I didn’t so much as give up on Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas as I couldn’t get started! I am not sure why exactly except the mood I was in couldn’t take the characters and their perpetual state of impairment. I had no patience for it; perhaps I’ll pick it up again when I am in a better mood.
Today I visited The Brooklyn Botanical Garden (BBG) with my son and his friend. I know that this doesn’t sound initially like it has anything to do with books or reading but bear with me. It was the most beautiful day, the sun was shining and a delicious cooling breeze was blowing, I wandered through this most perfect of botanical gardens, watching the boys enjoy the delights of this place, I couldn’t help but think of how wonderful it would be to have a tract of land like this. It has dozens of wonderful places to sit, be in nature, and read. The scents of the plants, the flowers, the herbs and the gentle sounds of the rustling trees offer an idyllic landscape for literary pursuits. Today,the highlights were the Herb Garden and the Shakespeare Garden.
The Herb Garden is a magnificent planted prospect of vegetables, fruits, and herbs. It had this city dweller dreaming of one day having a garden of her own. The book, Designing an Herb Garden, published by the BBG will inspire my dreams. But for now, I have to settle for potted herbs at the windows of my apartment, my local CSA, and farmer’s markets. To this end, The Locavore’s Handbook: The Busy Person’s Guide to Eating Local on a Budget by Leda Meredith will keep me happy.
The Shakespeare Garden is a special place and pretty popular given the amount of people in this small garden today. I suppose the Bard seizes people’s imaginations even in the heart of Brooklyn. It is a cottage-style garden abundantly planted with over 80 flowers, herbs, shrubs, and trees that appear in Shakespeare’s works. The beds, bordered by twig wattling, were lush on this late Summer day and had this reader thinking of the words that inspired such a delightful and magical place.
“I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,
Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows,
Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,
With sweet musk-roses, and with eglantines.”
A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Act II, scene 1
Ever since finishing Lev Grossman‘s The Magicians I wondered if another foray into the land of Fillory was possible. And with the recent release of The Magician King my question and hopes have been answered. I look forward to getting my hands on this book…I feel it will be a perfect read for crisp autumn evenings, curled up on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket with a nice dram of whisky. That’s right, save the tea for Harry Potter! If the first book was any indication, The Magician King, promises to be quite a wild ride.
The Magicians started off slowly with the angst-ridden Quentin Coldwater mysteriously stumbling upon a hidden school for magic and discovering he has an untapped knack for hoodoo. Comparisons to the Harry Potter series are inevitable but veer off jarringly with drinking binges, sex, and drugs combined with an extreme curriculum in spell casting. It devolves into the drug and alcohol induced seeking of wisdom; a quest much like that perpetuated by Jim Morrison, alarmingly so. All this with the subtext that the childhood books so beloved by Quentin, a wonderful land of talking animals and mystical magic is actually a real place; a hard-core Narnia, if you will.
The first book dealt with forms of escapism, the destructive power of getting what one wants and not necessarily what one needs, and discovering that one’s fantasies can be dark and lurid. And yet, when the “trip” is over, all of life’s obstacles (both real and fantasy) are still painfully present and personal responsibility must be acknowledged and reckoned with.
I have stayed away from reading any overviews or editorial reviews of The Magician King, preferring to come to the story fresh and unadulterated, but I presume it will be more of the same but different and better. I look forward to settling down (with my whisky) and crossing into this not-so childhood fantasy.
“The stories of childhood leave an indelible impression, and their author always has a niche in the temple of memory from which the image is never cast out to be thrown on the rubbish heap of things that are outgrown and outlived.” Howard Pyle, 1853–1911