Dancer is a novel based on the life if Rudolf Nureyev, a fascinating Soviet ballet dancer.
While I was initially sceptical about the concept of a fictional biography, Colum McCann as convinced me it
can be done with style. He manages to convey the facts of Nureyev's life, whilst also capturing the verve
of his character in a way biographies often fail to do.
Born in 1938 in the Soviet Union, Rudolf Nureyev became a soloist for the Kirov Ballet, before defecting while
on tour in 1961. He revolutionised the role of the male ballet dancer. Before Nureyev, male dancers were viewed
as secondary to female dancers, but Nureyev expanded the capabilities of the male dancer and placed more
emphasis than ever on skills and technique.
Different sections of the novel are written in a variety of styles and from the perspectives of a number of people.
Much of the first half of the novel is written in quite a normal, narrative, style, but as
the novel progresses
the styles get more varied, including journal entries, letters, and one chapter of twenty seven pages that is all
a single sentence! McCann's writing style can rich with imagery, and as many words are devoted to sounds and
smells as sights. While the different styles and perspectives can be confusing at times, the total effect
is a very full, rich story.
One of the most enjoyable aspects of this novel is that a tale about the life of Rudolf
Nureyev lends itself
to the exploration of a number of interesting themes. Nureyev was an intriguing character, renowned for his
arrogance, his homosexuality, his defection from the Soviet Union, his rise from poverty to riches, and of course,
his brilliant dancing. McCann captures Nureyev's life as if he were trying to make the reader experience it rather
than reading about it. It makes for a truly fulfilling read.
If the idea of recreational mathematics
doesn’t scare you off, then prepare yourself for a sometimes challenging, but
very fun and rewarding read in Ian Stewart’s latest book, Flatterland.
In 1884, Edwin Abbott wrote a book
called Flatland. It told the story of a place where only two dimensions
exist. Flatland explored the experiences of a Flatlander (a two
dimensional being), A. Square, and his encounters with the third dimension. For
over 100 years, the ideas presented in Flatland have been used as an
analogy to help explain the concept of a fourth dimension.
In his novel Flatterland – Like
Flatland, Only More So, Ian Stewart transports us back to Flatland, more
than 100 years after A. Square’s adventures. Square’s great-granddaughter Vicky
discovers her great-grandfather’s writings and becomes interested in his
experiences. With an enigmatic character called the Space Hopper as a guide, she
explores various areas of the Mathiverse, and converses with the inhabitants of
these strange lands. Through Vicky and Space Hopper’s journeys, Stewart takes us
on a delightful romp through some of the more complex and exciting ideas in the
modern realms of maths and physics, including noneuclidean geometry,
fractals, topology, relativity, cosmology, and quantum theory.
Surprisingly, for a book that tackles
some quite difficult mathematical theories, Flatterland is not a hard
read. The concepts in Flatterland are quite well explained, and shouldn’t
cause many problems even for someone with a minimal background in maths. For
those who have read Terry Pratchett, Stewart writes in quite a similar style (in
fact he co-authored The Science of the Discworld), often amusing
analogies and figures of speech. The novel flows well, with an engaging plot and
delightful characters including the Hawk King (a powerful magnate in the
spacetime construction business), Superpaws (Schrodinger’s cat), and Moobius (a
mobius cow).
I recommend this book to anyone with a
curious mind. Even someone without a background in maths or physics can gain a
lot from reading this book, and it is a really enjoyable read.
Mesopotamian tale of King Gilgamesh and a rival Enkidu who is sent by the gods to challenge him. Gilgamesh defeats
Enkidu, and the two become friends, travelling together on many heroic
journeys. Joan London’s Gilgamesh is not such a grand tale, but nor is
it so mystical. This is a story of family, friendship, and human strength. When
Edith’s cousin Leopold and his Armenian travel companion come to stay with her
family on their remote Western Australian farm, Edith’s sheltered lifestyle
comes to an abrupt end. Life as a young, single mother in the 1930s brings out
the strength in Edith’s character and she leaves her remote home on a quest to
find her child’s father.
This novel is a gentle portrayal of life in the 1930s and
40s, in Australia, London and Armenia. It deals with the role of women in these
three different societies, and the part the Second World War played in the
lives of people of this era. Joan London also uses the story as a forum to
examine the relationships we form with family and friends. Containing a very
human exploration of life during the depression and the war, Gilgamesh
is a good read.
Bizarre yet intriguing, The Darwin Awards revolve around the concept of (posthumously) rewarding people who remove themselves from the human gene pool through their own acts of stupidity. While The Darwin Awards exist in numerous forms (you may have seen the website or emails), this is the third books in a series containing short anecdotes about some of the ways that foolishness can be bad for your health.
The book is divided into chapters, each of which represents a category of awards, such as incidents involving animals, or run-ins with the law. Included in each chapter are a number of Awards, Honourable Mentions, and Personal Anecdotes. Awards are reserved for stories supported by a number of media sources, while the stories with Honourable Mentions are less easily verifiable.
Although my sense of humour usually enables me to laugh at life’s misfortunes, for the most part I didn’t find the Awards and Honourable Mentions very amusing. The stories are short, and the writing snappy, but the content was mostly too gruesome for my taste. The personal anecdotes, in which people confess to their own, or acquaintances’ Darwinian experiences, mostly cover near-miss situations and are a lot more humorous. I was most interested, however, by the chapter introductions which contain general discussions of interesting events of ideas. My favourite of these deals with the concept of memes, ideas which infiltrate a society, and in particular with the destructive effects that things like “vicious killer” memes can have on a society.
In general, I would say that Darwin Awards III is the print equivalent of Australia’s Funniest Home Videos. If you derive amusement from watching people injure themselves in ridiculous ways, then you’ll probably enjoy reading about people killing themselves in through their own amazing stupidity. For me, reading Darwin Awards III was a lot like witnessing a car crash – not very amusing but engrossing in a certain, horrible, way.