Judging a Book by Its Cover

I have never been ashamed to admit that I am the kind of person who likes judge a book by its cover - here by "book", I do not mean metaphorically and I really mean "book" in its literal sense; and I don't see any wrongs in doing so. Why would any sensible author or publisher allow his/her book to be covered in something that evoke imaginations that run inconsistent with, contradictory or even contrary to its content? Surely there are cases where the cover, no matter how well-designed and beautifully crafted, falls short of doing justice to the brilliance promised by the content. That is fine, for a cover should only offer a glimpse to what is about to unfold; it is supposed to tantalize the casual reader's interest to uncover, to discover what lies ahead.

I recently bought three little books of the Great Ideas series from Penguin Books, two authored by John Ruskin and one Marcel Proust. My purchase was not prompted by the famous authorship, but rather, by their beautiful, dainty covers. The photo, constrained in its two-dimensional world, does not compare to softness in touch to the caressing fingers, and the fine, uneven texture - flowers and foliage are slightly bulging so that they seem more lively than usual. And the collective beauty, when over 20 book were displayed together on the shelves with their delicately varied and pleasing color palette, was quite extraordinary.  There are altogether 60 books in the collection, everyone of which is attractive; I wish I could own all some day, but for now three are quite satisfying.

Charles Dickens on the Wall

This wall belongs to a lovely old building in the neighborhood - in fact, my favorite building even though it is kind of too late to discover it. We saw it while roaming through the Leathermarket Gardens Saturday afternoon and couldn't help but envy whoever is living in it with a view overlooking flowering treetops of the gardens. 

As we circled around and looked up we found these lines of texts, seemingly words from a poem, floating on one of the side walls, old, gritty, of the building. I was clueless as to the origin of the text. I took a photo and a bit googling back home quickly led to the answer: it is an excerpt from The Pickwick Papers by Charles Dickens.

There are dark shadows on the earth, but its lights are stronger in the contrast. Some men, like bats or owls, have better eyes for the darkness than for the light. We, who have no such optical powers, are better pleased to take our last parting look at the visionary companion of many solitary hours, when the brief sunshine of the world is blazing full upon them. 

Indeed when "the brief sunshine of the world is blazing full" in this city, one easily stops lamenting about the wet, cold rains, the wintry gusts, and anything so capable of bringing us down. 

所谓的落英缤纷，我想像中的样子就是这样的。可惜错过它们绚烂的时刻

开满红花的大树，近看，花很象杜鹃花，但杜鹃的植株应该不可能这么高大。

令人羡慕的顶层公寓。

Tim Burton & Matthew Gray Gubler & Stuff

The two people above seem an unlikely couple to coexist in any textual space; however they do have something in common besides my apparent interest in them. 

I went to Tate Modern again yesterday because it was Friday and on Fridays some museums in London choose to treat their patrons by staying open late, till 10pm in Tate Modern's case (and the sandwiches in the museum cafe in late hours, like an out-of-fashion artist, decide to trade for a reduced price too.) I love museums, a passion not shared by everyone I meet - quite a pity for I think everyone should love museums, regardless of his or her level of interest in Picasso and whatnot, for three reasons. 

First, they are free, mostly, in London, unless you really die to view a current exhibition which always charges a handsome fee or your guilty conscience would never allow you to bypass the donation box placed at the museum entrance without reaching for your wallet. 

Second, most museums promise a great escape with their aesthetically pleasing and architecturally interesting, large and open spaces to urban dwellers, the majority of whom spilt their lives between dreadful office cubicles and cookie-cutter characterless apartments. Think of the lofty, light-infused great hall of the British Museum, the historic, imposing central hall of the Natural History Museum, the awe-evoking, raw, industrial Turbine Hall of Tate Modern. Think of the many varied spaces, large and small, throughout the museums, usually no short of benches, armchairs and couches eagerly inviting one to stop, sit, linger, loiter, rest, watch, appreciate, anything but to hurry and be hurried, like in shops/cafes by over-zealous and oftentimes intrusive staff. 

Last but not the least, museum shops! Commercialized art, or art merchandise, things having a lot  or little to do with art, or things priced exorbitantly in the name of art, whatever you describe it. Despicable they might be, I find them very therapeutic and soothing, which has little to do with whether you can or want to afford to buy anything. The selection, the display, the color, the space! Everything seems mesmerizingly reachable, and at the same time also seems a bit too refined to regard them in the context of one's own home.

Okay, I have digressed enough and shall return to my visit to Tate Modern, more specifically, to its store. Among a sea of glossy, beautifully-covered books, I saw this book by Tim Burton, The Melancholy Death of Oyster Boy & Other Stories, lying there with a modest dark blue cover. I have known the book for a few years - first published in 1997, the book is 12 years old already-, and have been tempted to pick up a pricy hardcover copy in a NYC bookstore a couple of times but was never resolved enough to do it, especially after I found a full electronic copy online. I got to know the book when I didn't even know who Tim Burton was despite his fame and statue in Hollywood. I was attracted by his style of drawings and storytelling, a style very adeptly described by New York Times as:

"The Melancholy Death of Osyter Boy exquisitely conveys the pain of an adolescent outsider. Like Tim Burton's movies, the work manages to be both childlike and sophisticated, blending the innocent with the Macabre."

Seeing the book quietly snuggled among some colorful children's picture books - I highly question the appropriateness of categorizing it as children's book by Tate Modern - I was suddenly overcome by a feeling one often experiences in childhood for a long-coveted toy or chocolate bar. I brought the book to the cashier without much hesitation though it was not cheaper than the hardcover copy I came across years ago.

Here is a poem with the accompanying cartoon from the book:

The Pin Cushion Queen

Life isn't easy 

for the Pin Cushion Queen,

When she sits alone on her throne,

Pins push through her spleen.

 

This kind of morbid twist on childlike stories is easily reminiscent of the works of Edward Gorey (Gorey's entry in Wikipedia confirms the influence of Gorey on Burton's directional style), who decades before Burton's little book painted a more gruesome picture of the deaths of the "gashlycrumb tinnies". Here is one of the deaths:

Gorey is one of my favorite illustrators; but I only own two books of his: his books are hard to find,  being one excuse. I adore his dexterous and meticulous use of lines, his ability to build up an otherworldly atmosphere in which his odd characters live, his masterly use of meager words alongside his drawings. 

So why Matthew Gray Gubler? And, more important, who is he? He is nobody or a rather obscure actor/former fashion model to most people. He is Agent Spencer Reid/genius to anyone who is a fan like I am of the US TV crime drama series "Criminal Minds". He is also a quite talented sketch artist, only known to the few who happen to have visited his personal website which displays many of his works or doodles - he is the designer of the website too. The ghastly nature of his sketches supplies an interesting yet surprisingly complimentary facet to the nerdy Dr. Reid character - somehow I find it hard to separate his TV persona from his real life one; I would like to think he's playing himself though I perfectly know the real Gubler, smart he may be, is not a genius. 

So finally here is the connection between Tim Burton and Matthew Gray Gubler, that they are both in the show-biz and they both have a less-known artistic talent in drawing, sketching, illustrating, whatever you call it and an aesthetic taste in and inclination for things that are not so cute-and-cheerful. There is something else I envy in them both:  that their fame - not so much yet for MGG- as a result of their career in film or TV helps to bring to light their other artistic endeavors, which otherwise more likely than not will sink to obscurity, for neither of the two, as much as I admire them, stand great chance of prospering based solely on their drawing/sketching skills. But lucky for them, and for me too, they are keeping their day jobs. For MGG, I would buy his book if he ever decides to publish one.

Too much sun light?

Too much sun light, too much brightness, in London! Can you believe it?! Photo was taken at 9am in the sitting room, equipped with no blinds thanks to our hopelessly procrastinating landlord who never delivers what he promises. 

Every surface there is is eagerly reflecting off sunlight, to the point that you feel you are entering some sort of sun box or tanning room.  

Not good for all the perishables and objects which much prefer to be stored in "cool and avoid direct light" places in the room; but effective in luring one to go outside and get immersed in this generous dose of light therapy.

Checklist for things to do before leaving

• Visit Tate Britain and get one of their reduced-priced canvas tote bags with Francis Bacon studio paint design;
• Take a boat up or down Thames on a sunny day, which could be combined with a visit to Tate Britain - there are shuttle boat services between Tate Modern and Tate Britain;
• Visit Victoria & Albert Museum and buy a Bunny Blossom print by LA-based artists;
• Make a final trip to the bookstores on Charing Cross Road and hopefully bag more cheap buys; and silently wish them good luck in surviving the economic downturn and competition from internet and big chain stores;
• Weather permitting, picnic in Richmond Park, the largest park in London covering 25oo acres of land. Time permitting, visit the Kew Garden in its vicinity (and run into ethnobotanist James Wong, the host of the newly-launched BBC series "Grow your own drugs" :)
• Stroll through the Portobello Road market on a Saturday and pick up a cheap antique toy or a Londor tube/street sign;
  
• Complete one of the 20 great walks in the British Isles recommended by Times. The one we did recently in the Cotswolds country was so immeasurably relaxing and satisfying that we want to replicate the experience, this time, with more time and better planning;
• Dine at one of the celeb chefs' restaurants - preferably not a pricey one.  I admit I much prefer British celeb chefs to US ones. I am not a fan of any of the US celeb chefs; in a few instances I even find them quite annoying.  But I like all the UK celeb chefs, only to different degrees, although I only know four or five. I find them all uniquely talented, intelligent and entertaining;
• Watch Britain's Got Talent on telly for two more weeks: if lucky enough, witness another Susan Boyle moment; if not, at least get to sit back and enjoy Simon's brutally honest yet high entertaining judging remarks - Simon never disappoints!

More to come....

Taste of Country Sophistication in Oxfordshire

Restaurant at the Mill and Old Swan. Most elegant bar food ever tasted.

(All pictures below were taken with an iphone camera with notoriously low resolutions in poor lighting, so they do not do half justice to the food displayed.)

Spinach soup with poached egg.

Warm chorizo and new potato salad, with spinach and goat cheese, in balsamic dressing

Steak flatbread

The Fishes near Oxford

Sea Bass with cauliflower mash and watercress

Thai-marinated half quail, warm bok choy and bean sprout salad, lime and coriander dressing

Fish board: crayfish tails, potted crab, taramasalata, spicy cornish plaice goujons

Suddenly Summer 忽而今夏

Summer is suddenly in the London air today, warm enough for a thin summer dress, in the afternoon when the sun is out, showering the city with hazy golden particles. 

Only 20 or so degrees, but very warm, warm enough be to called summer by London standards. An afternoon on such a day deserves best to be spent where else but on the lovely Portobello Road in Notting Hill. 

Walking down the Portobello Road, heart light as ever, I 

couldn't stop picturing myself living in one of the colorful roadside buildings - this one, with a cheerful, newly-painted front door (reminds one of the famous blue-doored building where Hugh Grant-the-stuttering-bookstore -owner lives in  "Notting Hill" the movie); or that one, garden in front with hyacinth in full cascading blossom; or maybe that modern one across the street with dignified glass exteriors and terrace. I want to catch a glimpse of the many different lives being lived, at this moment, in these various buildings; lives, base or noble, small or big, are the source of my envy this afternoon. 

Intoxicating heat, indeed, and the breeze that moves it down the road, too.

忽然想起了这么一个词，忽而今夏，再想，很久以前热爱的一首黄耀明的老歌，自然还是林夕的词：

看见了漫漫稻田在掠过

看见了烈日在遥望着我

过去每一分钟刹那之间涌向我

某月某年 仿佛再生

。。。。。。

暮色

有时候，一个最简单的场景，在一个特定的时间，就好比这样，一个春日的傍晚，大概7点多钟，太阳在地平线上踟躇，一群羊在草场上气定神闲的吃草，夜晚将近，它们不为所动。

母羊和小羊们，看着路人的镜头，有点好奇，没有惊慌。

路人也真的只是路过，不清楚停在了地图的那个角落，以及刚刚路过的村庄是哪一个。

Cotswolds - The Country of All Countries

住的客栈对面的草场。大片的，傍晚的时候有成群的野鸭、大雁、鹌鹑、野鸡等觅食休憩。

Minster Lovell Hall附近的农舍，两头小驴在春日午后的阳光下吃草。

Minster Lovell 小村庄里某户人家门前路。

我们客栈的接待处。

Hidcote Manor Garden里的老屋。

Hidcote Manor Garden一角。

Garden周围的草场，羊群在漫步。

Broadway小镇附近的乡间，小桥流水花朵，纯英国风格的。

还是broadway小镇附近，步行小路Cotswolds Way，回头看来时的路。。羊群、村庄、远处的教堂、还有无尽的绿和春意

Cotswolds Way。爬上一个小山坡，豁然有是一排怡然开阔的风光。步步是景，太美丽。

繁花渐欲迷人眼

乡间漫步 － 还是我们住的村庄的附近

客栈的名字里有天鹅，据说着旁边流过的小河的确是有天鹅出没的，可惜我们那几天，没有看到她们。

乡间单行道，行一辆车时，我们还要挑到路边的草从里让步，好在，走的半个多小时期间，也只有3－4辆车经过，其中两部还是暗红色的老爷车，敞棚的，好似从刚从电影或小说的场景里开出来，恍然让人有时光停滞的错觉

伦敦倒记时

转眼间又要打点行囊，准备离开这个我还没蹲热的地方了。平日里，我们和住在英国的朋友说起伦敦，总是诸多抱怨：政府的低效率、服务业（水、电、网络，还有令人发指的英国银行）的落后、天气的多变、以及交通、物价、英国人，等等等等。每次只要有人起个头，准保不会冷场，每个人都有若干个故事，能与人分享。我们这中间，大多都住过不同国家的不同城市，所以想当然的拿伦敦与那些记忆里的城市比较，然而记忆往往有神奇的过滤作用，特别于我这样的上了一定“年龄”的越来越怀旧的老者来说，所以这种现实与回忆的比较往往是不平等，结果也是不公平的。回想纽约的日子，对于当时的现实也是抱怨诸多的，特别是和同城人在一起聊天时，抱怨甚至是必须的必然的，仿佛不这样就是过于天真过于不谙人情俗事的。只是离开了，少了现实生活的烦扰，接续以前的抱怨会显得过于愤世嫉俗和矫情，毕竟在某种意义上，你已经失去了抱怨的权力。

说回现在这个我们将离未离的伦敦，从几个礼拜前，我在心里默默的开始倒记时，不是准备最后的冲刺，而是提醒要尽量慢尽量长尽量彻底尽量温情的“住”在伦敦。

一个帖子写了n天了，还是只写了开头，都还没进入主题，即值得纪念值得热爱的伦敦的点点滴滴。其实不幸的是，离开的时候，发现这样的点滴是如此之多：

不下雨的时候，附近的小公园坐着，这样的公园在伦敦很多，小小的，夹在街道房屋店铺之间，利用着能利用的任何一块空地，有的规划齐整，有的野趣十足，大多数，里面会住有一颗古老的大树，树冠巨大，枝叶丰茂；公园总是安静的孤独的，偶尔有遛狗的，附近上班抽空出来吃午饭的，修剪枝叶打理公园的工人。阳光和云朵玩着追逐的游戏，阳光赢时，整个世界刹那发出光来，绿叶绿的发亮，红花艳的刺眼，身上的外套也要从身上滑下来。这样的阳光，带一本英国作家的书，好比Virginia Woolf的Mrs. Dalloway,去坐在公园里，好像是理所应当的。

书架上的书慢慢堆积了起来，归功最后一个月的伦敦的疯狂购书，仿佛我们马上要启程去一个没有书籍的沙漠隐居。其实看到2镑甚至1镑的价钱，不乖乖打开荷包才怪，尤其价签下的还是一本精装的出版于50年前的有历史有故事的书。Charing Cross路上的旧书店，今年又刚刚倒闭了两家，看到窗上贴的蓝色倒闭告示，心里有点小难过，也许几年后来这里，剩余的几家也会被大型连锁书店或另一家pizza hut取代了。好在最爱的一家any amount books还健在，为了她的长命，每次路过总要进去做点贡献 － 其实当我们每每用10几镑换走两袋沉甸甸的书，感觉不是贡献，倒象掳掠。

还有以步代车的时候，从家走到河边，然后选择一座桥走到河的北岸去，有时是黄色绿色相间的southwark bridge，有时是正对St Paul的总是游人如织的millennium bridge，有时走的更远些去走红色的waterloo bridge；晴天阴天，桥、河、岸都会是不同的样子。

还有悠闲的周六，去伦敦桥边的市场，看人，吃小吃。

还有坐在春天的海德公园里，看跑步的人，看情侣，看树叶，看阳光，看阳光从树叶间隙间倾泻下来。

还有。。还有。。。写不完的，有点绝望。

Spring - Continued

往往冬天过于苦长的地方，人总是格外珍惜春天。我以前住过的地方，对春天总是感叹其太短，往往是冬天一过，还没来得及将春天的样子看全，夏天就迫不及待的挤上了日程。而这个国家，可能是因为没有明显的夏天 － 传统意义上的“暑”天－ ，春天来的迟来的缓，姿态摆的是从容的不能再从容，让人将满腔的热情的泼洒出来，将所有美好的情绪和想像都不惜的奉上。

连我们楼下小小的最不起眼的一角，现在也是迸发着色彩，整个冬天，都只是几根枯枝而已（小小手机相机拍的，也不难看）。

和art class的同学去Courtauld Gallery，傍晚时在Somerset House背面，泰晤士河边的夕照

街中一棵开花的树

一抹新绿出墙来