Binging on Felicity Jones

My posts of late have betrayed my exasperation with the world and its leadership. Perhaps you noticed. My friend Nicola sent me the spectacular antidote above. Check it out! Seriously!

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Thursday was like just about every other day of the pandemic. My only accomplishment was reading another couple of hundred pages of Pachinko. Thankfully more books have arrived, and I got two more delivery notices in my post box yesterday—more reading material that I’ll collect today. 

I also got an invitation!!  Could anything be better? Jane and Dana extended an invitation to visit them in Parksville. For all of us, to be face-to-face with a good friend would do wonders for our Covid damaged souls. I’ve been pining for sushi, so I proposed picking some up to share for lunch together. We’re aiming for Wednesday because it’s predicted to be sunny.

Late yesterday I went on a bit of a Felicity Jones binge. I saw her outstanding performance in Yerma on the National Theatre streaming service. She was breathtaking, so yesterday I watched her younger self in the PBS productions ofMansfield Park and Northanger Abbey on the free streaming service, Kanopy. And lucky me! Her co-star was Carey Mulligan in Northanger Abbey, whom I think is also an extraordinary actor.

I’m amazed I could watch so much TV yesterday. I’ve become bored with television, but I absolutely love well-done English period dramas. (English major, here.) I guess I can take movies/TV when I really like what I’m seeing. It’s just seems to me that much of what’s on offer is dreadfully predictable and trashy.

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I’ll finish Pachinko today. It’s been a decent read, but not emotionally impacting as The Nightingale and Beneath a Scarlet Sky were. It’s my first venture into Asian literature, and going by this example, quite different. Pachinko focuses on a story with rich visual embellishments, and there’s lots of rationale to explain the action. But the emotions are up to the reader to imagine. It’s dangerous to generalize about a culture other than one’s own, but I’ve often heard of Asian reserve and this book is awash in it. 

But that’s why I wanted to read it: To experience respected writing from a culture that’s foreign to me. I’m really glad I read it.

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Early this morning, moonlight flooded my front yard. I awoke in a great mood expecting a bright day, but the clouds have rolled back in and we’re back to the usual. But it’s warmer, and for that, my plants and I are grateful. 

I’ve decided to order several cubic yards of soil and do a major renovation of the front lawn come April/May. That job, plus ordering and stacking five or six cords of wood are going to bring my pudgy body, softened by endless sedentary days of reading, back into decent form.