This book nearly killed me. And not in a good way. I bought it a few months ago on the basis of this AskMeFi thread, which compared it to Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell. I thought, hey, I liked that book! And people gave this one some rave reviews. So I dived in.

Ugh. I HATED IT. It started off okay, and I actually liked how Eco introduced William with a nod to classic Sherlock Holmes stories. (Specifically, the bit about the runaway horse.) The murder mystery was compelling, but it makes up only about 10% of the book. I’m serious. For every tiny scrap of a clue you got, there’d be twenty pages of random discourse on medieval monks, philosophy, the Inquisition, Papal succession, and heretical sects. I wasn’t sure whether I was supposed to recognize all these groups’ names (like, maybe in Italy this stuff is all well known?), or whether the point was to completely overwhelm and disorient the reader (which is what happened). The only, ONLY reason I forced myself to finish it was just so I could find out who the killer was. Oh, and I was mildly curious to find out what the title referred to, which is – SPOILER ALERT – nothing. IT SUCKED.

So basically, if you’re looking for a mildly compelling murder mystery with lots of priestly sex, torture, and poison, but that’s somehow also COMPLETELY BORING at the same time, this is your book.

Has anyone seen the movie with Sean Connery? Is it any good?

This morning Prime Minister Rudd made history by apologising to the Aborigines for their mistreatment at the hands of the government. It’s been a long, long time coming, and for the past few weeks (once it was confirmed he was actually going to do it) there’s been a sense of excitement and happiness at the gesture. Over on Ravelry, someone suggested that we all change our avatars to say “sorry” for the occasion. I admitted in the thread that while I’m totally on board with the apology, I worried that people would resent my participation since I’m such a new arrival myself. I know people can get very defensive when they think they’re being criticized or judged by “outsiders.” The girls over there were great, and they pointed out that we’re all immigrants here and it shouldn’t matter whether your family in Australia goes back seven years or seventy. I’m a citizen here now, and as a citizen I think it’s right that my government should apologise for what was done in the past.

So there I was, feeling all proud of my government and happy to be here for such a historic occasion… when I made the mistake of mentioning the Sorry Day speech in front of the wrong person. In retrospect I should have known better; this person (while lovely in a lot of ways) has shown herself to be ultra-conservative in the past. She made it clear that she completely disagreed with the apology. “Don’t even talk to me about that,” she spat out. “It’s just going to lead to liability and lawsuits–” I countered with the facts I’d read here. “Actually, the apology doesn’t have any legal impact. They could sue before. Even Tony Abbott didn’t claim that in his editorial in support of the apology this morning…” She didn’t want to hear it. Then she launched into a story about how an Aboriginal group had petitioned the council where she lives (“… and where I pay council rates!”) for the return of a piece of land (“… because some sacred somebody took a piss there once”), and then when they were granted it, sold the property to a developer for millions. “Hey, I’m not going to begrudge somebody with HALF MY LIFE EXPECTANCY the chance to sell out,” I half-joked. She wasn’t amused. And then came the kicker, of course. “Well, for those of us that have lived their whole lives here…” blah blah blah. It was exactly the “You’re not a REAL Australian” argument I’d been dreading. Rather than say something I’d regret, I turned and left.

I’d almost forgotten there were people like that around. Disappointing.

Oh, right. So the Broadway Shopping Center went BOOM today. I had, like, three people email me the news, one of whom was in the US! I have no idea what’s going on. But hey, as long as the curse remains on that side of the road, we’re okay. If anything blows up over here, though, I guess we’ll have to sacrifice a chicken or something.

Thanks to the reminder from Meg, the Snook and I headed off to the Agincourt Hotel tonight to vote in the Democrats Abroad primary. (Well, I was voting. He was just there for the beer.) Clutching my US passport, I was directed up two flights of stairs to a tiny, dark back room. There sat a couple nice expats (Oklahoma, Kentucky, and New York) running the election while a small meeting of the faithful took place around a corner. I presented my ID and filled out my forms. (Sí­ se puede!) Then I picked up some leaflets from the party organiser. Hey, they’re marching in the Mardi Gras parade! I’m totally considering it.

For the past hour or two we’ve been hearing a strange chattering out in the garden. “What the hell’s that?” I wondered. “Some kind of crazy bird?” “Fruit bats!” said the Snook. Instantly we both realized that our beautiful papaya tree in the backyard, the one with the lovely big fruit on it… is being feasted upon this very minute by these little fellas. (There’s an audio file there if you want to hear what they sound like.) I suppose it’s all right; the Snook doesn’t much like papaya anyway. I just hope they don’t poop seeds all over the place.

A question for the “Cushion Woman” from the shop this afternoon: So, does the raging sense of entitlement come as a perk with the black metal AmEx card, or is it just something you cultivated yourself?

Oh, sweet! Mason-Dixon are having a Teeny Project Runway contest. Hmm, I’ve already knitted shoes for the monkey. Maybe I could whip something else up for him and enter it?

The King of Kong Continued. The Onion’s AV Club gets an interview with Billy Mitchell from the movie. Look, I get that the filmmakers had an obvious bias and that Mitchell was definitely set up to the bad guy… but seriously, every time the guy opens his mouth he sounds like a dickhead. That’s not bias; that’s reality.