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.