Temptation lurks everywhere

The Economist recently sent me a lovely little letter. Since I gave Josh a subscription for his birthday, the letter told me, I could now give myself a gift of The Economist for just $109 for a year. Which is a pretty good price.

I also love that they call it a gift for myself. It's how they try to lure you in: "here's a nice gift," it purrs. "You deserve to give yourself something nice." Now personally, I think of this as actually buying something, not giving myself something, but maybe I have the wrong outlook.

It is awfully tempting though. Mmm, The Economist.

That said, it wouldn't have a positive effect on my list reading. Hmm. . .

B is for Bored

Yeesh. I can't decide if I dislike unpleasant books or boring books more. Of course, many books are both boring and unpleasant, so maybe I don't have to decide! These two, though, fit squarely in the just boring category (because for me "unpleasant" is a euphemism for books that I find skin-crawlingly icky like American Psycho and The Wasp Factory). Maybe I wasn't in the right head space for them, but they sort of made me want to claw my eyes out.

First up, we have The Enigma of Arrival, aka my first Naipul. Maybe I just don't get Naipaul. Maybe I just don't want to. Honestly, I tried to go into this not having any baggage about his jerk tendencies (and in reading this, I'd say also his delusions of grandeur, but again, maybe I just don't get his works).

That's all I want to say about that one. I know I didn't actually say anything about it, really, but trust me, there is nothing to say. Nothing.

Then I read Strait is the Gate. To give some context, when I was making a record of this on my list I use to keep track of the books that I've read, at first I spelled the title as straight, and I thought the book wasn't really on the list. I literally said out loud, "If I read this and didn't have to, I'll kill myself." Now, okay, yes I didn't actually mean that, but good gracious. This one was both boring and maddening.

Essentially, the plot is that the narrator lives in France in the 19th century. As a young boy, he grows up with his cousins and falls in love with the older female cousin. She's sort of like Elsie Dinsmore on steroids. Her younger sister is crushing on the narrator, so first she's like, don't marry me, marry her! I shall sacrifice myself. Then the younger sister (who is sort of awesome; I wish this had been a book about her) hooks up with someone else, so that's all good. But then she's like, if we get together we'll be happy, but we shouldn't want to be happy! We should want to be constantly working towards being happy, but never really get there. Let's be really holy instead. You should talk to God, not me. I shall sacrifice myself! And then she dies. The end.

Why I try to avoid recommending books

I think I have pretty unusual, and at times a bit morbid, taste in books. These two books are good examples of works that I loved, but that I'd be hesitant about recommending to the general populous. Both are really excellent! But maybe not for everyone.

The first was a bit of a surprise for me, because generally I am not a Virginia Woolf fan (bad feminist!). That said, I absolutely loved The Waves. For a one-word descriptor, I'd choose transcendent. It's very unconventional, and accentuates that impressionistic quality of Woolf's. Though that sometimes (usually) bothers me, in this case it worked. The novel follows the inner lives of several friends as they intersect and then cascade away throughout their lives from childhood to adulthood. The characters do not speak in the usual sense; instead, we hear their inner monologues.

Here is a favorite quote: “He will forget me. He will leave my letters lying about among guns and dogs unanswered. I shall send him poems and he will perhaps reply with a picture post card. But it is for that that I love him. I shall propose meeting – under a clock, by some Cross; and shall wait, and he will not come. It is for that that I love him. Oblivious, almost entirely ignorant, he will pass from my life. And I shall pass, incredible as it seems, into other lives; this is only an escapade, perhaps, a prelude only.”

The second one, Time's Arrow, sort of sounds horrifying when you just read the summary. It's about a Nazi doctor who was at Auschwitz as told through the perspective of this alter ego who is in his body but disconnected from his mind/thoughts. The kicker is that the alter ego is experiencing the life of the protagonist backwards, starting with death and working back through his years living in the U.S. undercover as a doctor at a hospital, hurtling of course towards the years at the concentration camp. Doesn't that just sound delightful?

So, it's obviously a difficult read (though a super fast one, too) raising a number of difficult issues, but it's really, really amazing. Holocaust novels are a genre in and of themselves, of course, and it can feel like a cheap shot at making something "meaningful" and "important" (there's a reason there was that Kate Winslet skit about the Oscars). This one, though, doesn't fall in that trap. Through this incredibly strange narrative device, it brings a unique perspective to many of questions. The narrator truly is experiencing everything backwards, so during the years at the hospital he sees the doctor as taking healthy people and breaking them; at the concentration camp, he experiences the crematoriums as taking ash and turning it into people. It's disturbing, yes, but also gets at you in ways that more conventional and trite works certainly do not.

But yes, this is why I shy away from making recommendations.

Sudsy

Phineas Finn is, quite simply, a soap opera. Reading it is the equivalent to watching a 19th century soap opera. It's also really, really long (over 700 pages), but overall the length isn't so bad, because it's just a frothy, sudsy little read.

The basic plot is following the career of Phineas Finn, a young Irishman who goes into British Parliament as his first career move. He semi falls in love with (proposes to or is proposed to by) four women, including two who are close friends, one of whom is in love with the brother of the other one, etc. Characters marry the wrong characters, there are duels and scandals, and lots of political intrigue that didn't mean all that much to me.

If you ship properly, you can really enjoy this one (that is, do you see Violet and Oswald as OTP?), though the duel did bug me. Overall I was able to accept the gender issues for what they were at the time and such, but duels and violence like this just make me crazy. Probably because this sort of behavior defending a woman's "honor", fighting (physically) about a woman with no input from her as though she's a desirable piece of cake or something, and such is still seen as romantic, not as creepy, objectifying, and problematic. So, yes, I get it in the context, but we've not gotten past it really, so it bugs.

Completely different direction, but while reading this, I have become (re)obsessed with watching various YouTube clips from old One Life to Live episodes. I've alluded to my love of the Jessica Buchanan character before, actually (Erin Torpey version). That said, if you're ever confused and looking for a way to tell me and Sarah apart, there are actually many good ways (two words: soul gestures), but one solid option is to ask with whom we ship Christian on OLTL.

I Love You, Because You Know Such Lovely People

Sometimes this project is rather like taking nasty-tasting medicine; there's not other way but through, so you just have to suck it up. I've had a few books along the way that have matched that analogy quite nicely, but the most unpleasant I have read (probably the most unpleasant book I have ever read) is The Wasp Factory. Good gravy. The basic plot of this story is that you have this very morbid teenager whose hobbies mostly involve a machine to kill wasps in a number of unique ways, collecting dead animal heads (which often involves killing the animals), and musing about the three murders he has committed. He indicates that he's killed his younger brother and two cousins; we'll return to that in a moment.

In addition to this lovely human being, we also get his brother who, at the start of the novel, has just escaped from a mental institution where he has been confined for doing such charming things as setting dogs on fire and giving small children lumps of dirt with maggots and worms in them. Yes indeedy.

The novel has a bit of a twist (though it's hard to really care about, because by then you just want to be done and take a hot shower), about which I have extremely mixed feelings. Extremely. I won't really go into it, but let's just say that gender is a very complicated topic to raise and I think even with the twist some aspects of this novel's treatment of gender are pretty problematic.

That said, it did raise for me some questions about unreliable narrators and what it even means to be an unreliable narrator in a fictional story, since there's not reality to be unreliable with regard to, really. I'm not sure if our lead is supposed to come off as potentially unreliable, but I did wonder at times. Which then led me down this rabbit hole of what it even means, etc. which, sadly, was the most interesting aspect of this book for me. So icky. Really a shame, too, because Iain Banks is hot.

I also read another Graham Greene, The End of the Affair. Which, okay, fine whatever, it was good an all, and had some interesting characters and a cool structure. But, the thing is, it's really just like ever other Greene novel that I have read; which is to say, so obsessed with this weird sort of Catholic guilt, this intense need for Catholicism, combined with this need for some sort of divine Catholic approval and a simultaneous hatred of Catholicism. It's hard to describe in a way that would really capture what I mean exactly, unless you've read a few of Greene's books, but suffice it to say: yeesh, dude, get over it.

These boots were made for walking

Earlier I wrote a post about the role of pacing in how I experience a novel. Cloudsplitter is an interesting example to consider in this light. First, some quick background. This is a historical novel about the life of Owen Brown, the son of John Brown of the famous Harpers Ferry raid. In some ways, it's equally about John Brown as seen through the lens of Owen Brown (as seen through this fictional account, of course, but there you go). It is also very long, and since I had a hardback edition, not particularly portable. I actually broke one of my rules and read a couple of shorter books while reading this one, since it wasn't super fun to lug it all over creation. I don't like doing a book for home and a book for the bus/gym, but in this case it seemed the best option.

The pace of the novel lent itself to this approach, since it really is a very thorough life story, beginning with the protagonist as a young child (will, it's told in a series of letters he's writing, so technically at the start he's an old man, but whatever) and traversing up to the raid. It's a very meditative novel, so a meditative reading approach fit well. The character really is reflecting on his life and it's meaning, not simply recounting the events.

A major issue of concern to the narrator is, of course, race. Throughout the novel, he struggles with his internal racist feelings, and his rational knowledge and external stance which is aligned with his father's very radical views for the time. This struggle is central to his character, and really is the center of the novel as a whole. I can't imagine a book club ever actually being able to get through this one because it is so long, but I think it would be an excellent choice if people were willing to really engage with it (I imagine it would make many white people feel rather uncomfortable if they're completely honest).

I'm familiar with the basic outlines of the raid and John Brown's life, but I should read some more to get a better sense for how to judge the novels account of all of this. I don't know enough to really know the fictional aspects from the historical facts (aside from the obvious pieces, of course).

If you are the kind of person who likes books on tape, it might also be a good choice for an extremely, extremely long road trip.

I plan to be serious when I grow up

One thing that I have noticed is that people at the gym do tend to have opinions about my reading habits. Here is a relatively recent example.

I'm sitting waiting patiently for my first Saturday dance class - reading Cloudsplitter, in case you're curious - when the hip-hop teacher approaches me, plops his hands on the table, and delivers the following mini-speech:

"Every time I see you, you're always reading. . ." long pause as we both contemplate where this is going. "Which is great, but you can also relax."

This story is probably funnier if you know both of us.

Bonus points if you get the titular reference.

You're Just Reading These Now?

Awhile ago I noted that there are three categories of books on the list. These two decidedly fall in the category of books that people are surprised I haven't read. In some ways, those are the least exciting ones. Anyway, here goes.

The Color Purple is rather the sort of book that you're glad to have read, but not glad while reading it. I was sort of dreading it, even though I knew that it would be excellent. Definitely lived up to expectations on both counts. Yes, it's haunting, painful, beautiful work. It's also extremely, extremely triggering. Ultimately, it was more uplifting and I guess affirming than I had expected, but still, super triggering.

I certainly am not the target audience for Catcher in the Rye. It left me feeling rather the same way that Franny and Zooey did, which I suppose makes sense. I decided to read it in a quick sitting, and I'm glad that I did. It's one that I just wanted to get behind me.

It's another one of those reads that it's hard not to have other associations with, since it pops up so much in other literary and pop culture. Depressingly enough, though, the only example I can think of is a Full House episode. That is seriously, seriously pathetic.

Playing Catch Up Again

Okay, fine, I'm not a very good blogger. I acknowledge this. I own this as part of my personality. Deal.

Let's talk about Cloud Atlas. I actually really want to, because this book was amazing. Amazing. I loved it. I need to find the librarian again who checked me out, since he said it was on of his favorite books, and I should tell him that now it is one of mine.

Basically, it is this sandwich of stories, starting with an explorer in the 19th century that felt Master and Commander-ish, then abruptly jumping to a composer in the 1930s who would be at home with Evelyn Waugh characters, then jumping to a thriller/mystery involving an investigative journalist and a nuclear plant, a semi-modern day story about a publisher's escape from a retirement home, a dystopian futuristic world with a clone for slave labor, and then a post-apocalyptic, almost stone-age like story. And then it loops back through all of them.

There is so much one could say about this, though clearly the first thing is, go read it! The description on the cover of the book calls it dazzling, and truly, that's such an apt word. It simply is dazzling. The way the different stories connect with each other, and what this says about the nature and role of stories, legends, and truth is fascinating. The most fun story was the composer one. It's quite hilarious, and also heartbreaking in light of one of the other stories. My favorite, though, was the second-to-last one. I know the final story is sort of the heart of the novel, but so many of the novel's themes seemed to really come out with this one, particularly relating to truth and how truth can have such a complex relationship with stories, legends, and truth as we perceive it.

The two main themes of the story are: rewriting/retelling of the past, and human beings willingness, sometimes eagerness, to enslave one another or exploit one another. Both permeate the various stories in interesting ways, and I'd love to write an exploration of how those two themes interact with each other. You could also do so many interesting academic papers comparing two of the stories. It would be great for a class, because you could all read the book, but everyone could pick whichever two they wanted for the comparison.

After this, I read Hawksmoor. This also played with time and typical narrative construction, since it involved an architect in the late 1700s and a modern CID Detective (okay, I'm too lazy to look up whether that is redundant; oh, the Brits). It was all right, but not a favorite. Basically, it was all about reason and the edges of human reason. And doesn't that sound like fun?