And We're Back

Why, yes: it has been an incredibly (amazingly, stupendously, shockingly, ridiculously, unforgivably, strangely, remarkably) long time since I have written anything for this blog. Why, no: there is no good reason for that being the case. I could make something up, but it would likely lack both verisimilitude and veracity, since I repeat: there is no good reason.

I just sort of stopped. That is not unusual. That is why blogs will eventually die out and give way to Twitter and Facebook, since it is very easy to spew random thoughts in 140 characters and/or “status updates.” But until that day, I shall continue to fight the (very natural) urge to suddenly and inexplicably stop blogging.

Perhaps my moving, which means I no longer have to spend hours cursing the DC metro system or trolling Craigslist for housing leads, shall allow for more time to fill the void with thoughts about books I will hopefully still make time to read now that I am no longer a prisoner of public transportation where all you can do is read. Who knows? We shall find out together.

Since I last left you, I have read 29 books. Which is sort of sad and pathetic. Maybe my speed will increase this year, too (and maybe I’ll finally get that pony. . .). I’m not going to write full-up reviews on these. I’ll cover 15 here and 14 in the next one.

Here is what I started to write about the first two:

I find that two books are just about the right amount of material for a blog post. Sometimes, this works out rather well when I can find a common theme or question explored by both works in different ways, or when there’s at least an interesting commonality in their style. However, with Saturday and Martin Chuzzlewit, I don’t know what to say to link the two together. I can’t even think of an interesting point for compare and contrast. Ah, well.

Well, I suppose that time would be the point of contrast. Saturday takes place on a single day, though it is embedded in memories, relationships, and events that keep it from feeling static or rootless. Martin Chuzzlewit, on the other hand, like most Dickens’ works, is more epic, spanning time and place.

I’m fascinated by novels that cover a single day. Of the other two obvious ones, I’ve only read Mrs. Dalloway (yet to tackle Ulysses. . .).

Anyway, I loved Saturday. I’ve said this before, but people who think Ian McEwan is pretentious just do not get it. The prose is so beautiful. I loved the portrait of a family, a marriage, a world. This was one of my favorites, and one that I highly recommend.

Martin Chuzzlewit, on the other hand, was pretty much just okay. Scintillating, I know. Seriously, though, two months after the fact, and all I remember is that it felt very Dickens-y, albeit darker than we like to think of Dickens (who is darker than many adaptations of his works are, I would argue). Worth reading if you want to feel more well-read than Oprah, but if that isn’t a goal, stick with Great Expectations.

Wow, The Name of the Rose. Another excellent read. I’m sad it just gets this short sound bit of a review (almost like a Tweet of a review!). This appeared on one of those lists of books no one has read but everyone claims to have/thinks they should. And really, they should. It is also extremely dark and defies conventional narrative structure in many ways, but it is absolutely mesmerizing. At once a murder mystery, a glimpse into a claustrophobic and frightening reality, and an exploration of dialectics and the structure and inter-relationships of texts, its focus often shifts before finally clicking into place in an extremely satisfying way. Read it.

The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy was a bit of a relaxing respite (redundant). For some reason, my brain always has trouble separating this from Doctor Who; they are linked from childhood in my mind. The book is, of course, extremely funny, and I was continually amazed by how familiar everything was (and then here are the Babel fish).

Flannery O’Connor’s book The Violent Bear it Away is certainly not one I had heard of before. I can understand why. It is as painful as the title may lead you to believe. Not as painful, perhaps, as The Piano Teacher, it still made me want to gauge my eyeballs out.

Silas Marner. What to say about you, my friend? This one brought up my mixed feelings about Wishbone; no child should watch Wishbone and decide to read this book (as I did); the poor child shall be bored to tears and realize that she has been grossly deceived by that Jack Russell Terrier (though not as much as she was by Pride and Prejudice; what was up with that, Wishbone?). That said, it’s actually a pretty good read and brings up many themes and questions that a PBS children’s show may not be able to cover.

Catch-22 was awesome. You probably have to be in the right mood, since it will either be awesome or aggravating. It was certainly a bit too long for my interest, but that being said it’s a good read. I can see why the title phrase has entered into our cultural lexicon. I could say more, but we need to keep moving here.

The Time Machine was another throw back to Wishbone. On the one hand, I was actually surprised by how well this one held up for me in some ways (I mean, we just need to look at Uhura’s outfits to know what happens when you look back at historical attempts at portraying the future; and yes, this is off topic, but what is with the Star Trek reboot movie and keeping that outfit? Really? Really?). On the other hand it says a lot more about what was on (white, upper-class men’s) minds at the time than about the future. But even still, it’s pretty interesting.

Bernhard Schlink’s The Reader has become another favorite of mine. I recently read a fascinating article about the moral complexities of artistic portrayals/fictional narratives of the Holocaust, and I’d love to discuss this novel through the lens of some of the issues that article raised. Actually, I’d just love to discuss this novel with someone (read it!). It is one of the richest that I have read in terms of the range of issues it explores, but also in terms of the connections the author makes between the issues (the guilt of German generations that were not alive during the Holocaust, questions of responsibility and culpability of those who “followed orders”/what does it mean if we fully condemn or fail to fully condemn someone like Hanna, the narrator’s responsibility to Hanna given what he knows about her, the ways that we try to mask our own shortcomings and inadequacies and the terrible moral consequences that can have, etc.).

Well, this is mad crazy long. We shall need three posts to catch up!