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Casey

@framesandfiction__

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📚Book reader | collector
📷 Digital & film camera enthusiast
🦮 Dog walker

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The Story of a Life. Where does one begin?

For me, this book all came down to one quote.

“For a writer, memory is nearly everything. It not only stores gathered material, it also acts like a magical sieve, separating out and preserving what is most valuable. The dust and dross pass through and are carried away by the wind. What remains are the small bits of gold, and it is from there, I believe, that works of art are made.”

Memory.

This is a book of one man’s life. There will be no synopsis here. Paustovsky lived through the most transformative years of Russian history. It’s a love letter to the people of Russia, to the lives led, to its history, landscapes, and to everything that makes up a life.

But while reading it, I couldn’t stop thinking about two people in my own life and their very different experiences with memory.

First, my grandmother. Of all the people in my life, I’ve never encountered a person with a better memory than her. She spoke so softly and with such patience that as a child, I was always transfixed by her stories, any story. She could recall any life event with such detail and accuracy that it left you mesmerized.

The other person was my Father. Who passed away not having any memory at all. An entire life lived, taken from him by Alzheimer’s. It was his loss of memory I thought about the most.

These two contrasting lives and their own experiences lived had me thinking a lot about memory and how, as I age, all my own memories are starting to fade, are becoming dim, there’s less of a sheen, and how I have to work really hard to recall the ones I want to hold onto the most.

So this post is mostly for me about a book that encouraged me to share some memories and photos I never want to forget.

A big thank you to all those that read this amazing book along side me. Reading this with all you made this book really special. 🙏 by @framesandfiction__

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2 days ago

Victor Serge writes like he has one eye on the door, or constantly looking over his shoulder, “What’s that sound?”, “Who’s there?”, he has to get this sentence to the page, there’s no time, it could all be over in a second. Writing late into the night, darkness, “Turn the light off!”, constantly hiding, on the run, leave no trace, they can’t know I’m here, hurry, here’s the pages, hide them, don’t hide them there. They’ll be more, the story must be told, I’ll meet you, under the lamppost, it’s deep into the park, there’s a bench there, don’t be followed.

The Case of Comrade Tulayev, a story told during Stalin’s purges, one man gets his hands on a gun, his neighbour walks into his room, sees the gun, wants the gun, wants to hold it, wants to feel its power, where no one has any power. He’s given the gun, the other guy doesn’t want it anymore, make it disappear, here you take it. Comrade Tulayev, high-ranking Communist party official, part of the Stalin machine, responsible for purges, death, deportations, exits his car, walking home, he’s almost there, a shot rings out, he’s on the ground no longer breathing.

But who did it, it must be a grand conspiracy, everyone’s guilty, what did you say? Please come with us, down a dark hallway of a movie theatre, just a little bit further, down the stairs to the basement, please close the door behind you, gone, never to be seen again.

Story after story transpires, the hunt for the killer must be found!

(Cont’d—>)

There’s a sense of paranoia, double cross, guilt, revenge, life in the balance, poverty, starvation, famine, ash, it’s everywhere, life becomes survival to see the next sunrise. Give your life to the Communist party, doesn’t matter, you’re next, your time has come, if you didn’t do it, we’ll make it sound like you did anyways. Victor Serge is underappreciated, he’s Bolaño, sixty years earlier, frantic, face-paced, not enough room on the page for sentences written. I’ll reread this book, which I don’t do often, but I know I missed things, I want to know how Serge did it.

A huge heartfelt thank you to @afixation for taking time out of her life and sending me this book. Your kindness is truly appreciated. You by @framesandfiction__

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8 days ago

Frail by Ricky Allen (@fastertojuneau_ )was a book I’ve wanted to read since I first set eyes on it. I wanted to get to know Ricky the writer, who I’ve come to respect from the small amount I know about him. He’s an incredibly proud father and husband, and that really shines through in everything he does in this space. But I wanted to read Frail for personal reasons as well. Ricky and I share some similarities in our collective upbringings, and I wanted to see if those similarities were explored in Frail.

They were.

Michael, our main character (possibly Ricky), is a young man trying to navigate an existence in two worlds. One world is a life of total freedom. Free will. He wants to be loved and feel love. All of it. Absolutely everything that comes with it. It’s the other world that makes navigating the world he desperately wants to be a part of very difficult to coexist in. It’s that other world that brought me, the reader, to this book. Navigating a young life in a faith-based environment is not often explored in present-day works of fiction. Through Michael’s eyes, we get to experience his inner turmoil of such an existence, and that’s what I came here for.

Ricky is a keen observer of the everyday human experience. Whether it’s working at Best Buy, smoking the wrong cigarettes, discovering music through the days of illegal downloading, or meeting up with your friends at the bar and consuming way too many vodka Red Bulls. All of it felt real, all of it came through a voice that is entirely the author’s own.

I wish Frail was longer, if I’m being honest, and I’m wondering through Frail if we’re seeing the seeds to the novel Ricky Allen was born to write.

I will continue to follow Ricky’s career as a writer, I will continue to cheer him on, and continue to champion a writer doing it his own way. by @framesandfiction__

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15 days ago

Satire: “the use of humour, irony, exaggeration, or ridicule to expose and criticize human voices, follies, stupidity, or societal institutions, usually with the intent of inspiring reform”.

“Just then Comrade Stalin descended slowly from the sky. He had a mustache, a pipe between his teeth, and was wearing a woman’s dress.”

The Life and Extraordinary Adventures of Private Chonkin by Vladimir Voinovich is satire of the highest order. I’m not Russian, I’m Canadian (some think I’m British :)) and I’d have to ask my Russian friends (which I can’t because I don’t have any) if this total take down of Russian society, the Party, the Red Army, the secret police, and bureaucracy hits the mark. I think it did. I laughed out loud at least thirty-seven and a half times, and I’m a Canadian. (We’re very polite and don’t like to make fun of others.)

Ivan Chonkin, “short of stature, bowlegged, and even had red ears,” gets sent to a nearby kolkhoz to stand sentry of a downed plane until he’s relieved of his duty. Days, weeks go by, and no one is coming. He’s forgotten about. He meets Nyurka, who’s alone except for her cow and pet hog. They hit it off, and Chonkin moves the fence aside, drags the plane into her front yard, and moves in.

This book is nonstop hilarity, told through dreams, constant mishaps, communication breakdowns, and misunderstandings.

Whether it’s a dream Chonkin has where everyone turns out to be hogs, after a rumour that Nyurka sleeps nightly with her pet pig. There’s a talking horse, and Red Army soldiers throwing Molotov cocktails without lighting them because they didn’t know, the satire careens off the pages. No one is spared and I loved it.

I’m deep down the Russian literature rabbit hole, and this is just another new author to me, another master, another banned Russian writer I just can’t seem to get enough of. by @framesandfiction__

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24 days ago

In The Story of a Life, which I’m currently reading together with some amazing people, Paustovsky mentions going to school with Mikhail Bulgakov. He remembers his “sharp tongue, energy, jokes, and extraordinary presence.” I read The Master and Margarita fifteen years ago, and after Paustovsky’s mention of him, I was curious about getting back to a writer I had virtually forgotten about.

You could casually read Heart of a Dog as a story about a scientist who fuses a dog and a human in the name of science, and that would be perfectly fine. But Bulgakov ain’t that kind of writer. The book opens from Sharik’s perspective: a stray dog trying to survive on the streets of Moscow. He’s had hot water poured on him by a janitor, which has a profound impact on his opinion of the working class…or, really, anyone who might do him harm.

He meets Professor Filipp Filippovich Preobrazhensky, an elitist scientist who takes him in because he has a brilliant idea. What could possibly go wrong?

Well, everything.

Bulgakov then takes some serious shots at revolution, bureaucracy, and the idea that you can’t create a better human being without changing the society that shaped them.

I absolutely loved this book. Bulgakov’s energy, humour, and sense of absurdism were infectious. He’s my kind of writer, and I can’t wait to continue discovering more of his work. by @framesandfiction__

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a month ago

A no labour weekend, that was. by @framesandfiction__

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a month ago

I don’t buy new books. New as in published recently. There are a couple of reasons for that. One is the price, but the main reason is I spent most of the 90’s and early 2000’s reading white men competing against each other to write the Great American novel. I don’t regret my reading choices, but I’m grateful the publishing industry has evolved since the days I wrote book reviews on Tumblr. Inevitably those decades of reading left a massive blind spot of books published in the last hundred years. Books I’m trying to read currently.

I heard about The Director through a New York Times podcast and my interest was piqued. So I ordered a book published in 2023. A rare occurrence, as mentioned. It follows G.W. Pabst, a director held in high regard for his work. Although I’ve seen none of his films. G.W. is making films in France when he gets word that his mother is ill. He chooses to return to Austria with his family at the worst possible time in human history. A very specific group of hoodlums has taken power, and they’re hell bent on taking over the world. (N*zis)

When I first started reading The Director, I thought this was just going to be a name dropping exercise. Page after page early on was name after name. Pabst was at a party with this great film executive, Pabst visited this acting starlet, that soon subsides, and the story of a man and the moral questions of what he’s about to embark on takes hold. It’s written like a movie. Each chapter is its own scene, which was pretty impressive. There are scenes in this novel that are unforgettable. Which is probably why I liked the book as much as I did.

I looked it up to see which movie studio had purchased the rights to this book and was surprised to learn that none have. Someone will, and there’s an actor out there that doesn’t know it yet, but if done right, they’ll probably win an Oscar. by @framesandfiction__

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a month ago

If you put Anna Seghers in a room alone with that guy with the stupid moustache, she would have kicked his ass. I have no doubt. The story of her life, the story of this book, and its publishing history are just as intriguing as reading The Seventh Cross was, and this book was everything and so much more.

Seghers wrote this story while in exile in France between 1938 and 1939. She threw up her middle fingers to the N*zis and wrote a book about seven escapees from a labour camp, trying to get anywhere but where they were. George Heisler, our chosen escapee, bad father, horrible husband, womanizer, and mediocre friend, is the conduit to what was happening inside Germany. It’s not the perfect story, but it’s a really good one, and the fact that it was written virtually in real time, telling the world what was going on inside Germany, is kind of astounding.

I had the pleasure of reading this incredible book with so many outstanding people, in a reading group hosted by Katie (@thewrittenroute ). My first such experience, and although I probably talked too much, everyone offered such insightful commentary and made this the highlight reading experience of my year.

Lastly, and he can’t go unmentioned, this book had one of my favourite characters I can remember in recent memory. Paul Roeder, George’s friend. He brought the light when times were dark. Vibes were immaculate: lover of dumplings, German football, and whistling down the street when you shouldn’t be heard whistling. I’ll remember him for a long time. I’ll remember this book, and I’ll remember the people around the globe I had the pleasure of reading alongside.

In Paul we Trust. by @framesandfiction__

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a month ago

London Belongs to Me is a delightful book. Delightful! Wait, what did I just say? Let’s try that again. London Belongs to Me is a lovely book. Lovely! What is happening to me? I’m putting my tea down and starting this all over again. Tea! “Let’s go, England!”

Yes, apparently seven hundred pages of following the lives of the residents of No. 10 Dulcimer Street in Kennington for the two years leading up to World War II has impacted my psyche, and I’m now English.

That’s what this book is. You live, eat, and breathe their very existence through a very specific time, and it’s both comforting and, at times, tedious. It’s a wonderful character study and a beautiful snapshot of life during a time in history before everything changed forever.

What I’ll take away from this reading experience is the sense of community and coming together for each other. Something I feel has long disappeared. I remember the days of playing rollerblade hockey in the cul-de-sac, backyard barbecues with everyone in the neighbourhood. You’d take your neighbours’ trash cans in, cut their lawns if they were away on holidays, or take care of each other’s pets when asked. We all looked out for each other. We did things for one another. We wanted to be a part of each other’s lives.

Now we’re all exhausted. There’s no time for anything, let alone our neighbours. Our worlds have closed in on themselves.

London Belongs to Me did not have to be seven hundred pages. Books like this just don’t get written anymore. There are no literary tricks, no shifting perspectives or metafictional somersaults. It’s an old-fashioned tale told by an author who loved his characters. I enjoyed being one of them. It was a jolly good time. by @framesandfiction__

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2 months ago

Last month, via my stories, I asked if anyone was interested in reading The Story of a Life with me. What I didn’t realize at the time is that not everyone looks through stories, so an update about the group read via a post is what you’re seeing here.

Some of you have already responded through DMs, and we’ll be starting The Story of a Life on September 1. I’ve never done this before, and I can be rather shy in big groups, but the weekly chats will be taking place via an Instagram group chat. Reading schedule to follow.

If you’re at all interested in joining us, just comment here or send me a message and I’ll add you to the group.

Lastly, my next read will be The Seventh Cross by Anna Seghers, another group read being hosted by @thewrittenroute. Head over to her page and join if you’re interested. It’s a book I’m certain will lead to some great discussions. by @framesandfiction__

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2 months ago

Here’s the thing: my reading has become completely disjointed. To me, it feels all over the place. Sure, I’ve been reading good books, and that’s all that matters, but something has felt off.

@literarywanderess mentioned the words “reading project” in a recent post, and that got me thinking. Maybe that’s exactly what I need. A reading project could keep me focused, and hopefully quiet that feeling of unease I always seem to have when choosing what to read next.

So that’s what I’ve decided to do, and these are the books I’ve chosen.

I’ve mentioned before that I’ve had a lifelong fascination with the years leading up to, during, and after World War II. Most of my reading and knowledge has focused on the battles, the soldiers, and the military campaigns. This project will be different.

I want to learn about ordinary people and what their lives were like as they lived through one of the most extraordinary periods in human history. I want to take a more global look at these years, and I’ve tried to choose books from as many different countries and perspectives as possible.

I know this is a niche subject, but it’s one I’ve always been drawn to. These are stories I feel compelled to read. I hope I’m able to shine a light on some books that deserve more attention, and in my own small way, help keep the memories of this time and the people who lived through it alive. by @framesandfiction__

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2 months ago

“On the Marble Cliffs is a great book, and virtually no one I’ve mentioned it to has read it.” - W.S. Merwin

This quote on the back of this NYRB encapsulates my thoughts perfectly.

On the Marble Cliffs by Ernst Jünger is a great book, but, in my opinion, very few people are going to pick it up and read it. Let me try to explain.

This book is obviously about more than two hermits living a peaceful existence, researching the natural beauty of flora and fauna high in the mountains while, below them, the Head Forester is causing havoc and carnage throughout the lands beneath.

You might be thinking, Wait a second, that sounds kind of interesting. But there’s a catch: it doesn’t really read like that. This book is beautifully written, but it’s so full of symbolism, metaphor, and possible allegory that you know there’s another meaning behind almost every sentence.

Maybe it’s my age, or maybe it’s my tired eyes after working all day in 30 degree heat, but it all felt like too much for me to unravel. I spent more time trying to figure out the hidden meanings than simply reading the story.

This book was published in 1939 and censored by the Gestapo in 1942. A very specific man from history was a great admirer of Jünger’s work and was probably the only reason this book was published in the first place. I imagine he was rather fond of the Head Forester character, but I digress.

The translation is beautifully done, the prose is rich with poetic language, and you may have more patience than I do when it comes to uncovering the book hidden within the book.

🏷️
#nyrb #nyrbclassics #nyrbsummer by @framesandfiction__

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3 months ago