Well, actually not today, but some day in the not-so-distant future. I have now read 225 books on the list, which is pretty good. My major milestone will be 250, the point where I am a quarter of the way through the list (I tend to think of this project like running, so 225 I am half-way out, 500 I'm all the way out and turning back).
When I brought up this impending milestone and requesting celebratory ideas, Sarah immediately suggested ice cream, which I immediately dismissed. This was largely because it was about 16 degrees and icy outside, but on reflection, ice cream may be not be a bad idea, actually. I will likely hit this point sometime this coming summer, and summer in DC equals two things: misery, and ice cream. So I may very well have ice cream. The only issue is that it does not have any poetic or symbolic connection to the project.
Her other suggestion was to buy my favorite book I've read so far, and I'm also seriously considering this idea (note that I do not see these two ideas as at all mutually exclusive, either). The trick here will be determining which book qualifies as my favorite so far. Hmm.
I do want to read something at least somewhat momentous for book 250, so I need to do some advanced planning as well. Again: hmm.
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Friday, January 28, 2011
The Important Thing is that I Still Have My Eyesight
Both of these books were read on my computer via Google Books. I'm not exactly sure what I think about Google Books. On the one hand, it's so slick to be able to access books like that, and if they are pre-Disney you can get them for free! So, really, Google Books is pretty incredible and an easy-to-take for granted luxury. On the other hand, I find it a really hard way to read. There are some serious trade-offs here, and I definitely still am in love with libraries over the internet. Speaking of, the library and I need to have a date really soon here. I am going through withdrawal.
Apparently, The Golden Ass is the only Latin novel to survive in complete form; thanks, Wikipedia, for that tid-bit! I must say, if The Golden Ass is at all an exemplar of this particular literary tradition, I don't think we're missing much that this is the only entire Latin novel that we've got. I think I've mentioned before that I find the pre-1700s to be some of the hardest of the books to read, and this was definitely no exception.
Novels have just improved so much! I am not a classics person, I don't think. I mean, there is something to be said for them, and I did enjoy The Odyssey and The Iliad has some beautiful parts, but a little goes a long, long, long way. In this case, I was pretty over the story before he even became an ass. It was all so incredibly random and meandering, and there was absolutely no character development to speak of. Definitely a slog for me.
Maybe it was more the fact that I was coming off of The Golden Ass, but I found A Lear of the Steppes to be quite engaging and an easy read. The premise is that a group of friends are discussing examples of Shakespearean characters in their everyday lives, finding many Othellos and Falstaffs, but no Lears. Then the narrator recounts the Russian Lear that he knew. The story has the same essential plot and characters of King Lear, so if you're familiar with the play this will be easy from a plot perspective.
There is one HUGE exception, though, in that there isn't exactly a Cordelia. One of the daughters has some Cordelia and some Regan, I guess. In meshing those characters, Turgenev does something rather interesting. There is no one to route for now, exactly. I mean, you can feel some sympathy for the Lear character, but he really does bring it on himself in some ways (I know there are arguments that he has a mental illness, and I think he really must or else it's rather mind boggling), but you can't route for him, and his tragedy seems less avoidable than Cordelia's. Paradoxically, though, by not having that clear character to cling to, everyone else is more humanized somehow.
The other main change is that the focus is so much tighter, since Turgenev's tale is not a sweeping epic but rather a story of an isolated family drama. Again, this has the almost ironic result of showing the core immortality or timelessness of the themes Shakespeare raised.
Of course, the main interesting question here is, can you think of any Shakespeare characters in your own life? It's an interesting game to play.
Apparently, The Golden Ass is the only Latin novel to survive in complete form; thanks, Wikipedia, for that tid-bit! I must say, if The Golden Ass is at all an exemplar of this particular literary tradition, I don't think we're missing much that this is the only entire Latin novel that we've got. I think I've mentioned before that I find the pre-1700s to be some of the hardest of the books to read, and this was definitely no exception.
Novels have just improved so much! I am not a classics person, I don't think. I mean, there is something to be said for them, and I did enjoy The Odyssey and The Iliad has some beautiful parts, but a little goes a long, long, long way. In this case, I was pretty over the story before he even became an ass. It was all so incredibly random and meandering, and there was absolutely no character development to speak of. Definitely a slog for me.
Maybe it was more the fact that I was coming off of The Golden Ass, but I found A Lear of the Steppes to be quite engaging and an easy read. The premise is that a group of friends are discussing examples of Shakespearean characters in their everyday lives, finding many Othellos and Falstaffs, but no Lears. Then the narrator recounts the Russian Lear that he knew. The story has the same essential plot and characters of King Lear, so if you're familiar with the play this will be easy from a plot perspective.
There is one HUGE exception, though, in that there isn't exactly a Cordelia. One of the daughters has some Cordelia and some Regan, I guess. In meshing those characters, Turgenev does something rather interesting. There is no one to route for now, exactly. I mean, you can feel some sympathy for the Lear character, but he really does bring it on himself in some ways (I know there are arguments that he has a mental illness, and I think he really must or else it's rather mind boggling), but you can't route for him, and his tragedy seems less avoidable than Cordelia's. Paradoxically, though, by not having that clear character to cling to, everyone else is more humanized somehow.
The other main change is that the focus is so much tighter, since Turgenev's tale is not a sweeping epic but rather a story of an isolated family drama. Again, this has the almost ironic result of showing the core immortality or timelessness of the themes Shakespeare raised.
Of course, the main interesting question here is, can you think of any Shakespeare characters in your own life? It's an interesting game to play.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Decline of the Water Babies
I think I have finished Waugh, which is sort of exciting. Generally, anytime I finish an author's canon (or at least what they have on the list if they have more than two) it is exciting. With Waugh, there is an added piece of excitement, since reading so many of his becomes a bit repetitive. This actually reflects one of my criticisms of the list. For many of these authors, once you've read two or three you get it; you need not read every Dickens and Austen to have a pretty good sense what every other Dickens and Austen will be like. If you've read two Waugh (to say nothing of a mix of Waugh and Wodehouse), you are set. I'd advise Brideshead Revisited, since it's actually remarkably different from his others, and then any one of Decline and Fall, Vile Bodies or Handful of Dust.
Which isn't to say that Decline and Fall wasn't fun; it certainly was an enjoyable light read, and Waugh is great at satire. On my one-word summation bit, I would pick Breezy for this one (I realize that these summations are more one-word reflections of my impression of the tone of the novel, but whatever). There isn't a whole lot to say about it, though. The lead character is a bit of a cipher, but I think that works in the story. You can almost lose sight of him, even though he's always right there at the center.
I've meant to read The Water-Babies for an extremely long time; I've had an incredible challenge getting a copy, but I remember when I was 10 or 11 and Penguin re-issued all of these classic children's books that I saw it all the time. It reminded me in some ways of Princess and the Goblins or The Light Princess. Like many classic children's books, it was written for one particular child (think Winnie-the-Pooh, Narnia, etc.). The story feels extremely old fashioned, and I'm not sure how well it has stood the test of time. It's a fairy story, but it also feels a bit dated.
I actually do not know if I would have liked it as a child, primarily because it has a boy as the protagonist. I had an issue with that (seriously, I even went so far as to make people change the baby to a baby girl at the end of The Root Children; I'm not sure why that was so vitally important, but for some reason it was. . .). I was able to enjoy it in a removed sort of way now, but I didn't fall in love.
I did, however, learn something very interesting: there are no late fees for overdue juvenile books in the DC Public Library system. I do not understand this at all. Why have due dates then? And it's not like the fines are that heavy to be prohibitive; plus, as I well know, they send you daily reminders that your book is coming due starting five days before it is, so it's not like they aren't already holding our hands. I could see having some sort of fine forgiveness program, perhaps, but this seems odd.
Which isn't to say that Decline and Fall wasn't fun; it certainly was an enjoyable light read, and Waugh is great at satire. On my one-word summation bit, I would pick Breezy for this one (I realize that these summations are more one-word reflections of my impression of the tone of the novel, but whatever). There isn't a whole lot to say about it, though. The lead character is a bit of a cipher, but I think that works in the story. You can almost lose sight of him, even though he's always right there at the center.
I've meant to read The Water-Babies for an extremely long time; I've had an incredible challenge getting a copy, but I remember when I was 10 or 11 and Penguin re-issued all of these classic children's books that I saw it all the time. It reminded me in some ways of Princess and the Goblins or The Light Princess. Like many classic children's books, it was written for one particular child (think Winnie-the-Pooh, Narnia, etc.). The story feels extremely old fashioned, and I'm not sure how well it has stood the test of time. It's a fairy story, but it also feels a bit dated.
I actually do not know if I would have liked it as a child, primarily because it has a boy as the protagonist. I had an issue with that (seriously, I even went so far as to make people change the baby to a baby girl at the end of The Root Children; I'm not sure why that was so vitally important, but for some reason it was. . .). I was able to enjoy it in a removed sort of way now, but I didn't fall in love.
I did, however, learn something very interesting: there are no late fees for overdue juvenile books in the DC Public Library system. I do not understand this at all. Why have due dates then? And it's not like the fines are that heavy to be prohibitive; plus, as I well know, they send you daily reminders that your book is coming due starting five days before it is, so it's not like they aren't already holding our hands. I could see having some sort of fine forgiveness program, perhaps, but this seems odd.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Further Proof that I am Weird
Sometimes I think that maybe I really am a time traveler from the past. Specifically, a time traveler from before many of the labor and public service improvements of the 20th century.
Normally, this feeling comes upon me when I think about working conditions. Wow, this 40-hour work week is amazing! Don’t even get me started on public holidays. They blow my mind. To say nothing of sick time. Really, five days every year that you have to pay me for not working if I’m sick or need to go to the doctor? Plus personal days? I don’t even know what a personal day is, but I think it is amazing that I get paid for needing “personal” time. It’s ironic, considering that a lot of my work is helping people whose rights as workers have been violated, but I still am sometimes just floored by the very concept of “rights as workers.”
The other time that I feel this way is when I go to the library. As noted in the FAQ, I read the vast, vast, vast majority of my books for this project from the library (sometimes I read books that are already owned by someone in the family or if they are old enough and copy-right free, I read them online; I very rarely by a new book for this project, and usually when I do it’s because I ran out and am trapped at an airport). Therefore, with all those regular library visits you might think that libraries would seem mundane and ordinary.
Far from it! I am continually floored by the very concept of libraries. So many free books! So many! It’s mind boggling. To say nothing of all the other amazing resources that libraries provide to us like meeting spaces, lectures, librarians, daily newspapers, internet/computer time, DVDs, CDs, online resources, tax help. . . Seriously, libraries are amazing. There are so many, too, and you can just go to them and borrow books, and the very concept is sort of mind boggling. It’s this incredible world of free (yes, I know that as a tax payer I am supporting it, but damn, I get my money’s worth and then some when it comes to libraries) resources just there for the taking.
Normally, this feeling comes upon me when I think about working conditions. Wow, this 40-hour work week is amazing! Don’t even get me started on public holidays. They blow my mind. To say nothing of sick time. Really, five days every year that you have to pay me for not working if I’m sick or need to go to the doctor? Plus personal days? I don’t even know what a personal day is, but I think it is amazing that I get paid for needing “personal” time. It’s ironic, considering that a lot of my work is helping people whose rights as workers have been violated, but I still am sometimes just floored by the very concept of “rights as workers.”
The other time that I feel this way is when I go to the library. As noted in the FAQ, I read the vast, vast, vast majority of my books for this project from the library (sometimes I read books that are already owned by someone in the family or if they are old enough and copy-right free, I read them online; I very rarely by a new book for this project, and usually when I do it’s because I ran out and am trapped at an airport). Therefore, with all those regular library visits you might think that libraries would seem mundane and ordinary.
Far from it! I am continually floored by the very concept of libraries. So many free books! So many! It’s mind boggling. To say nothing of all the other amazing resources that libraries provide to us like meeting spaces, lectures, librarians, daily newspapers, internet/computer time, DVDs, CDs, online resources, tax help. . . Seriously, libraries are amazing. There are so many, too, and you can just go to them and borrow books, and the very concept is sort of mind boggling. It’s this incredible world of free (yes, I know that as a tax payer I am supporting it, but damn, I get my money’s worth and then some when it comes to libraries) resources just there for the taking.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
There Must be Some Commonality. . .
I think it’s probably safe to say that my change in commute (I LOVE WALKING TO WORK!!!!) has slowed my reading speed. I’m pretty much okay with that. I mean, sure, I’m sad that I have slowed a bit, but there are so many advantages to my new location the benefits far outweigh the costs. Plus, between now and end of February is crazy busy, and my reading would likely have slowed anyway.
This post brings you two books that really have nothing in common in terms of theme, character, plot, or style. But that’s just fine! We’ll work with what we’ve got.
First, The Well of Loneliness. Spoiler alert, but I cried when the horse died. It was so very upsetting! I have an issue with animal death and abandonment (I will not even talk about Milo and Otis or that Winnie-the-Pooh with the bird, and they don’t even die). That was the most touching part of the book, though. It’s definitely one that is more important from a historical perspective than a literary one, significant because of when it was written and for blazing a trail, not for being a great novel. One of the best parts of reading in public is people’s reactions, and this one was great for that (got to love a book that has “A classic of lesbian fiction” written on the cover with incredibly stereotypical cover art to go with it).
The book is an extremely thinly-disguised autobiographical work, and like most autobiographies it is very meandering and lacks focus. The back-of-the-book description is hilarious in its attempt to give the book a plot/focus; it’s just not there, my friend. In some ways it was amazing to think that this was written in 1928, but it also felt extremely dated (biological determinism, gender binaries/heteronormative gender roles in relationships, etc.).
After that one, I read The Secret History, and it is another favorite. If I had to sum it up in one word, I would choose Devastating. You know a book is upsetting when you read The Economist to cheer you up before you go to sleep so you don’t have nightmares. But it was also extremely powerful and beautiful in a wrenching way. In some parts it’s rather terrifying. When I finished it I actually said “wow” out loud.
Since the plot matters, quick summary: the story is about a young man from California who goes to a small liberal arts college in a secluded town in Vermont and falls into this eccentric group of five students who all take Greek (and all their other classes essentially) from this one professor. The story opens with the narrator and four of the others students murdering the fifth student. The rest of the novel explains what lead to that murder and then the shattering consequences it has for the rest of the characters.
At one point in the novel, the characters discuss the relationship between beauty and terror, and the novel as a whole explores that theme in harrowing intensity. Like Crime and Punishment and The Light of Day, the story explores the consequences of murder and what taking someone’s life does to the murderers’ own humanness. The Secret History is particularly interested in how it impacts the relationships of the characters, and though its ending is rather bleak, I would highly recommend this one.
This post brings you two books that really have nothing in common in terms of theme, character, plot, or style. But that’s just fine! We’ll work with what we’ve got.
First, The Well of Loneliness. Spoiler alert, but I cried when the horse died. It was so very upsetting! I have an issue with animal death and abandonment (I will not even talk about Milo and Otis or that Winnie-the-Pooh with the bird, and they don’t even die). That was the most touching part of the book, though. It’s definitely one that is more important from a historical perspective than a literary one, significant because of when it was written and for blazing a trail, not for being a great novel. One of the best parts of reading in public is people’s reactions, and this one was great for that (got to love a book that has “A classic of lesbian fiction” written on the cover with incredibly stereotypical cover art to go with it).
The book is an extremely thinly-disguised autobiographical work, and like most autobiographies it is very meandering and lacks focus. The back-of-the-book description is hilarious in its attempt to give the book a plot/focus; it’s just not there, my friend. In some ways it was amazing to think that this was written in 1928, but it also felt extremely dated (biological determinism, gender binaries/heteronormative gender roles in relationships, etc.).
After that one, I read The Secret History, and it is another favorite. If I had to sum it up in one word, I would choose Devastating. You know a book is upsetting when you read The Economist to cheer you up before you go to sleep so you don’t have nightmares. But it was also extremely powerful and beautiful in a wrenching way. In some parts it’s rather terrifying. When I finished it I actually said “wow” out loud.
Since the plot matters, quick summary: the story is about a young man from California who goes to a small liberal arts college in a secluded town in Vermont and falls into this eccentric group of five students who all take Greek (and all their other classes essentially) from this one professor. The story opens with the narrator and four of the others students murdering the fifth student. The rest of the novel explains what lead to that murder and then the shattering consequences it has for the rest of the characters.
At one point in the novel, the characters discuss the relationship between beauty and terror, and the novel as a whole explores that theme in harrowing intensity. Like Crime and Punishment and The Light of Day, the story explores the consequences of murder and what taking someone’s life does to the murderers’ own humanness. The Secret History is particularly interested in how it impacts the relationships of the characters, and though its ending is rather bleak, I would highly recommend this one.
Monday, January 17, 2011
The Top 10 in 2010
In the order that I read them, not in descending order or anything.
1. The Ground Beneath Her Feet – Salman Rushdie
2. Never Let Me Go – Kazuo Ishiguro
3. The House in Paris – Elizabeth Bowen
4. Persuasion – Jane Austen
5. Great Expectations – Charles Dickens
6. Jazz – Toni Morrison
7. Saturday – Ian McEwan
8. The Name of the Rose – Umberto Eco
9. The Reader – Bernhard Schlink
10. Crime and Punishment – Fyodor Dostoevsky
1. The Ground Beneath Her Feet – Salman Rushdie
2. Never Let Me Go – Kazuo Ishiguro
3. The House in Paris – Elizabeth Bowen
4. Persuasion – Jane Austen
5. Great Expectations – Charles Dickens
6. Jazz – Toni Morrison
7. Saturday – Ian McEwan
8. The Name of the Rose – Umberto Eco
9. The Reader – Bernhard Schlink
10. Crime and Punishment – Fyodor Dostoevsky
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
I Can Guess Where This is Going
I can certainly see why comparative lit degrees, programs, classes, etc. exist. It makes sense, really, that using other books can give new insights or bring out aspects or themes that you wouldn’t have noticed taking a work (or genre) on its own. My process for this blog certainly can’t be called systematic or intentional. That said, these random juxtapositions still raise interesting insights. I recently finished Amsterdam and The Light of Day. Aside from superficial commonalities (both are set in London and feature middle-aged men as protagonists), they also both explore the ways that a choice – large, small, impulsive, planned – can have profound impacts, be irrevocable, and reverberate in unexpected and at times tragic ways.
Amsterdam is not my favorite McEwan (I’d probably rate them Saturday, Enduring Love, Atonement, Amsterdam, in all honesty). While it still had the beauty of his style, there were no moments that took my breath away. At one point everything seemed to crystallize and have this clarity – beautiful but so tragic – that I love about McEwan’s works, but the end felt hallow to me for some reason.
The story focuses on the friendship of two men, a friendship based in experiences from their past/youth that has endured but is more brittle than they believe. Each man makes a terrible, self-centered choice which the other condemns, and which set them up for possible self-destruction and destruction of their friendship. I think part of the problem for me was that the character of Molly, a former lover to both who dies at the start of the story and is meant as the catalyst for the novel in more ways than one, never seemed sufficiently real to me. She needed to be amazing and a powerful force, and she wasn’t.
The Light of Day has earned a place on the list of books that make me glad I am doing this project: that I would never have read otherwise, but that are just so wonderful and beautiful. It likely will make the top 10 for 2011. There were so many passages that I need to write down somewhere. Just these beautiful, tragic, insightful and incising passages.
I think it would make a wonderful book to assign papers on, since there are so many different topics; the book is extremely rich. From symbolism – the role of flowers, smiles, light – to themes/motifs – what does it mean to create a home, people’s relationships with food and the process of creating food, the role of language and words, how different characters say good-bye – to the characters themselves, you could go in so many different directions. I am particularly interested in the role of chance and coincidence in the story, coupled with its exploration of how global events like the war in Bosnia shape personal tragedies.
The book would also make an interesting read in conjunction with Crime and Punishment, exploring questions about redemption, the ways murder shapes and changes people, and whether people lose their humanness or part of their humanness when they kill another human and if they can come back from that.
Of course, I shall never assign these paper topics since I would be incredibly surprised to find myself ever teaching lit (the only reason to want to teach lit is to force people to write papers on topics that interest me, which is a bad reason to teach lit, rather like how it would be a bad reason to have a child just so that she could do competitive jump rope; on the other hand, though, competitive jump rope is amazing).
Amsterdam is not my favorite McEwan (I’d probably rate them Saturday, Enduring Love, Atonement, Amsterdam, in all honesty). While it still had the beauty of his style, there were no moments that took my breath away. At one point everything seemed to crystallize and have this clarity – beautiful but so tragic – that I love about McEwan’s works, but the end felt hallow to me for some reason.
The story focuses on the friendship of two men, a friendship based in experiences from their past/youth that has endured but is more brittle than they believe. Each man makes a terrible, self-centered choice which the other condemns, and which set them up for possible self-destruction and destruction of their friendship. I think part of the problem for me was that the character of Molly, a former lover to both who dies at the start of the story and is meant as the catalyst for the novel in more ways than one, never seemed sufficiently real to me. She needed to be amazing and a powerful force, and she wasn’t.
The Light of Day has earned a place on the list of books that make me glad I am doing this project: that I would never have read otherwise, but that are just so wonderful and beautiful. It likely will make the top 10 for 2011. There were so many passages that I need to write down somewhere. Just these beautiful, tragic, insightful and incising passages.
I think it would make a wonderful book to assign papers on, since there are so many different topics; the book is extremely rich. From symbolism – the role of flowers, smiles, light – to themes/motifs – what does it mean to create a home, people’s relationships with food and the process of creating food, the role of language and words, how different characters say good-bye – to the characters themselves, you could go in so many different directions. I am particularly interested in the role of chance and coincidence in the story, coupled with its exploration of how global events like the war in Bosnia shape personal tragedies.
The book would also make an interesting read in conjunction with Crime and Punishment, exploring questions about redemption, the ways murder shapes and changes people, and whether people lose their humanness or part of their humanness when they kill another human and if they can come back from that.
Of course, I shall never assign these paper topics since I would be incredibly surprised to find myself ever teaching lit (the only reason to want to teach lit is to force people to write papers on topics that interest me, which is a bad reason to teach lit, rather like how it would be a bad reason to have a child just so that she could do competitive jump rope; on the other hand, though, competitive jump rope is amazing).
Sunday, January 2, 2011
We're Back (and Caught Up!)
Enduring Love is not my favorite Ian McEwan, but I still found it incredibly beautiful, thought provoking, and moving. McEwan is perhaps a romantic in many ways, but he also portrays relationships in all their complexity. The leading relationship is not a conventional romance, certainly, and the couple have real, full lives and challenges. I just love his language, the way he crafts sentences so that they serve the story and the characters while being beautiful in their own right. This story in particular shows a fascinating pull in, pull out effect in the ways that communal events impact individual lives (a theme in the other two novels of his that I’ve read). It’s also an enjoyable story that challenges your understanding of what is happening at multiple times throughout the novel.
Now, if you like uber bleak, somewhat nihilistic looks at suburban life in American with mostly unpleasant, unlikeable characters and beautiful if pretentious prose, than you likely have already read The Corrections (and Freedom for that matter). I personally don’t, but I slogged through this very, very long story, and happily put it aside with a sigh of relief that Freedom came out post list. Yay! It was likely an early birthday present (yes, Franzen is an excellent writer and the book is amazing from a craft perspective; no, I do not like it).
If I had to one single word to describe The Honorary Consul it would be gripping. This is yet another novel that demonstrates that knowing how a story will end/being spoilered does not necessarily detract from the power of the work. The story’s tragic trajectory is telegraphed from the first chapter and first encounter with the lead characters, yet gripping remains the best word to describe it. While I would love to do a critical read of the race, class, and gender issues in this work, I equally would love to see a film adaptation (though who to play the lead? It has a Humphrey Bogart feel in some ways, but he would not be quite right). The lead character’s outlook on human nature and human relationships is certainly bleak, but it also is the driving force for the story and makes him a fascinating character; I would also argue that his outward portrayal of those feelings is not completely accurate, though the reverse isn’t completely true, either. Also, I am intrigued by the author’s choice in the novel’s name.
I didn’t realize until part way through that A Home at the End of the World was written by the same guy who wrote The Hours. When I realized that, a lot started to make sense. That’s not necessarily a good thing. He masterly handled the different narrators’ tones and perspectives in a way that served the story and did not seem like a gimmick. I was a bit disappointed in the way the relationship with the threesome went, but it did fit with the bleak, yet ultimately hopeful tone of the novel. I can’t believe they attempted to make a film of this one, though.
Given my unabashed and admitted dislike of most everything Henry James has written, it should come as no surprise that I did not really enjoy What Maisie Knew. And what, pray tell, did Maisie know, you may ask? Perhaps that everyone in her life was a total dick? Perhaps that the author of her little story was an overly pretentious ass? That her story would really not stand the test of time well? That even if she had an identical twin her life ain’t no Parent Trap?
The Monk. Oh, The Monk. And I thought Sister Carrie was trippy! This novel is sort of horrible; actually, it just is horrible. It’s painful all the way through, and then all of sudden at the end there is a demon. I repeat, a DEMON just shows up. I. . . I have no words.
Gone With the Wind will clearly merit a movie/book comparison. It’s really only worth reading for the scenes between Rhett and Scarlet. Rhett does get some absolutely amazing lines, and their chemistry is amazing. Scarlet is, not more likable per se, but a better character in the books. I appreciated Mitchell’s willingness, actual, to make her so flawed and unlikeable in some ways while also making her so incredibly strong, real, and powerful (and showing the impacts of trauma on her life). But, of course, this novel is a) sort of disgusting in its ode to a utopian world that never existed and was actually a hell for many, b) too long, and c) not really that well written.
I am running out of steam here, and The Bonfire of the Vanities did not do that much for me. Similar themes as American Psycho, without the insanity. I just lose interest in that nihilistic, Master of the Universe stuff. It was a fun read overall, picked up steam and eventually was close to gripping, and I enjoyed some of the procedural aspects. Overall, though, I’d just say it was okay.
Now, if you like uber bleak, somewhat nihilistic looks at suburban life in American with mostly unpleasant, unlikeable characters and beautiful if pretentious prose, than you likely have already read The Corrections (and Freedom for that matter). I personally don’t, but I slogged through this very, very long story, and happily put it aside with a sigh of relief that Freedom came out post list. Yay! It was likely an early birthday present (yes, Franzen is an excellent writer and the book is amazing from a craft perspective; no, I do not like it).
If I had to one single word to describe The Honorary Consul it would be gripping. This is yet another novel that demonstrates that knowing how a story will end/being spoilered does not necessarily detract from the power of the work. The story’s tragic trajectory is telegraphed from the first chapter and first encounter with the lead characters, yet gripping remains the best word to describe it. While I would love to do a critical read of the race, class, and gender issues in this work, I equally would love to see a film adaptation (though who to play the lead? It has a Humphrey Bogart feel in some ways, but he would not be quite right). The lead character’s outlook on human nature and human relationships is certainly bleak, but it also is the driving force for the story and makes him a fascinating character; I would also argue that his outward portrayal of those feelings is not completely accurate, though the reverse isn’t completely true, either. Also, I am intrigued by the author’s choice in the novel’s name.
I didn’t realize until part way through that A Home at the End of the World was written by the same guy who wrote The Hours. When I realized that, a lot started to make sense. That’s not necessarily a good thing. He masterly handled the different narrators’ tones and perspectives in a way that served the story and did not seem like a gimmick. I was a bit disappointed in the way the relationship with the threesome went, but it did fit with the bleak, yet ultimately hopeful tone of the novel. I can’t believe they attempted to make a film of this one, though.
Given my unabashed and admitted dislike of most everything Henry James has written, it should come as no surprise that I did not really enjoy What Maisie Knew. And what, pray tell, did Maisie know, you may ask? Perhaps that everyone in her life was a total dick? Perhaps that the author of her little story was an overly pretentious ass? That her story would really not stand the test of time well? That even if she had an identical twin her life ain’t no Parent Trap?
The Monk. Oh, The Monk. And I thought Sister Carrie was trippy! This novel is sort of horrible; actually, it just is horrible. It’s painful all the way through, and then all of sudden at the end there is a demon. I repeat, a DEMON just shows up. I. . . I have no words.
Gone With the Wind will clearly merit a movie/book comparison. It’s really only worth reading for the scenes between Rhett and Scarlet. Rhett does get some absolutely amazing lines, and their chemistry is amazing. Scarlet is, not more likable per se, but a better character in the books. I appreciated Mitchell’s willingness, actual, to make her so flawed and unlikeable in some ways while also making her so incredibly strong, real, and powerful (and showing the impacts of trauma on her life). But, of course, this novel is a) sort of disgusting in its ode to a utopian world that never existed and was actually a hell for many, b) too long, and c) not really that well written.
I am running out of steam here, and The Bonfire of the Vanities did not do that much for me. Similar themes as American Psycho, without the insanity. I just lose interest in that nihilistic, Master of the Universe stuff. It was a fun read overall, picked up steam and eventually was close to gripping, and I enjoyed some of the procedural aspects. Overall, though, I’d just say it was okay.
We're Back Part III
You know those novels where you’re like, no one actually talks or thinks like that? Author, your pretentious prose is hurting your believability here (Austen and Franzen, we are looking at you)? Well, you cannot say that about The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time. This book was remarkable in its voice and craft. While I do get tired of books showing that they “know math” by talking about the Monty Hall problem (we all get it, we all know you should switch doors, duh, let’s move on please), this books truly is excellent as well as painful.
Speaking of pain (and not in a good way this time), Oliver Twist is really long. Now, I adored Great Expectations; I found Little Dorrit surprisingly enjoyable; even Martin Chuzzlewit, if not a favorite was fun. But Oliver Twist was not fun. It was simply a slog.
Which brings me to Mansfield Park. Again, reading every single book this woman wrote did bring me the joy of Persuasion, which I likely would not have otherwise read (and I did love it; definitely my favorite), but it also brought me Mansfield Park, which I hated. I did not a like a SINGLE character in this novel. I wanted miserable things to happen to them. I did not care for the ending. The plot about the play made me want to hit myself with the book like I did with Pamela.
Sister Carrie. What a read! This book was banned for awhile, which seems comical now. Someone (I forget who; sorry) said that no one should be bothered with banning a book this bad. I think that is unfair. This book is hilarious. It is a seriously trippy ride. I just wish that the author had had the nerve at the end to make Carrie thrilled with her choices instead of experiencing all of this guilt and lack of meaning. Maybe I’m an awful person.
Oh man, The World According to Garp. I don’t really have anything to say. Irving can certainly create worlds. He can certainly create fascinating, complex, enigmatic characters. But yeah, that’s all I’ve got.
Oh dear. The Trick is to Keep Breathing has got to be one of the absolutely most miserable books I have ever read in my lifetime. While the title may be aimed at the (depressed and anorexic) narrator, it really is good advice for anyone trying to read this.
And last for this post: Gabriel’s Gift. I wanted more from this book. Since I’d be surprised if anyone reading this has read (or heard of) this book, quick summary: the story is about this teenage guy whose parents split up since the dad is a has-been rocker who never grew up and the mom is sick of it all. They live in London. The narrator/teenager is a twin, but the twin died. Through some fun magical realism, the family gets back together. But it sort of felt rushed to me and never got off the ground.
Speaking of pain (and not in a good way this time), Oliver Twist is really long. Now, I adored Great Expectations; I found Little Dorrit surprisingly enjoyable; even Martin Chuzzlewit, if not a favorite was fun. But Oliver Twist was not fun. It was simply a slog.
Which brings me to Mansfield Park. Again, reading every single book this woman wrote did bring me the joy of Persuasion, which I likely would not have otherwise read (and I did love it; definitely my favorite), but it also brought me Mansfield Park, which I hated. I did not a like a SINGLE character in this novel. I wanted miserable things to happen to them. I did not care for the ending. The plot about the play made me want to hit myself with the book like I did with Pamela.
Sister Carrie. What a read! This book was banned for awhile, which seems comical now. Someone (I forget who; sorry) said that no one should be bothered with banning a book this bad. I think that is unfair. This book is hilarious. It is a seriously trippy ride. I just wish that the author had had the nerve at the end to make Carrie thrilled with her choices instead of experiencing all of this guilt and lack of meaning. Maybe I’m an awful person.
Oh man, The World According to Garp. I don’t really have anything to say. Irving can certainly create worlds. He can certainly create fascinating, complex, enigmatic characters. But yeah, that’s all I’ve got.
Oh dear. The Trick is to Keep Breathing has got to be one of the absolutely most miserable books I have ever read in my lifetime. While the title may be aimed at the (depressed and anorexic) narrator, it really is good advice for anyone trying to read this.
And last for this post: Gabriel’s Gift. I wanted more from this book. Since I’d be surprised if anyone reading this has read (or heard of) this book, quick summary: the story is about this teenage guy whose parents split up since the dad is a has-been rocker who never grew up and the mom is sick of it all. They live in London. The narrator/teenager is a twin, but the twin died. Through some fun magical realism, the family gets back together. But it sort of felt rushed to me and never got off the ground.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
We're Back Part II
I accidentally left Slow Man at the gym; it was so boring that I did not miss it while riding home on the Metro. I was not really sorry I left it there, but I was glad that the WSC kept it for me (but hey, not like they would really want to have a copy of it). This book actually started out really good and really interesting, raising fascinating questions about dis/ability, aging, independence, what makes a life worth living, etc. And then it plunged off the deep end, became awful, never got better, and abruptly stopped after a pointless conversation where the characters basically concluded that nothing meant anything. Yeah.
The Jungle also annoyed me. I get what this is supposed to be about, but I have a really hard time with books that are supposed to be about class issues that have horrible, horrible gender issues that the author is completely ignores (I never forgave the lead, and felt that he brought on a lot of his own problems; there, I said it). I saw this even as I acknowledge that I do not always see the way that race gets similar treatment, though I should (oh, white privilege).
Metamorphoses. Now that was a book. Or more like a painful reminder of the time my whole family tried to read Gilgamesh. That was a big mistake. Anyway, there was something sort of comforting in running into all these familiar legends, and it was kind of cool how the different stories were all linked by transformation, but mostly I was glad to finish this one. This was a rough patch for me, I’m not going to lie.
Because now we come to The Invisible Man. H. G. Wells did not have me in mind when he wrote his novels. This one was more enjoyable for me than The Time Machine, though in some ways it actually did not hold up as well. I might have enjoyed it because of that very fact, though, the way you enjoy awful special effects from movies in the 60s or live action superhero shows that show Bam! as an animated caption box.
But now we come to Crime and Punishment, which I am still trying to get someone to read. This was one so, so, so good. Favorite Russian novel bar none of all that I have read thus far (and I’ve actually read quite a few). Everyone knows the premise, but what you don’t know (unless you’ve read it, in which case I want to talk with you about it) is how amazing it is. Like many of my favorites, it raises more questions than it answers. I think it could be an interesting touchstone for analyzing ourselves (is it a romance? Do you want him to survive and them to get together? Or do you see him as a murderer? Can that ever be redeemed?). I mean, how can you not love a dense, complex novel pondering existential questions, compassion versus nihilism, and the realities of rent being too high?
Did I say three posts? I meant four.
The Jungle also annoyed me. I get what this is supposed to be about, but I have a really hard time with books that are supposed to be about class issues that have horrible, horrible gender issues that the author is completely ignores (I never forgave the lead, and felt that he brought on a lot of his own problems; there, I said it). I saw this even as I acknowledge that I do not always see the way that race gets similar treatment, though I should (oh, white privilege).
Metamorphoses. Now that was a book. Or more like a painful reminder of the time my whole family tried to read Gilgamesh. That was a big mistake. Anyway, there was something sort of comforting in running into all these familiar legends, and it was kind of cool how the different stories were all linked by transformation, but mostly I was glad to finish this one. This was a rough patch for me, I’m not going to lie.
Because now we come to The Invisible Man. H. G. Wells did not have me in mind when he wrote his novels. This one was more enjoyable for me than The Time Machine, though in some ways it actually did not hold up as well. I might have enjoyed it because of that very fact, though, the way you enjoy awful special effects from movies in the 60s or live action superhero shows that show Bam! as an animated caption box.
But now we come to Crime and Punishment, which I am still trying to get someone to read. This was one so, so, so good. Favorite Russian novel bar none of all that I have read thus far (and I’ve actually read quite a few). Everyone knows the premise, but what you don’t know (unless you’ve read it, in which case I want to talk with you about it) is how amazing it is. Like many of my favorites, it raises more questions than it answers. I think it could be an interesting touchstone for analyzing ourselves (is it a romance? Do you want him to survive and them to get together? Or do you see him as a murderer? Can that ever be redeemed?). I mean, how can you not love a dense, complex novel pondering existential questions, compassion versus nihilism, and the realities of rent being too high?
Did I say three posts? I meant four.
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