On the back of the dust jacket for David Mitchell's new book, The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet, one blurb from the New York Times proclaims, "Mitchell is, clearly, a genius." Of course flipping a book over and reading a line like that raises anticipation to unrealistic heights for the reader. Combine the genius label with the fact that Mitchell's Cloud Atlas is one of my absolute favorite books, and suddenly The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet needed to be the best book I read all year in order to meet my expectations. I am glad to say that the novel did not disappoint.
Narratively, Jacob de Zoet is more straightforward than Cloud Atlas, but certainly more interesting than his work in the good-but-not-great coming of age story, Black Swan Green. It's divided into five parts, mostly centering around the title character, a Dutch clerk in Dejima, a little Dutch East India Company trading port along the coast of Nagasaki in 1800. The setting is fascinating as Dejima is not quite Japan, and it operates under its own rules. Jacob is a solid main character, a stubbornly honest man surrounded by crooks, but many of the other characters are equally fascinating, especially Orito Abigawa, a Japanese woman who, despite laws keeping her from study, becomes a midwife. The story is sprawling, covering MANY themes: alienation, homesikness, racism, gender inequality, slavery, greed, religion, etc. Mitchell is one of those authors that is able to really capture the human experience while still telling a compelling story. And, like any historical fiction, I learned loads about and became immersed in a past I was previously completely unfamiliar with.
The "genius" of Mitchell, for me, is his prose and narrative framework. His novels draw attention to the art of storytelling. While Jacob de Zoet is not the structured marvel of Cloud Atlas, Mitchell is still anything but boring. Little shifts in point of view elevate moments in the book. Towards the end, an rhyming rap-like section springs out of nowhere in an unexpectedly beautiful moment. Somehow, Mitchell can make two characters talking about drafting a document setting the new price for copper engaging, even though I know nothing about early 19th century trading. After reading three of his books, Mitchell is now officially right up there with Chabon and Gaiman on my list of living authors I'm obsessed with. I really need to go back and read his first two books. Don't know how I missed them.
Thinking about David Mitchell brings to mind one of the ways I get book recommendations: from famous people I like. By famous people, I mean writers, musicians, bloggers; basically just people whose work I respect. Occasionally, this does not go well (Picked up Boneshaker based on the recommendation of Cory Doctorow and did not care for it, even though it sounded great in synopsis-form). Usually, though, I can really trust the taste of these creative types. Neil Gaiman led me to Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell, Colin Meloy wrote about his enjoyment of Arthur & George, and it was from Owen Pallett that I first heard of Mitchell. I suppose it makes sense that I'd be a fan of the works that inspire the artists that I'm already a fan of.
Lots to blog about, so little time. I'd like to write a post on Kelly Link, Scott Pilgrim, or Inception, but things are now crazybusy. School officially started this week, and grad school starts up next week. By Monday, I have to read an entire book that defines the various disciplines that fall under the heading of "English Studies." Ugh. Sounds like the perfect start to rekindle my love/hate relationship with academia. Yay?
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Speculative Fiction
The term science fiction brings about some strange images. Let's face it, we all see spaceships and robots and moon colonies when we hear that word. One assumes that sci fi will be based around technology and "the future." Often, sci fi does fit into this stereotype. The most popular examples certainly do: Star Wars, Star Trek, I Robot, etc. However, there's another term often used for this genre. Speculative Fiction. For many science fiction books, I feel that this term feels more appropriate. It's not much of a distinction (like the whole comic vs. graphic novel thing), but it doesn't make me feel like I need a background in electrical engineering to really appreciate it. Speculative fiction says, "What if ..." The Road, for instance, falls under this umbrella. It's not really about science, but it does speculate what could happen in a very possible future of destruction.
Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro is another prime example of speculative fiction. If you've never read the book and don't want it spoiled, STOP READING HERE. If you have read it or don't mind a few hints at what happens, read at will.
Never Let Me Go is a touching and tragic novel about a girl named Kath and her relationship with Ruth and Tommy. They all met at an English country boarding school named Hailsham and have to deal with hormones and life after leaving the school. Pretty standard dramatic literature fare. Oh, and did I mention all of the students at Hailsham are clones that have been created so that their vital organs can be harvested for donations? This is what's so fascinating about the book. It's not for almost 100 pages that Ishiguro actually spells out the purpose of Hailsham. This not only gives the book a sense of mystery. It also shifts the focus from that sci fi plotline to the characters and their very messy, but realistic, emotions and relationships. It's also a book about memories, as the bulk of the narration is taken up with Kath's reminisces of life when she was in Hailsham. Like anyone who takes trips down memory lane, it's not a straight road. Memories flow one into another, and not necessarily in chronological order. This made the whole thing feel like a bit of a puzzle (most good books are), and also very authentic. The book can certainly be appreciated on this level, as a tragic human drama. This, I suppose, is why the book is categorized as "literature" and winds up getting nominated for the Booker Prize.
However, the speculative fiction side here is fascinating. When read from this angle, Hailsham is as intricately created as Hogwarts, though certainly a great deal less whimsical. The school's strange customs and enigmatic atmosphere are not fully explained until the final pages. That whole cloning thing is not explained scientifically; we get no explanation about how this breakthrough was achieved, only that it happened. What Ishiguro focuses on instead is what life is like for a clone who knows that they will never see forty because their vital organs are going to be extracted. What's life like for someone whose death is scheduled? While my heart went out to these characters, I had to remind myself that this organ donation is the only reason these people even exist, and that their death is saving someone's life.
Many science fiction books tackle a contemporary social issue. Never Let Me Go is about the ethical implications of cloning and stem cell research. It asks the question: if we ever clone a human being, will it have a soul? Ishiguro obviously believes that clones would have souls, as his characters feel heartbreak, longing, and fear just like the rest of us. The much larger question: if we ever see a world with human cloning being used for medical purposes (this is not that far fetched at all), will there be a place in the world for clones? Never Let Me Go asks huge questions with a deceptively simple narrative. It took me two days to read, but I'll be turning it over in my head long after. Highly recommended.
Heading out tomorrow morning to Milwaukee. I'm hugely excited about this; it's one of my favorite cities. It'll undoubtedly include multiple Kopp's Frozen Custard indulgences and a trip to my favorite coffee shop ever, Al Terra. Also excited to return to the beautiful and delicious New Glarus Brewery and to travel up north to Eau Claire, which will be farthest north I've ever been. Most excitingly of all, Mary bought me tickets to see a stage adaptation of Neverwhere, a classic Neil Gaiman novel. The play is in Chicago, and we'll be spending a day in the city. It's going to be a very exciting summer trip. I'm packing along Boneshaker since fun steampunk action is more appropriate than deep ethics-of-cloning dilemmas for vacationing.
Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro is another prime example of speculative fiction. If you've never read the book and don't want it spoiled, STOP READING HERE. If you have read it or don't mind a few hints at what happens, read at will.
Never Let Me Go is a touching and tragic novel about a girl named Kath and her relationship with Ruth and Tommy. They all met at an English country boarding school named Hailsham and have to deal with hormones and life after leaving the school. Pretty standard dramatic literature fare. Oh, and did I mention all of the students at Hailsham are clones that have been created so that their vital organs can be harvested for donations? This is what's so fascinating about the book. It's not for almost 100 pages that Ishiguro actually spells out the purpose of Hailsham. This not only gives the book a sense of mystery. It also shifts the focus from that sci fi plotline to the characters and their very messy, but realistic, emotions and relationships. It's also a book about memories, as the bulk of the narration is taken up with Kath's reminisces of life when she was in Hailsham. Like anyone who takes trips down memory lane, it's not a straight road. Memories flow one into another, and not necessarily in chronological order. This made the whole thing feel like a bit of a puzzle (most good books are), and also very authentic. The book can certainly be appreciated on this level, as a tragic human drama. This, I suppose, is why the book is categorized as "literature" and winds up getting nominated for the Booker Prize.
However, the speculative fiction side here is fascinating. When read from this angle, Hailsham is as intricately created as Hogwarts, though certainly a great deal less whimsical. The school's strange customs and enigmatic atmosphere are not fully explained until the final pages. That whole cloning thing is not explained scientifically; we get no explanation about how this breakthrough was achieved, only that it happened. What Ishiguro focuses on instead is what life is like for a clone who knows that they will never see forty because their vital organs are going to be extracted. What's life like for someone whose death is scheduled? While my heart went out to these characters, I had to remind myself that this organ donation is the only reason these people even exist, and that their death is saving someone's life.
Many science fiction books tackle a contemporary social issue. Never Let Me Go is about the ethical implications of cloning and stem cell research. It asks the question: if we ever clone a human being, will it have a soul? Ishiguro obviously believes that clones would have souls, as his characters feel heartbreak, longing, and fear just like the rest of us. The much larger question: if we ever see a world with human cloning being used for medical purposes (this is not that far fetched at all), will there be a place in the world for clones? Never Let Me Go asks huge questions with a deceptively simple narrative. It took me two days to read, but I'll be turning it over in my head long after. Highly recommended.
Heading out tomorrow morning to Milwaukee. I'm hugely excited about this; it's one of my favorite cities. It'll undoubtedly include multiple Kopp's Frozen Custard indulgences and a trip to my favorite coffee shop ever, Al Terra. Also excited to return to the beautiful and delicious New Glarus Brewery and to travel up north to Eau Claire, which will be farthest north I've ever been. Most excitingly of all, Mary bought me tickets to see a stage adaptation of Neverwhere, a classic Neil Gaiman novel. The play is in Chicago, and we'll be spending a day in the city. It's going to be a very exciting summer trip. I'm packing along Boneshaker since fun steampunk action is more appropriate than deep ethics-of-cloning dilemmas for vacationing.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Everything There Is To Know About Life
A character in Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse Five said that "Everything there is to know about life is in The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoevsky." Having finished the book about a week ago, I can see where he's coming from. Dostoevsky has certainly written a book that covers much of the enormity of the human experience. While the philosophizing all over the place in the book gave me much to think about, I mostly learned about myself as a reader in the past month.
Like life, the book is a real roller coaster. There are moments of anger, passion, joy, grief, and confusion. Somehow, despite the many tragic moments in the book, I find the whole novel rather uplifting. Dostoevsky is somehow able to bring out the beauty in ugly character relationships. For instance, the final scene, in which a child dies, is among the most uplifting for me. I think Dostoevsky is being very true to life here: very rarely are the events of our lives completely hopeless or 100% awesome. We want our books to have nice and neat resolutions, but Dostoevsky does not let his readers off so easily. Some questions remain unanswered.
It's almost comical just how many philosophical discussions occur throughout the many pages of Brothers Karamazov. It's almost as if characters never make small talk. My friends and I quote movies and make broad jokes when we get together. It's not often that we discuss whether or not free will is actually good for humanity. The climax of the novel revolves around a murder trial, and the prosecuting and defense attorneys spend their closing arguments speaking about whether or not a neglectful parent can truly be considered a parent, sparking a philosophical debate, almost as much as focusing on actual evidence. This sort of dialogue, where characters mostly spoke in monologues that stretched across several pages without even so much as a paragraph break, did become a bit tiresome, but that's not to say I found no value in it. Ivan's treatise about how he could not believe in God because of the suffering of children was particularly powerful, as were many of the teachings of the elder monk Zosima.
The real treasure in Brothers Karamazov are the brothers themselves. Ivan, Dmitri, and Alyosha are fascinating throughout the entire book, even though they're not exactly realistic. The three are extreme character types: Ivan is the intellectual, Dmitri is passionate and reckless, and Alyosha as so faithful he's practically messianic. While they don't feel like real people because of this, it does open the door for some incredible conversation. Also, I'm not sure how, but I found myself really caring for Dmitri, even though he's sort of a scumbag for most of the book.
The book gave me a lot to chew on. I liked it quite a bit, certainly more than both One Hundred Years of Solitude and Moby-Dick. However, did I enjoy it? Not always.
I found myself wishing I was reading something else about half way through, or wishing that I wouldn't have to finish it. Mostly, I think this is because I started it a week after finishing Moby-Dick, another densely philosophical epic. I had an ambitious plan for the summer to be full of "important" books, but this simply was not realistic, not if I wanted to enjoy my summer vacation reading. These sorts of books are great to read occasionally, but not back-to-back. Probably no more than four or five should be read in an entire year, much less in a single summer. It's a shame really, because I'm pretty sure my long and challenging readings of Moby-Dick and One Hundred Years of Solitude really put a damper on my enjoyment of Karamazov. At the very least, I needed a palate-cleansing book or two in between.
This is not to say that I'm done with lengthy, complicated, philosophical books. I liked Karamazov enough to put War and Peace on my to-read list, and the approaching graduate coursework will undoubtedly be intellectually challenging, but I'm taking the rest of the summer off. Sorry Faulkner and Dickens, but I need to reclaim my love of literature with something a bit more fun. Since Bros. K, I've read some Kelly Link short stories, which I love (I'll have to write about her at some point). I started yesterday and am already halfway through Never Let Me Go, which is fascinating. Took a trip to Subterranean Books last week and picked up zombie/steampunk Boneshaker and, most excitingly of all, The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet by one of my faves, David Mitchell. It's not to say that these books have no intellectual value (quite the contrary), they're just plain more engaging.
Here's what I've discovered about myself in reading these last three books: reading long books easily turns into a chore for me. I go through the same cycle every time. I fall completely in love with the book in the first 100 pages or so. The characters and style completely click with me. However, after the newness wears off and the authors start getting into some juicy themes, my interest wanes. Reading is not fun anymore. I read about other books online that sound like fun and get depressed. In the last 100 pages, finishing the book becomes an obsession. I do enjoy the end more than the middle, but I'm in such a hurry to finish that I don't take the time to stop and think about what's happening.
Above all else, when I'm in the middle of reading these sorts of books, I have no desire to write anything. I become creatively constipated. Maybe it's because I have no desire to write lengthy philosophical works. I just don't feel inspired, just intimidated, if anything. However, going back to reading contemporary fiction and sci-fi gets me excited about my own ideas again.
Next time I pick up one of The Great Works, I need to make an active effort to have fun while doing so. Maybe that means writing about it more as I'm reading it, maybe it means reading some fluffy stuff concurrently so I have someplace to turn when I can't pick up the dang thing. That way, I can read what I want to when I feel like it and take my time with the patience-trying intellectual heavy lifting. That at least sounds like less of a chore.
Like life, the book is a real roller coaster. There are moments of anger, passion, joy, grief, and confusion. Somehow, despite the many tragic moments in the book, I find the whole novel rather uplifting. Dostoevsky is somehow able to bring out the beauty in ugly character relationships. For instance, the final scene, in which a child dies, is among the most uplifting for me. I think Dostoevsky is being very true to life here: very rarely are the events of our lives completely hopeless or 100% awesome. We want our books to have nice and neat resolutions, but Dostoevsky does not let his readers off so easily. Some questions remain unanswered.
It's almost comical just how many philosophical discussions occur throughout the many pages of Brothers Karamazov. It's almost as if characters never make small talk. My friends and I quote movies and make broad jokes when we get together. It's not often that we discuss whether or not free will is actually good for humanity. The climax of the novel revolves around a murder trial, and the prosecuting and defense attorneys spend their closing arguments speaking about whether or not a neglectful parent can truly be considered a parent, sparking a philosophical debate, almost as much as focusing on actual evidence. This sort of dialogue, where characters mostly spoke in monologues that stretched across several pages without even so much as a paragraph break, did become a bit tiresome, but that's not to say I found no value in it. Ivan's treatise about how he could not believe in God because of the suffering of children was particularly powerful, as were many of the teachings of the elder monk Zosima.
The real treasure in Brothers Karamazov are the brothers themselves. Ivan, Dmitri, and Alyosha are fascinating throughout the entire book, even though they're not exactly realistic. The three are extreme character types: Ivan is the intellectual, Dmitri is passionate and reckless, and Alyosha as so faithful he's practically messianic. While they don't feel like real people because of this, it does open the door for some incredible conversation. Also, I'm not sure how, but I found myself really caring for Dmitri, even though he's sort of a scumbag for most of the book.
The book gave me a lot to chew on. I liked it quite a bit, certainly more than both One Hundred Years of Solitude and Moby-Dick. However, did I enjoy it? Not always.
I found myself wishing I was reading something else about half way through, or wishing that I wouldn't have to finish it. Mostly, I think this is because I started it a week after finishing Moby-Dick, another densely philosophical epic. I had an ambitious plan for the summer to be full of "important" books, but this simply was not realistic, not if I wanted to enjoy my summer vacation reading. These sorts of books are great to read occasionally, but not back-to-back. Probably no more than four or five should be read in an entire year, much less in a single summer. It's a shame really, because I'm pretty sure my long and challenging readings of Moby-Dick and One Hundred Years of Solitude really put a damper on my enjoyment of Karamazov. At the very least, I needed a palate-cleansing book or two in between.
This is not to say that I'm done with lengthy, complicated, philosophical books. I liked Karamazov enough to put War and Peace on my to-read list, and the approaching graduate coursework will undoubtedly be intellectually challenging, but I'm taking the rest of the summer off. Sorry Faulkner and Dickens, but I need to reclaim my love of literature with something a bit more fun. Since Bros. K, I've read some Kelly Link short stories, which I love (I'll have to write about her at some point). I started yesterday and am already halfway through Never Let Me Go, which is fascinating. Took a trip to Subterranean Books last week and picked up zombie/steampunk Boneshaker and, most excitingly of all, The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet by one of my faves, David Mitchell. It's not to say that these books have no intellectual value (quite the contrary), they're just plain more engaging.
Here's what I've discovered about myself in reading these last three books: reading long books easily turns into a chore for me. I go through the same cycle every time. I fall completely in love with the book in the first 100 pages or so. The characters and style completely click with me. However, after the newness wears off and the authors start getting into some juicy themes, my interest wanes. Reading is not fun anymore. I read about other books online that sound like fun and get depressed. In the last 100 pages, finishing the book becomes an obsession. I do enjoy the end more than the middle, but I'm in such a hurry to finish that I don't take the time to stop and think about what's happening.
Above all else, when I'm in the middle of reading these sorts of books, I have no desire to write anything. I become creatively constipated. Maybe it's because I have no desire to write lengthy philosophical works. I just don't feel inspired, just intimidated, if anything. However, going back to reading contemporary fiction and sci-fi gets me excited about my own ideas again.
Next time I pick up one of The Great Works, I need to make an active effort to have fun while doing so. Maybe that means writing about it more as I'm reading it, maybe it means reading some fluffy stuff concurrently so I have someplace to turn when I can't pick up the dang thing. That way, I can read what I want to when I feel like it and take my time with the patience-trying intellectual heavy lifting. That at least sounds like less of a chore.
Monday, July 12, 2010
Best Man
I know it's mid-July, but I feel like summer is just starting for me. I am completely recovered from my surgery, summer school teaching is over, and I'm finished with sprawling philosophical epic literature (more on that in my next post). Completely unburdened, I'm ready to begin my relaxing. In celebration, I had this giant party. There were about 200 people there!
Okay, it wasn't actually a "Steve's Belated Summer Start" party. It was actually the wedding of two great people: my brother Pete and his now-wife Kaylen. It was an exhaustingly great time this past weekend, filled with friends from out of town, open bars, and party buses. Rather than recount everything that happened throughout the weekend, I'm just going to publish my best man speech here (to the best of my memory):
"How I first met Pete was a funny story. You see, we were womb-mates *uproarious applause, obviously*. Seriously, I grew up with Pete, quite literally. In our little childhood two-man communism, we shared everything: toys, rooms, Christmas presents, memories. Everything. Now that childhood is over, I couldn't be more proud of the way Pete's adulthood is going so far, especially since he's found Kaylen.
While the wedding ceremony was beautiful, I almost feel like it was a bit redundant. It only made legal what we in the Wissinger family have already felt for years: that Kaylen is a part of the family. She fit right in immediately with the first visit to Cairo. We're glad to have you sharing our name. As people have already mentioned today, Pete and Kaylen are perfect for each other. Anyone who's spent even five minutes with them has to think, "Yeah, they make sense together." The two of them complement each other in every way.
I started the speech talking about our childhood. Pete and I grew up on a pretty strict diet of comic books and science fiction movies. In our minds, adulthood must have looked like a strange amalgamation of space travel, crime fighting, and narrowly escaping giant rolling boulders. While life may not be quite so bizarre, there's still adventure to be found in the world, and, Pete and Kaylen, you are so lucky to have each other to share that journey. A toast to Pete and Kalyen Wissinger, the new dynamic duo!"
It pretty much sums up my feelings on the new addition to the family. More writing about books soon.
Okay, it wasn't actually a "Steve's Belated Summer Start" party. It was actually the wedding of two great people: my brother Pete and his now-wife Kaylen. It was an exhaustingly great time this past weekend, filled with friends from out of town, open bars, and party buses. Rather than recount everything that happened throughout the weekend, I'm just going to publish my best man speech here (to the best of my memory):
"How I first met Pete was a funny story. You see, we were womb-mates *uproarious applause, obviously*. Seriously, I grew up with Pete, quite literally. In our little childhood two-man communism, we shared everything: toys, rooms, Christmas presents, memories. Everything. Now that childhood is over, I couldn't be more proud of the way Pete's adulthood is going so far, especially since he's found Kaylen.
While the wedding ceremony was beautiful, I almost feel like it was a bit redundant. It only made legal what we in the Wissinger family have already felt for years: that Kaylen is a part of the family. She fit right in immediately with the first visit to Cairo. We're glad to have you sharing our name. As people have already mentioned today, Pete and Kaylen are perfect for each other. Anyone who's spent even five minutes with them has to think, "Yeah, they make sense together." The two of them complement each other in every way.
I started the speech talking about our childhood. Pete and I grew up on a pretty strict diet of comic books and science fiction movies. In our minds, adulthood must have looked like a strange amalgamation of space travel, crime fighting, and narrowly escaping giant rolling boulders. While life may not be quite so bizarre, there's still adventure to be found in the world, and, Pete and Kaylen, you are so lucky to have each other to share that journey. A toast to Pete and Kalyen Wissinger, the new dynamic duo!"
It pretty much sums up my feelings on the new addition to the family. More writing about books soon.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
To Be a Human Being Among Human Beings
Several updates for my friends and family (unless I'm mistaken about the readership of this blog, mostly just family):
Pain In My Butt
I got some stitches out from my pilonidal cyst surgery. Not all of them. Just the sutures that were holding a giant wad of gauze to the wound. I thought all of them were coming out, but I'm supposed to keep the little stitches from the surgery on for another week and a half. Unfortunately, my surgeon is going to be out all next week, so I have to have my stitches on for an additional half a week (apparently this is not something a nurse can do because he must see me). They're coming off on the 21st. My birthday. Yay. I found myself vaguely annoyed, as if whatever my doctor is doing next week could not possibly be more important than having my stitches out sooner, but then I felt selfish. Things are looking up, though. I can lay on my back with only some discomfort, and I can sit with my shiny new Tush Cush. Also, I'm glad this procedure was around the tailbone. I can talk to a casual acquaintance at work about surgery on my tailbone, but there is no non-awkward way to talk about butt surgery.
Southern Gothic
As a brief interlude between two behemoth-sized novels, I read some Flannery O'Connor short stories. Previously, I'd only read "A Good Man is Hard to Find" and thoroughly enjoyed it. Of the ones I read, "The River" is a clear favorite. Like all of her stories, it involves damaged (physically or mentally) characters in search of some type of salvation and a downbeat ending. This one is about a neglected boy whose babysitter exposes him for the first time to Christianity in the form of a traveling preacher who stands in a river healing people. While I could certainly relate to the whole small-town religion aspect, what really stood out in "The River" is the humor. O'Connor's stories are often filled with little snippets of dark humor, but this one made me laugh out loud several times. The young boy protagonist is startled that real pigs don't look like Porky Pig, assumes that religious people are swearing when saying "Jesus Christ" because it's the only context in which he's heard it used, and asks the preacher to cure his mother of her hangover. Hilarious.
My First Trip to Russia(n Literature)
I've decided to finally see what all of the hoopla is about Russian literature. After being recommended it by many people, I've started with the classic Brothers Karamazov. So far, I'm in love. I'm not sure what it is about Dostoevsky's prose and his characters that I already find so inviting after only fifty pages. I think it largely has to do with the almost conversational tone of the narrator. Whatever it is, the book has me hooked, even after pages upon pages of philosophical musings about whether or not religion should completely take over the governments of the world. Very interesting stuff. One section I found particularly appealing was in the introduction. In the introduction to my edition, Richard Pevear includes an excerpt from a letter Dostoevsky wrote to his brother after narrowly escaping execution (he luckily got away with exile to Siberia. Crazy Russians...). Dostoevsky writes about his new outlook on life after this near-death experience: "Life everywhere is life, life is in ourselves and not in the external. There will be people near me, and to be a human being among human beings, and remain one forever, no matter what misfortunes befall, not to become depressed, not to falter- this is what life is, herein lies the task." Inspiring words that I can totally connect to, especially as someone whose mood is soured because his doctor is taking a vacation and he has to put up with stitches for a couple of extra days. It's not like I'm facing exile or anything. Things could be worse. His words pretty much sum up how I feel about staying positive when the everyday gets me down. Reading this book makes me excited about the Russian Festival happening with the SLSO next season. жизнь хороша!
Pain In My Butt
I got some stitches out from my pilonidal cyst surgery. Not all of them. Just the sutures that were holding a giant wad of gauze to the wound. I thought all of them were coming out, but I'm supposed to keep the little stitches from the surgery on for another week and a half. Unfortunately, my surgeon is going to be out all next week, so I have to have my stitches on for an additional half a week (apparently this is not something a nurse can do because he must see me). They're coming off on the 21st. My birthday. Yay. I found myself vaguely annoyed, as if whatever my doctor is doing next week could not possibly be more important than having my stitches out sooner, but then I felt selfish. Things are looking up, though. I can lay on my back with only some discomfort, and I can sit with my shiny new Tush Cush. Also, I'm glad this procedure was around the tailbone. I can talk to a casual acquaintance at work about surgery on my tailbone, but there is no non-awkward way to talk about butt surgery.
Southern Gothic
As a brief interlude between two behemoth-sized novels, I read some Flannery O'Connor short stories. Previously, I'd only read "A Good Man is Hard to Find" and thoroughly enjoyed it. Of the ones I read, "The River" is a clear favorite. Like all of her stories, it involves damaged (physically or mentally) characters in search of some type of salvation and a downbeat ending. This one is about a neglected boy whose babysitter exposes him for the first time to Christianity in the form of a traveling preacher who stands in a river healing people. While I could certainly relate to the whole small-town religion aspect, what really stood out in "The River" is the humor. O'Connor's stories are often filled with little snippets of dark humor, but this one made me laugh out loud several times. The young boy protagonist is startled that real pigs don't look like Porky Pig, assumes that religious people are swearing when saying "Jesus Christ" because it's the only context in which he's heard it used, and asks the preacher to cure his mother of her hangover. Hilarious.
My First Trip to Russia(n Literature)
I've decided to finally see what all of the hoopla is about Russian literature. After being recommended it by many people, I've started with the classic Brothers Karamazov. So far, I'm in love. I'm not sure what it is about Dostoevsky's prose and his characters that I already find so inviting after only fifty pages. I think it largely has to do with the almost conversational tone of the narrator. Whatever it is, the book has me hooked, even after pages upon pages of philosophical musings about whether or not religion should completely take over the governments of the world. Very interesting stuff. One section I found particularly appealing was in the introduction. In the introduction to my edition, Richard Pevear includes an excerpt from a letter Dostoevsky wrote to his brother after narrowly escaping execution (he luckily got away with exile to Siberia. Crazy Russians...). Dostoevsky writes about his new outlook on life after this near-death experience: "Life everywhere is life, life is in ourselves and not in the external. There will be people near me, and to be a human being among human beings, and remain one forever, no matter what misfortunes befall, not to become depressed, not to falter- this is what life is, herein lies the task." Inspiring words that I can totally connect to, especially as someone whose mood is soured because his doctor is taking a vacation and he has to put up with stitches for a couple of extra days. It's not like I'm facing exile or anything. Things could be worse. His words pretty much sum up how I feel about staying positive when the everyday gets me down. Reading this book makes me excited about the Russian Festival happening with the SLSO next season. жизнь хороша!
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Everything You Never Wanted to Know About Whales
I finished Moby-Dick. It only took me a month, which is pretty good. It was helping me keep my mind off of my surgery recovery, so it was certainly a helpful book for me. Was it the Greatest American Novel that it has often been called? While I found parts of it to be a whale of a good time, it was, on the whole, rather taxing. I just completed my reading yesterday, so I've certainly not studied the book or written extensively about it. These are just my initial opinions as a reader.
What works for me in the book? The actual story of the novel is pretty great. It's a fairly simple story, really: Ahab wants to kill the White Whale for revenge. That's about it. What makes it so engaging is Melville's characterization and style. Ahab, Stubb, Queequeg, and Starbuck are all very different and complex characters, and Melville takes his time allowing us to get into their heads (you have time for this sort of thing with such a long novel). For the most part, the characterization is developed through extended scenes of dialogue (except for Queequeg, a savage who doesn't really say much). It's often really more like Shakespearian monologues, where the characters talk to themselves at length, moving along the plot and revealing their inner motivations and thoughts. My favorite example of this is a scene towards the end in which Starbuck, the moral first mate, contemplates killing Ahab to save the crew from the monomaniacal captain's destructive mission. It's as dramatic as Hamlet's great soliloquies. Another favorite speech comes in the beginning of the book, before the Pequod even ships out. A preacher named Father Mapple delivers a sermon tying whaling and seafaring to the Bible in a church where his pulpit is designed to look like the forecastle of a ship. I suppose that this is what I liked best about Moby-Dick; it's really a Shakespearian tragedy. Ahab is clearly the tragic hero, whose hell-bent thirst for revenge brings about his own demise. The story tucked away in Melville's massive text really is a classic tale of obsession and adventure.
What didn't work for me? Well, that story and characterization that was so rich only took up about 40% of the book. The rest was, essentially, factual information about whales and the business of whaling. That's about 350 pages of reference material and Melville's editorializing. At first, it was interesting. I was intrigued by the history of whaling and Melville's musings on why whaling should be considered a noble enterprise. However, after days and days of reading without any mention of Ahab or his crew, I cared less and less about entire chapters about the dimensions of a whale's skeleton. Chapters about how blubber is harvested from whale carcasses. Chapters about the laws governing who legally possesses a whale if one ship kills it and another finds the body. It's seems that Melville did a ton of research to write this book and decided to include EVERYTHING he found. Our narrator "Ishmael" disappears as a character, as the common sailor is replaced by a gifted writer far too obsessed with whales. That's not to say these chapters are all a lost cause. Even when writing about blubber, Melville manages to write symbolically and with poetic insight. Still, he just about killed my longing for the sea.
I can appreciate novels that include information that is not exactly relevant to the plot (these sections are some of my favorite bits in Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrel, for instance), but this was a bit much for me. There's a classic tale of nautical adventure and Shakespearian tragedy in this 600+ page novel. However, that tale is only about 300 pages long. I know that this is a common criticism of Moby-Dick by people who "don't get it." I don't think I'm missing anything here, I just think that Melville is asking a bit too much of his readers. Reading it became a chore in the middle, and this soiled my focus on and enjoyment of the final riveting chapters. I was on board at the beginning, Melville. You had me in your nets, but you lost me.
Lots of other things have happened this month as well, of course. School is out. I had surgery. The first season of Lost has been devoured. There are tomatoes and zucchini at the market. It's summer.
Still deciding about the next book. Either Dostoevsky or Faulkner, probably.
What works for me in the book? The actual story of the novel is pretty great. It's a fairly simple story, really: Ahab wants to kill the White Whale for revenge. That's about it. What makes it so engaging is Melville's characterization and style. Ahab, Stubb, Queequeg, and Starbuck are all very different and complex characters, and Melville takes his time allowing us to get into their heads (you have time for this sort of thing with such a long novel). For the most part, the characterization is developed through extended scenes of dialogue (except for Queequeg, a savage who doesn't really say much). It's often really more like Shakespearian monologues, where the characters talk to themselves at length, moving along the plot and revealing their inner motivations and thoughts. My favorite example of this is a scene towards the end in which Starbuck, the moral first mate, contemplates killing Ahab to save the crew from the monomaniacal captain's destructive mission. It's as dramatic as Hamlet's great soliloquies. Another favorite speech comes in the beginning of the book, before the Pequod even ships out. A preacher named Father Mapple delivers a sermon tying whaling and seafaring to the Bible in a church where his pulpit is designed to look like the forecastle of a ship. I suppose that this is what I liked best about Moby-Dick; it's really a Shakespearian tragedy. Ahab is clearly the tragic hero, whose hell-bent thirst for revenge brings about his own demise. The story tucked away in Melville's massive text really is a classic tale of obsession and adventure.
What didn't work for me? Well, that story and characterization that was so rich only took up about 40% of the book. The rest was, essentially, factual information about whales and the business of whaling. That's about 350 pages of reference material and Melville's editorializing. At first, it was interesting. I was intrigued by the history of whaling and Melville's musings on why whaling should be considered a noble enterprise. However, after days and days of reading without any mention of Ahab or his crew, I cared less and less about entire chapters about the dimensions of a whale's skeleton. Chapters about how blubber is harvested from whale carcasses. Chapters about the laws governing who legally possesses a whale if one ship kills it and another finds the body. It's seems that Melville did a ton of research to write this book and decided to include EVERYTHING he found. Our narrator "Ishmael" disappears as a character, as the common sailor is replaced by a gifted writer far too obsessed with whales. That's not to say these chapters are all a lost cause. Even when writing about blubber, Melville manages to write symbolically and with poetic insight. Still, he just about killed my longing for the sea.
I can appreciate novels that include information that is not exactly relevant to the plot (these sections are some of my favorite bits in Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrel, for instance), but this was a bit much for me. There's a classic tale of nautical adventure and Shakespearian tragedy in this 600+ page novel. However, that tale is only about 300 pages long. I know that this is a common criticism of Moby-Dick by people who "don't get it." I don't think I'm missing anything here, I just think that Melville is asking a bit too much of his readers. Reading it became a chore in the middle, and this soiled my focus on and enjoyment of the final riveting chapters. I was on board at the beginning, Melville. You had me in your nets, but you lost me.
Lots of other things have happened this month as well, of course. School is out. I had surgery. The first season of Lost has been devoured. There are tomatoes and zucchini at the market. It's summer.
Still deciding about the next book. Either Dostoevsky or Faulkner, probably.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Macondo Musings, In Which Our Hero Tries to Make His Thoughts Coherent
In many ways, Gabriel Garcia Marquez rewrote the Bible. Harold Bloom called One Hundred Years of Solitude "The Bible of Macondo," which is the city in which the book takes place.
It's got a lot in common with The Good Book. It opens on Macondo's creation, where chaos rules and not everything even has a name yet. The book ends in a whirlwind of apocalypse in which everything falls into pieces. Between these bookend events are characters who live for hundreds of years, family histories, and a lot of stuff that doesn't make much narrative sense. Yep, sounds like the Bible to me. Too broad and ambitious to simply call it a story.
This is one of the things that is so difficult about OHYOS: the book covers so much time and five generations of a family, so I never felt really connected to any of them. They were certainly fascinating, however, especially considering how they changed over time. Take, for instance, Colonel Aureliano Buendia, who started the book as an artistic little boy who crafted little fishes out of gold. In the middle, he takes charge of a rebel force fighting against the conservative government. In the end, after living a life as a ruthless warrior, he dies sad and alone of old age. This is life as written by Marquez: it's filled with wonders and changes, but it ends for everyone in the same way.
Life in the Buendia family is cyclical; events repeat themselves. The couple who begin the book starting a family fear the repercussions of incest, and incest pops up generation after generation. At first glance, this seems like a strange motif to have resurface over and over again in the book, but it makes sense after reflection. Incest further establishes the solitude of the family, keeping them from intermingling with others. More than anything, this is the major theme of the book, as the title suggests. The Buendia family is isolated from the rest of the town - they are constantly marrying within the family and the entire family lives in one big house. The town of Macondo, too, is isolated from the rest of the world. A rough and primitive place, it falls into conflict when an authoritarian government takes over, and life is further disrupted when a train rolls into town bringing along with it modern technology.
It's hard to write about this book in an organized way because the book is simply too big. I don't mean that it's big physically. I've read longer books. It's big thematically. There are dozens of themes I could write about here. For instance, fatalism is apparently something Marquez thought an awful lot about. Characters are often introduced by saying "He would think of this moment when he stood before a firing squad later in life." It's laid out for the reader already how life will end for this character. As the book concludes, prophecies become important as characters begin to see that their future has already been predicted.
See? There I go. I can't casually write about everything this book makes me contemplate. It would take way too long. To sum up my thoughts on OHYOS in an organized and detailed way, I'm afraid I'd have to write a 20 page essay, and I just did not enjoy it enough to spend my free time doing that. It's not that I didn't like the book; if a teacher made me write a paper about it, I'd be excited to do so. However, I have other things to do right now that are more important than writing recreational literary analysis**. I would love to talk about it, though. I think a novel this meandering would be more appropriate for conversation than composition anyway. Who's read it? Let's chat!
**More important things include reading Moby Dick. I'm through about forty pages and completely sucked in. It opens with Ishmael telling us that he sometimes feels the need to abandon society and take to the sea, the "watery part of the world." Did Melville travel to the future and read my previous post?
It's got a lot in common with The Good Book. It opens on Macondo's creation, where chaos rules and not everything even has a name yet. The book ends in a whirlwind of apocalypse in which everything falls into pieces. Between these bookend events are characters who live for hundreds of years, family histories, and a lot of stuff that doesn't make much narrative sense. Yep, sounds like the Bible to me. Too broad and ambitious to simply call it a story.
This is one of the things that is so difficult about OHYOS: the book covers so much time and five generations of a family, so I never felt really connected to any of them. They were certainly fascinating, however, especially considering how they changed over time. Take, for instance, Colonel Aureliano Buendia, who started the book as an artistic little boy who crafted little fishes out of gold. In the middle, he takes charge of a rebel force fighting against the conservative government. In the end, after living a life as a ruthless warrior, he dies sad and alone of old age. This is life as written by Marquez: it's filled with wonders and changes, but it ends for everyone in the same way.
Life in the Buendia family is cyclical; events repeat themselves. The couple who begin the book starting a family fear the repercussions of incest, and incest pops up generation after generation. At first glance, this seems like a strange motif to have resurface over and over again in the book, but it makes sense after reflection. Incest further establishes the solitude of the family, keeping them from intermingling with others. More than anything, this is the major theme of the book, as the title suggests. The Buendia family is isolated from the rest of the town - they are constantly marrying within the family and the entire family lives in one big house. The town of Macondo, too, is isolated from the rest of the world. A rough and primitive place, it falls into conflict when an authoritarian government takes over, and life is further disrupted when a train rolls into town bringing along with it modern technology.
It's hard to write about this book in an organized way because the book is simply too big. I don't mean that it's big physically. I've read longer books. It's big thematically. There are dozens of themes I could write about here. For instance, fatalism is apparently something Marquez thought an awful lot about. Characters are often introduced by saying "He would think of this moment when he stood before a firing squad later in life." It's laid out for the reader already how life will end for this character. As the book concludes, prophecies become important as characters begin to see that their future has already been predicted.
See? There I go. I can't casually write about everything this book makes me contemplate. It would take way too long. To sum up my thoughts on OHYOS in an organized and detailed way, I'm afraid I'd have to write a 20 page essay, and I just did not enjoy it enough to spend my free time doing that. It's not that I didn't like the book; if a teacher made me write a paper about it, I'd be excited to do so. However, I have other things to do right now that are more important than writing recreational literary analysis**. I would love to talk about it, though. I think a novel this meandering would be more appropriate for conversation than composition anyway. Who's read it? Let's chat!
**More important things include reading Moby Dick. I'm through about forty pages and completely sucked in. It opens with Ishmael telling us that he sometimes feels the need to abandon society and take to the sea, the "watery part of the world." Did Melville travel to the future and read my previous post?
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