my finger on the reasons. I guess it is like with real people; you take an instant liking to someone but never quite warm to someone else.

The editing could have been better; I found many typesetting erros that conscentious editing would have noticed. For instance, in Chapter 16, it is said about the reverend „...when he was in the pupil“ instead of the pulpit. But I also know that books are not produced the same way they used to be, and since such errors were not frequent enough to spoil the pleasant reading experience (plus I had been given the review copy for free), I am not complaining – just stating.

At the end of this book, there is a shorter story, a few chapters long, called „The Famous Cricket Match“. I must admit I quick-read good part of it, since the descriptions of the actual cricket match were a bit boring (i. e. hard to understand) for someone like me who does not know more about Cricket than that it is a firm favourite in England and played by very well-dressed men. The idea of the story is great, though, and the beginning and end are so much part of what makes Batch Magna Batch Magna that I am glad I did not skip it altogether.

Thank you once again, Peter, for having given me the possibility to read „Sir Humphrey“! I certainly recommend the Batch Magna novels.

Peter Maughan's website is here. His books can be found on Amazon:

The Cuckoos of Batch Magna

 Amazon.UK Amazon.US

Sir Humphrey of Batch Hall

 Amazon.UK Amazon.US

A Long and Varied Week

Let me start this post with last Saturday. 
I love museums, but have not been to one in a long time. So I was all for it when, at my sister's birthday, we (i. e. two friends, RJ, my sister and I) agreed on seeing an exhibition at the museum in Stuttgart's Alte Schloss ("old castle", a building from Renaissance times, as opposed to the "new" palace, which was built and rebuilt much later). The exhibition we wanted to see is about the connection between the House of Wuerttemberg and the Russian royal dynasty of the Romanovs. Several marriages between both houses meant a relationship was established that made the families and countries profit from each other in many ways, not only politically.

In 2011, I read two biographical novels about the ladies who were most prominent in my area from that connection. You can find my reviews on these books here and here.
Naturally, I was interested in seeing the exhibition that would show objects these ladies I had been reading about had used in real life; dresses they had worn, and many other things. 
When we arrived at the entrance, though, we found there was a queue so long it would have taken us half an hour just to get tickets. We decided against going in and went somewhere else.



I found this video on youtube that allows a glimpse of what we missed. The video is less than two minutes, and so I hope some of you will watch it although the commentary is in German.

Stuttgart has much to offer in terms of culture, and many places of interest are within easy walking distance. After a brief discussion, we settled for visiting the Willi Baumeister exhibition in the new art museum.

Now, I don't expect many of you to have heard the name of the artist before; although he was internationally known and his work popular outside Germany, he was pretty much a "local hero", having been born in Stuttgart and maintaining close ties with his home town throughout his life. 
If you click here, you will get to the official website in English.

We enjoyed the exhibition; the building alone is worth a closer look. A short description in English and pictures of what the building looks like by day and night can be found here.

After so much cultural input, we needed physical sustenance as well and went to a Spanish tapas restaurant a few hundred metres away, for good food and free-flowing conversation.

Sunday was a lazy day for me. I read my weekly paper, watched a bit of telly, played my Sims and just had quiet day in.

On Monday, I worked from home and had lunch at my parents'.

On Tuesday, I worked from home again, where RJ joined me in the afternoon. In the evening, we went to the pub, where I had finally managed to get my team for the pub quiz together again. It was our first quiz this year, and the very first pub quiz ever for RJ, who came up with some really good answers.
Some of the questions were easy enough, while others needed more knowledge than we had, and our team only reached 24 of 29 points.

Wednesday was spent at the office of our biggest client. RJ was still staying at my place, and invited me for dinner at a nice Italian restaurant near my home after work.

Not my own picture, but these gnocchi al pomodoro look pretty much like the ones I had.

On Thursday, we worked together from home, and on Friday, we were back at the office. After work, RJ spontaneously decided to accompany me to a friend's birthday party, where we had once again good food and drinks, interesting conversations and lots to laugh about.

I came home last night (or, rather, this morning) just before 1.00 am, and was quite ready for bed. It has been a long and varied week, with two projects finished at work and several new ones on the way. There was culture, there were friends and family, there was laughter and there was some seriousness as well. What I did not have all week was much exercise, apart from skipping rope. I miss running, and am looking forward to going dancing next week Saturday.

Read in 2014 - 2: Initials Only

The first ebook I have read this year (mainly on the train to and from work) was "Initials Only" by Anna Katharine Green.  

A detective story first published in 1911, "Initials Only" deals with the case of beautiful young heiress Edith Challoner dropping dead in the writing room of a luxury hotel while nobody is near her, and no shot is heard and no bullet found in the deadly wound. Did she take her own life by stabbing herself through the heart with a paper knife, later found on the floor in the hotel lobby (but with no traces of blood on it)?

Her grieving father refuses to believe the coroner's verdict of suicide, and employs an investigator who is actually part of the police force but acts on his own for most of the time.
Among Miss Challoner's personal belongings are found letters signed with initials only, O.B. Who is O.B., and what - if anything - does he have to do with her death?

Sweetwater, the investigator, finds out the identity of O.B. pretty soon, but instead of answering the questions the case poses, he only brings up more mysteries.

In the end, though, the truth is revealed by the murderer himself, and we are left with a ray of hope for the grieving people left behind in possibly finding love and happiness again.

The wikipedia entry about Anna Katharine Green dubs her as "the mother of the detective novel", having created not only the series detective later made so famous by other authors, but also inventing the prototype for Miss Marple (nosy society spinster Amelia Butterworth), the girl detective (Violet Strange, a debutante with a secret life as a sleuth) and using legally accurate descriptions of police procedures and scientific methods employed in both the murders and their solvings.

Her first mystery novel, "The Leavenworth Case", was already a bestseller ten years before Sir Arthur Conan Doyle entered the stage with Sherlock Holmes. At one time, there was even doubt on whether her books could have really been written by a woman!

Green's life (1846 to 1935) was not quite average for her times; she seems to have been a rather unconventional lady with very much her own head on her shoulders. For instance, she married relatively late (at 38 years) and a man seven years her junior.

"Initials Only" held a few surprises for me, but none of its twists and turns was so illogical or incredible as to appear ridiculous. The language and descriptions of places and people very much reflect their times. I really enjoyed reading this mystery, and will maybe look for more (free) ebooks by the same author.

Read in 2014 - 1: The Bell Jar

After she saw the kind of reading material I reviewed here on my blog during December, my sister decided it was about time I read something of a better literary quality, and lent me "The Bell Jar" by Sylvia Plath.

The wikipedia entry about this book, the only novel by the author (she was a poet first and foremost), says that the story is semi-autobiographical and mirrors Plath's own experience with clinical depression and the kind of health care mentally ill patients received in those days.

"The Bell Jar" starts in the summer of 1953, when 19-year-old Esther Greenwood is on an internship at a fashionable New York magazine. But what she expects to be the time of her life turns into the beginning of her problems with herself and the world around her, eventually leading to a suicide attempt after she returns home and a long stay in various mental health institutions.

I do not want to tell too much of those events, or the effects her depression has on her relationships with her family and friends, and I am not going to reveal how the book ends, but I recommend "The Bell Jar" to anyone who appreciates the telling of a dramatic story without the need to recurr to overly dramatic language. 

For me, depression has always been something I found hard to understand, and still do after having read this book. On the surface, Esther (or Sylvia Plath in real life) has many more reasons for happiness than for the paralyzing sad numbness she feels. Yes, her father died when she was a little girl; she does not really love the young man who sees himself as her fiancé, and she is not accepted for a writing course she wanted to attend. But she has a mother who loves her, friends who are interested in her well-being, is a reasonably good-looking, physically healthy young woman with no hard-pressing financial worries and a bright mind which can lead her to a fulfilling university career and beyond.

Don't we all have both good and bad things happening to us in our lives? How come some people plunge into black depths by something others get through with more strength they would have believed themselves to have previously? Why are some of us more resilient than others?
Although clinical depression has been scientifically examined for a long time now, and continues to be at the centre of attention for many great minds, it remains a puzzle to me. Can it really all be down to a chemical imbalance in the brain?

Thankfully (and there are so many things I am thankful for in my everyday life!), I was never given to depression myself. Maybe that is the advantage of being so shallow.

Anyway, "The Bell Jar" was a good read, and I am sorry for the author and her loved ones: Sylvia Plath commited suicide mere weeks after it was first published in the UK.