Monday, October 08, 2007
Where's My Jetpack?
Very funny -- yet scientific -- look at the future that never quite materialized. Not as technical or as thorough as I was hoping for, but still very readable and entertaining: a fast 187 pages. Wilson discusses everything from personal jetpacks to ray guns to robots to space elevators. Best line (discussing cryogenic freezing): "Here you are palming a silly book with your meaty human paws [when] you could be a thousand years in the future, standing in a thin atmosphere and cradling a mutant human baby with your horrific titanium claws." Same author who wrote How to Survive a Robot Uprising.
Sunday, September 16, 2007
The Remains of the Day
I loved this book! It's intellectually stimulating, relaxing, and interesting. The characters had unique voices (Ishiguro conveyed Stevens's voice with spot-on consistency throughout the novel), and they were well-drawn. The book was enjoyable, though the plot was not exactly exciting. It was a leisurely read, encouraging interaction and interpretation, given its indeterminacies, while not requiring the mental efforts to read the complicated prose of, say, Jane Austen. I looked forward to reading the book as one would look forward to sitting in front of a crackling fire. Good book to read with a cup of tea or coffee on a cold winter morning.
The main character, the butler Mr Stevens, was fascinating in his rigidity and self-denial. I liked the fact that he was an unreliable narrator and pretty much knew it. The way he told the memories of his life were realistic and honest, yet his extraordinary self-denial prevented him from really understanding the emotions he was relating. His relationship with Miss Kenton was marvelous: she obviously loved him and tried many times to get past his outer shell, but to little avail. Stevens's love for her was obvious in the numerous memories he related about her and the fact that he read and re-read her letter to him so many times throughout the book, which only spans a week or so, and in his obvious disappointment in finding that she was staying with her husband. Most poignant moments: The tears Mr Stevens sheds as he serves drinks to guests only moments after the death of his father; Mr Stevens waiting outside Miss Kenton's door, certain that she is crying on the other side of it, yet unable to allow himself to go to her because of his duty to his Nazi-sympathizing pawn of an employer; Mr Stevens, crying again, as he speaks with the other butler at the end of the novel. Ultimately, Mr Stevens allows the love of his life to leave and marry someone else because she simply can't wait for him to come around. She knows she would always be second to his professional obligations. By the way, I love the way her emotions play out, crossing the boundary from her world of passion to Mr Stevens's world of rigid professionalism.
The book is about duty and dignity, about living one's life in the best way possible. Mr Stevens's realization at the end is poignant. He knows in the back of his mind that although he fulfilled his professional goal of being a "great" butler, his desire cost him dearly in the personal sphere. And even the attainment of his ambition was tainted by the fact that he worked for an employer who was not as "noble" as he thought.
The main character, the butler Mr Stevens, was fascinating in his rigidity and self-denial. I liked the fact that he was an unreliable narrator and pretty much knew it. The way he told the memories of his life were realistic and honest, yet his extraordinary self-denial prevented him from really understanding the emotions he was relating. His relationship with Miss Kenton was marvelous: she obviously loved him and tried many times to get past his outer shell, but to little avail. Stevens's love for her was obvious in the numerous memories he related about her and the fact that he read and re-read her letter to him so many times throughout the book, which only spans a week or so, and in his obvious disappointment in finding that she was staying with her husband. Most poignant moments: The tears Mr Stevens sheds as he serves drinks to guests only moments after the death of his father; Mr Stevens waiting outside Miss Kenton's door, certain that she is crying on the other side of it, yet unable to allow himself to go to her because of his duty to his Nazi-sympathizing pawn of an employer; Mr Stevens, crying again, as he speaks with the other butler at the end of the novel. Ultimately, Mr Stevens allows the love of his life to leave and marry someone else because she simply can't wait for him to come around. She knows she would always be second to his professional obligations. By the way, I love the way her emotions play out, crossing the boundary from her world of passion to Mr Stevens's world of rigid professionalism.
The book is about duty and dignity, about living one's life in the best way possible. Mr Stevens's realization at the end is poignant. He knows in the back of his mind that although he fulfilled his professional goal of being a "great" butler, his desire cost him dearly in the personal sphere. And even the attainment of his ambition was tainted by the fact that he worked for an employer who was not as "noble" as he thought.
Thursday, August 02, 2007
The Road
The Road by Cormac McCarthy
Very Hemingway-esque in style, which may be one of the reasons the boy calls his father "Papa" throughout the novel. I enjoyed the story, as simple as it was. Very exciting in places, and very realistic throughout. The themes of God and the final image of the boy as an angel were profound and moving. The father defined himself and the boy as the "good guys", but it seemed to me that the primary elements that separated the father as Good Guy from the Bad Guys were the fact that the father killed only in self-defense and that he and the boy didn't eat other humans, an element the boy confirms at the end of the novel.
Throughout the novel, the father seemed distant from the boy, as if he were trying to understand his son. He has a few moments of connection but he also admits to a disconnect at times. The primary difference I saw was that the father cared most for himself and the boy, while the boy cared most for the whole human race, attempting to save nearly everyone they met on the road. No wonder he was angelic.
The final irony of the title was that the "veteran" tells the boy that the safest action was to get off the road, while his father was always traveling on it. I liked the ending of the novel, speaking of which. The father's death was inevitable, and the boy being saved by a family was as happy an ending as a post-apocalyptic novel can have without being maudlin.
The unnamed character is not uncommon in literature, but the authors usually have different reasons for their choices. In McCarthy's case, I think The Road contained no names (except for Ely, who lied about his anyway) because what do names matter in a world that has been nearly consumed? They don't define a person. Only the characters' actions mattered, and the love they shared. I'll probably read McCarthy's Blood Meridian at some point, though I have already begun Dracula and received The Kite Runner today. So many books, so little time.
Very Hemingway-esque in style, which may be one of the reasons the boy calls his father "Papa" throughout the novel. I enjoyed the story, as simple as it was. Very exciting in places, and very realistic throughout. The themes of God and the final image of the boy as an angel were profound and moving. The father defined himself and the boy as the "good guys", but it seemed to me that the primary elements that separated the father as Good Guy from the Bad Guys were the fact that the father killed only in self-defense and that he and the boy didn't eat other humans, an element the boy confirms at the end of the novel.
Throughout the novel, the father seemed distant from the boy, as if he were trying to understand his son. He has a few moments of connection but he also admits to a disconnect at times. The primary difference I saw was that the father cared most for himself and the boy, while the boy cared most for the whole human race, attempting to save nearly everyone they met on the road. No wonder he was angelic.
The final irony of the title was that the "veteran" tells the boy that the safest action was to get off the road, while his father was always traveling on it. I liked the ending of the novel, speaking of which. The father's death was inevitable, and the boy being saved by a family was as happy an ending as a post-apocalyptic novel can have without being maudlin.
The unnamed character is not uncommon in literature, but the authors usually have different reasons for their choices. In McCarthy's case, I think The Road contained no names (except for Ely, who lied about his anyway) because what do names matter in a world that has been nearly consumed? They don't define a person. Only the characters' actions mattered, and the love they shared. I'll probably read McCarthy's Blood Meridian at some point, though I have already begun Dracula and received The Kite Runner today. So many books, so little time.
Monday, July 23, 2007
Harry Potter, Books 6 and 7
The Half-Blood Prince
Par for the course, with the exception that this book, unlike its predecessors, seemed much more of a "series novel" than a stand-alone, inasmuch as the ending did not satisfy the reader with sufficient closure. It clearly led toward a sequel, instead of being self-contained as are the others. Rowling's forte is obviously plot, as her characters are fairly interesting caricatures and her themes are only superficially developed. She, much like Stephen King, is a page-turner. She does not ask much of the reader except for patience and endurance. The novel is predictably over-written and slow at times, but Rowling's ability to tell the story using multiple perspectives is improving. More on her overall writing ability in the next section.
The Deathly Hallows
This novel eventually provided sufficient closure for the series, and the final, climactic scene delivered a barely-believable, complicated resolution. The denouement was quite fast for the final installment of a heptology, and Rowling must be commended for it. Rowling's writing ability continues to sparkle like a bowling ball. She attempts to be literary at times as she tries to incorporate symbols and play around with character complexities, but since her symbolism is heavy-handed and her characters more similar to cartoons than humans, the novel falls short. The plot starts fast with an interesting chase scene, but almost immediately slows to a crawl during the middle third. For a novel as long as Hallows (759 pages), this means the reader slogs along for about 250 relatively boring pages.
For me, the creation of a believable fantasy world--a textured, multi-dimensional setting--is critical. However, the more detailed Rowling tries to be, the more difficult the job she has in closing the loopholes and filling in the gaps. Rowling falls far short on this. The resolution of the series is based on a carefully worked-out magical system, and her justification for the plot is painstakingly clarified for the audience. She has gone to great lengths to outline her "wizarding" world and to establish the "rules of the game". However, when she gets stuck, she resorts to the literary equivalent of the simple excuse, "Well, it's just magic, that's all!" which, if overused, pushes the reader out of the story by requiring an excessive suspension of disbelief. She definitively separates the "wizarding" world from that of the "muggles," by explaining any cross-contamination (the wizards erase the memories of the muggles whenever anything unusual happens). She injects humorous comments about the difficulty some wizards have dressing as muggles, although she simultaneously explains that all the Hogwarts students must change from their muggle clothing to wizard/witch robes on the train to the school. Wizards are shown driving and walking, talking, or otherwise intermingling freely with muggles, yet she jokes about the fact that the wizards cannot dress like proper muggles and do not know their ways. One major character is infatuated with all things muggle, specifically, outlandish muggle contraptions such as cars and motorcycles, going to ridiculous lengths to 1) establish his ignorance of them and 2) learn about them, when clearly a muggle library can only be a broomstick's ride away.
Am I being too harsh? Nitpicking too much? Perhaps. However, the effectiveness of a fantasy novel is based on the principle of suspension of disbelief, from which all else should proceed normally, once the rules have been established. If an author continually calls the reader's attention to a "rule", then the author risks losing the reader who sees the holes in the logic, thus effectively destroying the carefully constructed (and fragile!) relationship between reader and text. Fantasy, science fiction, and horror are all particularly susceptible to this risk. It's like Edith Wharton says in The Age of Innocence: "Good liars give lots of details; the best liars don't give any." The more elaborate the lie, the less likely a reader will buy it. Bottom line: The most important job of the fantasy author is to create the fantasy milieu and ensure that the reader remains in that world. The moment the reader discerns a flaw or contradiction in the fantasy world, the author risks failure.
Rowling's system of magic is based on simplistic stereotypes (wands, pseudo-Latin incantations, colorful rays) which often bend or break the laws of physics. Contrast this with Tolkien whose fantasy world is incredibly textured, highly believable, and remarkably detailed, and whose system of magic is limited in the extreme (only a handful of wizards exist). Or David Eddings whose magical system ("the Will and the Word") is not only detailed and well-explained, but highly believable and original. Or Lev Grossman's physics-based system of magic which can only be used by innately talented wizards with either incredible intellects or superbly-developed intuitive understandings of magic: the genius and the artist.
In addition to an original and interesting system of magic, fantasy novels all but require a "Good vs. Evil" conflict basis. This dichotomy presupposes an Everyman in the role of the "Good Guy". Harry Potter fills this role nicely, even if his character is inconsistent between--and sometimes within--novels. Voldemort is the Evil entity. Nice, neat, clean: a Boethian interpretation of evil as an intrinsic force. No playing around with ambiguous nature, no cleverly complex or sympathetic antagonists, no exploration of human nature. The closest Rowling comes to creating a complex antagonist is Professor Severus Snape, whose over-the-top personality is straight out of the Adam West/William Shatner school of acting. This oversimplified presentation of human nature is typical of escapist fiction and is the main reason these novels can never be considered anything more than idle and harmless diversions.
You may be asking why, if I seem to have such harsh feelings toward the Harry Potter books, have I read all seven novels. Good question. Part of it has to do with the closure element (I started the series and determined that I would finish them, no matter what). Another part has to do with the genre (fantasy is my favorite type of literature). Also, I want to have read them because many of my students have read them. Finally, as I mentioned above, Rowling is a good plotter. Her novels are escapist fantasies with some clever twists, and they are very easy to read (Hallows--all 759 pages of it--took me two days to read). As an aside, I must admit that I really wanted to like the Potter books when I began the series, but I am inherently mistrustful of anything that is too popular (i.e., if so many people like the books, then something must be wrong with them).
As a final note, I will say that I have not forgotten that I am not the target audience. These books were written for young readers who are much less discerning than I and who have much lower expectations. I should give her a break, right? Maybe I should. However, I can't read a fantasy novel without comparing it to Tolkien. The Potter books are written for an audience similar to that of Tolkien's The Hobbit (and it's influence on Rowling is unmistakable), and I don't think there is a serious fantasy reader in the world who would say that The Hobbit is inferior to Potter. And Tolkien's brainchild also succeeds as literature, proving that great books can be written for young audiences and that fantasy can be seen as serious literature.
Par for the course, with the exception that this book, unlike its predecessors, seemed much more of a "series novel" than a stand-alone, inasmuch as the ending did not satisfy the reader with sufficient closure. It clearly led toward a sequel, instead of being self-contained as are the others. Rowling's forte is obviously plot, as her characters are fairly interesting caricatures and her themes are only superficially developed. She, much like Stephen King, is a page-turner. She does not ask much of the reader except for patience and endurance. The novel is predictably over-written and slow at times, but Rowling's ability to tell the story using multiple perspectives is improving. More on her overall writing ability in the next section.
The Deathly Hallows
This novel eventually provided sufficient closure for the series, and the final, climactic scene delivered a barely-believable, complicated resolution. The denouement was quite fast for the final installment of a heptology, and Rowling must be commended for it. Rowling's writing ability continues to sparkle like a bowling ball. She attempts to be literary at times as she tries to incorporate symbols and play around with character complexities, but since her symbolism is heavy-handed and her characters more similar to cartoons than humans, the novel falls short. The plot starts fast with an interesting chase scene, but almost immediately slows to a crawl during the middle third. For a novel as long as Hallows (759 pages), this means the reader slogs along for about 250 relatively boring pages.
For me, the creation of a believable fantasy world--a textured, multi-dimensional setting--is critical. However, the more detailed Rowling tries to be, the more difficult the job she has in closing the loopholes and filling in the gaps. Rowling falls far short on this. The resolution of the series is based on a carefully worked-out magical system, and her justification for the plot is painstakingly clarified for the audience. She has gone to great lengths to outline her "wizarding" world and to establish the "rules of the game". However, when she gets stuck, she resorts to the literary equivalent of the simple excuse, "Well, it's just magic, that's all!" which, if overused, pushes the reader out of the story by requiring an excessive suspension of disbelief. She definitively separates the "wizarding" world from that of the "muggles," by explaining any cross-contamination (the wizards erase the memories of the muggles whenever anything unusual happens). She injects humorous comments about the difficulty some wizards have dressing as muggles, although she simultaneously explains that all the Hogwarts students must change from their muggle clothing to wizard/witch robes on the train to the school. Wizards are shown driving and walking, talking, or otherwise intermingling freely with muggles, yet she jokes about the fact that the wizards cannot dress like proper muggles and do not know their ways. One major character is infatuated with all things muggle, specifically, outlandish muggle contraptions such as cars and motorcycles, going to ridiculous lengths to 1) establish his ignorance of them and 2) learn about them, when clearly a muggle library can only be a broomstick's ride away.
Am I being too harsh? Nitpicking too much? Perhaps. However, the effectiveness of a fantasy novel is based on the principle of suspension of disbelief, from which all else should proceed normally, once the rules have been established. If an author continually calls the reader's attention to a "rule", then the author risks losing the reader who sees the holes in the logic, thus effectively destroying the carefully constructed (and fragile!) relationship between reader and text. Fantasy, science fiction, and horror are all particularly susceptible to this risk. It's like Edith Wharton says in The Age of Innocence: "Good liars give lots of details; the best liars don't give any." The more elaborate the lie, the less likely a reader will buy it. Bottom line: The most important job of the fantasy author is to create the fantasy milieu and ensure that the reader remains in that world. The moment the reader discerns a flaw or contradiction in the fantasy world, the author risks failure.
Rowling's system of magic is based on simplistic stereotypes (wands, pseudo-Latin incantations, colorful rays) which often bend or break the laws of physics. Contrast this with Tolkien whose fantasy world is incredibly textured, highly believable, and remarkably detailed, and whose system of magic is limited in the extreme (only a handful of wizards exist). Or David Eddings whose magical system ("the Will and the Word") is not only detailed and well-explained, but highly believable and original. Or Lev Grossman's physics-based system of magic which can only be used by innately talented wizards with either incredible intellects or superbly-developed intuitive understandings of magic: the genius and the artist.
In addition to an original and interesting system of magic, fantasy novels all but require a "Good vs. Evil" conflict basis. This dichotomy presupposes an Everyman in the role of the "Good Guy". Harry Potter fills this role nicely, even if his character is inconsistent between--and sometimes within--novels. Voldemort is the Evil entity. Nice, neat, clean: a Boethian interpretation of evil as an intrinsic force. No playing around with ambiguous nature, no cleverly complex or sympathetic antagonists, no exploration of human nature. The closest Rowling comes to creating a complex antagonist is Professor Severus Snape, whose over-the-top personality is straight out of the Adam West/William Shatner school of acting. This oversimplified presentation of human nature is typical of escapist fiction and is the main reason these novels can never be considered anything more than idle and harmless diversions.
You may be asking why, if I seem to have such harsh feelings toward the Harry Potter books, have I read all seven novels. Good question. Part of it has to do with the closure element (I started the series and determined that I would finish them, no matter what). Another part has to do with the genre (fantasy is my favorite type of literature). Also, I want to have read them because many of my students have read them. Finally, as I mentioned above, Rowling is a good plotter. Her novels are escapist fantasies with some clever twists, and they are very easy to read (Hallows--all 759 pages of it--took me two days to read). As an aside, I must admit that I really wanted to like the Potter books when I began the series, but I am inherently mistrustful of anything that is too popular (i.e., if so many people like the books, then something must be wrong with them).
As a final note, I will say that I have not forgotten that I am not the target audience. These books were written for young readers who are much less discerning than I and who have much lower expectations. I should give her a break, right? Maybe I should. However, I can't read a fantasy novel without comparing it to Tolkien. The Potter books are written for an audience similar to that of Tolkien's The Hobbit (and it's influence on Rowling is unmistakable), and I don't think there is a serious fantasy reader in the world who would say that The Hobbit is inferior to Potter. And Tolkien's brainchild also succeeds as literature, proving that great books can be written for young audiences and that fantasy can be seen as serious literature.
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Some Commentary
I haven't written too much lately about the books I've been reading. Too busy reading and teaching to write. Here are some delayed observations about the books:
Atlas Shrugged
I liked this book, but I didn't love it. I enjoyed The Fountainhead much more, and I think it was the better of the two. Atlas was too long, much longer than it needed to be, in my opinion. The scope--intellectually and panoramically--was impressive, and some of the characters were memorable. Dagny and James Taggart, Howard and Lillian Roark, and Francisco d'Anconia were among the most well-drawn and interesting. Rand has a great ear for character voices, and Lillian's ambiguous speeches incorporated subtext brilliantly. On the minus side, the novel asks too much of the reader, and there comes a point about halfway through where suspension of disbelief becomes nearly impossible and the reader is pushed out of the story. Also, the novel was written as a pragmatic illustration of Rand's philosophy of life. However, to set the novel in a fictitious, almost science fiction setting that begs believability, undermines her goal in my mind: How are we to espouse a belief system that its own creator seems to admit requires a contrived setting in which to work effectively? Perhaps she felt she needed to present an extreme case to convince her audience. Perhaps she didn't trust her readers to comprehend the subtleties of her philosophy. I don't really know. All I know is, I do not feel she made as compelling a case as she did in The Fountainhead.
Plus, it was just too long. Did I already mention that?
Paradise Lost
Awesome! Just awesome! Milton's vision of the Fall presented in a classically rhetorical structure within the epic poetry form is moving, exciting, compelling, scary--you name it. It would make a great movie. Great moments: The battle between God's army (led by archangel Michael) and Satan's troops, with Michael simply whaling on Satan. Satan's complexity at seeing the pristine beauty of Eden and the purity of the First Humans. Satan and his demons being turned into snakes after his "victory" over Eve. Adam's sorrow over Eve's weakness, his determination to share her fate no matter what, and his acceptance of his subsequent expulsion from Eden. Lyrical, timeless, inspired, imagistic. A bit preachy, though. Oh, yes. Quite a BIT preachy. But to his credit, Milton does not shy away from trying to understand and present to the reader Satan's grievances. In fact, Satan almost appears a sympathetic character. He's also given more air time than Christ, Michael, and God combined. Advice: Try reading it out loud. Preferably in a crowded subway station.
On the Road
Not worth it. Repetitive, boring, and annoying. Probably, I just read this book at the wrong time in my life. Reminds me of Into the Wild, another book about a self-centered immature jerk. The characters, especially Dean Moriarty (a.k.a. Neal Cassady) were major jerks: selfish, egotistical, uncaring, and infantile in their immaturity. The Tao of Pooh was so much better. A book with Pooh is better than a book worth poo.
The Master and Margarita
Molly Cobb recommended this to me, and I enjoyed it, for the most part. Humorous, intelligent, philosophical, and well-written with great descriptions and characters. The interlaced narrative which was switched between the novel's present and the distant past (i.e., the death of Christ) was compelling, and the stylistic changes the author made to help differentiate those temporal shifts cleverly reflected the subject matter: the story of Christ was written in spare, almost stiff prose, while the present-day story was whimsical and fast-paced. The first half of the book was great, but then the narrative seemed to fade, as if the author couldn't maintain his energy level. (Note: I later found out the Bulgakov died before he had a chance to revise the second half of the work.) Oddly, the title characters were the least interesting ones. Satan, once again, was complex and definitely sympathetic. Weirdly surreal in places, especially Satan's Ball. A good novel, overall.
The Age of Innocence
Subtle and complex. The society Wharton presents is every bit as complicated as any Jane Austen, and much more treacherous. The main character is compelling and believable, and the plot is linear and easy to follow. The dialogue and actions of the characters are less readily accessible, however. The love story conflict is great, and it reminds me in many ways of my second novel: forbidden love, conventions of society, strictures on behavior, etc.. In some ways, I'm mad that Wharton wrote the novel first (and that she did such a good job), but in other ways, I am gratified that I would have an idea similar to that of such an accomplished author. I like the way the author incorporated so much subtext into the dialogue. She explained much of it, but there was still a lot of room for interpretation and interaction on the part of the reader. The novel moved slowly but purposefully. The ending was a disappointment: Anti-climactic and pointless in some ways. I get the whole part about trying to hold the idea of the perfection of the love Archer felt for Olenska in their youths as opposed to tainting it through an attempt to re-kindle it in their waning years, but come on! Here's your chance at real happiness, not just a moderately satisfactory complacency. I guess I have his kid's perspective: Why come all this way and wait all this time just to turn and walk away when your goal is within reach? Sort of belittles his love for her into a mere pining. Probably not a novel I'd come back to anytime soon, but it's a future re-read.
Pride and Prejudice
I liked it more than I liked Emma. The plot was complicated, and the characters were compelling and varied. The father, Mr. Bennet, was my favorite character. He separated himself from his family as a method of self-preservation: With five daughters and a biddy for a wife, he could do nothing else and remain sane. His attitude was great, and his sense of humor was engaging. He poked fun at his wife and acted in many ways as her foil, bringing a welcome sense of pragmatism to the overly-formal society. He had little patience for his wife's flightiness, and he was perfectly willing to let his daughters make their mistakes and learn from them. Mrs. Bennet was a fun character whom we could not take seriously. Her role in the novel was that of catalyst, trying to marry off her daughters as quickly as she could while simultaneously trying to ensure her family's financial future in the inevitable event of her husband's death, the fact of which she continually reminded her husband. Lydia, one of the youngest daughters, was incredibly selfish and obnoxious. It was one thing for her to party all the time with her younger sister and all the officers, and quite another to run off and get married to that poser Wickham. She caused her family all sorts of grief throughout the novel. I'm surprised they didn't cut her off completely. I liked Elizabeth, the main character, much more than I liked Emma from the other novel. She was mature, bright, down-to-earth, and perceptive. She was sensitive without sentimentality. I can see why she was her father's favorite. (Wait, do I have to say 'favourite'?) Darcy was too stand-offish at first, but he was ultimately a good man. Collins was hilarious in his pomposity, especially when he enumerated the practical reasons why Elizabeth should marry him. His obsequious behavior toward his benefactor, the "condescending" Lady Catherine provided Austen numerous opportunities to satirize Victorian English society. The character interrelationships were quite complex, typical of a Jane Austen novel. The writing was formal, the sentences long, complex, and serpentine. I can certainly see why Austen would have been popular among her contemporaries. My only criticism is that is was predictable in many ways. Austen seemed so determined to make Elizabeth see only the negative qualities in Darcy that, clearly, she was destined to fall in love with him. Still, it was a good read, and I will pick up other Austen novels in the future.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man
Excellent! Stylistically impressive. The plot was deceptively simple and mild, and the conflict was almost entirely internal. Still, when I got to the end of this short novel, I realized that Joyce had been grappling with issues of sexuality, growth and maturity, Catholicism (and the accompanying guilt), education, (Irish) nationalism, family (esp. the father), and other such universal issues. The writing style became increasingly complex as the novel progressed, which I liked, simulating the protagonist's maturation. I read and loved "Araby", so I was prepared for some of the issues Joyce was probably going to address, and I already admired his style. He is, it is generally understood, one of the most well-developed stylists in English prose. The use of the dash to indicate dialogue was an annoying convention that I could do without. I like my fiction like my football: Americanized! Just kidding. (But the dashes were still annoying!) The book will, hopefully, be a nice prelude to Ulysses which I'm looking forward to tackling in the near future. Maybe I'll feel up to it by the end of the summer, but if I can't finish it, I'm not sure I want to start. I'm reluctant to begin the school year and have that novel hanging over my head.
Wuthering Heights
Just finished this today. I loved it, at first. Then it gradually became boring. The characters are mostly annoying jerks, like in On the Road, except these are less obnoxious and more overtly evil. I had heard about the great love between Catherine and Heathcliff, and knowing this to be a Victorian novel, I prepared myself for an Austen-esque type of romantic story. I loved the Gothic flavor of the opening chapters, which, given my expectations, were a pleasant surprise. Unfortunately, the novel deteriorated from there. My problems with the novel are many. Let's start with the characters. Heathcliff: Major, deliberate jerk. Makes Iago look like a Best Buddy. Catherine Earnshaw: Selfish, opportunistic, prideful, haughty. Edgar: Weak, effeminate loser. Hareton: Brooding jerk (but in a pitiable and ultimately redeemable way; I kind of liked him). Brooding in an Eddie Vedder kind of way. Nelly Dean: Intrusive, annoying, uppity, self-important, outspoken busybody. Somebody (read: Heathcliff) should really have given her a smack-down. Lockwood: Too poorly-drawn to elicit commentary. Linton: Whining, selfish weakling. Whatever torture Heathcliff had been inflicting on him wasn't sufficient; he couldn't die fast enough for me. Hindely: What a jerk! Deserves what he gets and then some. Joseph: Wha' th' foo kiz E sy' in? Ah couldna figger oot 'is accent. (Hey, Bronte! Avoid dialect next time.) Catherine Linton: Flighty, inconsistent, has a nasty case of ADD. So who do I like best? Who cares? They all just die anyway. Next up is creativity. Heathcliff gets rich...somehow. Apparently, Bronte couldn't figure out a believable way. Didn't even bother to hint at it. It just happens. Illnesses: All right, raise your hand if you've got a weak constitution. Wait, you're all too freakin' SICKLY or just plain DEAD to raise your hand! Every inconvenient character comes down with some bizarre, unnamed terminal disease and kicks off prematurely: Catherine E., Hindley, Heathcliff, Edgar, Linton, both elder Earnshaws, ... in short, just about everyone. It was like they lived in some improperly-managed toxic waste facility. And those who weren't busy dying were busy getting married. The setting: Too small. Everything happens either at Wuthering Heights or Thrushcross Grange. Hello, Bronte? Ever hear of broadening the scope? Well, it wasn't all bad. The narrative was annoying as hell, though. We've got, at various times, a story, a story-within-a-story, a story-within-a-story-within-a-story, a story-within ... you get the idea. Why the hell have all those first person narrators? What, didn't they invent the third person omniscient narrator yet? The novel was okay, but its literary stock is much too high, if you ask me. I liked the Gothic element, though.
Atlas Shrugged
I liked this book, but I didn't love it. I enjoyed The Fountainhead much more, and I think it was the better of the two. Atlas was too long, much longer than it needed to be, in my opinion. The scope--intellectually and panoramically--was impressive, and some of the characters were memorable. Dagny and James Taggart, Howard and Lillian Roark, and Francisco d'Anconia were among the most well-drawn and interesting. Rand has a great ear for character voices, and Lillian's ambiguous speeches incorporated subtext brilliantly. On the minus side, the novel asks too much of the reader, and there comes a point about halfway through where suspension of disbelief becomes nearly impossible and the reader is pushed out of the story. Also, the novel was written as a pragmatic illustration of Rand's philosophy of life. However, to set the novel in a fictitious, almost science fiction setting that begs believability, undermines her goal in my mind: How are we to espouse a belief system that its own creator seems to admit requires a contrived setting in which to work effectively? Perhaps she felt she needed to present an extreme case to convince her audience. Perhaps she didn't trust her readers to comprehend the subtleties of her philosophy. I don't really know. All I know is, I do not feel she made as compelling a case as she did in The Fountainhead.
Plus, it was just too long. Did I already mention that?
Paradise Lost
Awesome! Just awesome! Milton's vision of the Fall presented in a classically rhetorical structure within the epic poetry form is moving, exciting, compelling, scary--you name it. It would make a great movie. Great moments: The battle between God's army (led by archangel Michael) and Satan's troops, with Michael simply whaling on Satan. Satan's complexity at seeing the pristine beauty of Eden and the purity of the First Humans. Satan and his demons being turned into snakes after his "victory" over Eve. Adam's sorrow over Eve's weakness, his determination to share her fate no matter what, and his acceptance of his subsequent expulsion from Eden. Lyrical, timeless, inspired, imagistic. A bit preachy, though. Oh, yes. Quite a BIT preachy. But to his credit, Milton does not shy away from trying to understand and present to the reader Satan's grievances. In fact, Satan almost appears a sympathetic character. He's also given more air time than Christ, Michael, and God combined. Advice: Try reading it out loud. Preferably in a crowded subway station.
On the Road
Not worth it. Repetitive, boring, and annoying. Probably, I just read this book at the wrong time in my life. Reminds me of Into the Wild, another book about a self-centered immature jerk. The characters, especially Dean Moriarty (a.k.a. Neal Cassady) were major jerks: selfish, egotistical, uncaring, and infantile in their immaturity. The Tao of Pooh was so much better. A book with Pooh is better than a book worth poo.
The Master and Margarita
Molly Cobb recommended this to me, and I enjoyed it, for the most part. Humorous, intelligent, philosophical, and well-written with great descriptions and characters. The interlaced narrative which was switched between the novel's present and the distant past (i.e., the death of Christ) was compelling, and the stylistic changes the author made to help differentiate those temporal shifts cleverly reflected the subject matter: the story of Christ was written in spare, almost stiff prose, while the present-day story was whimsical and fast-paced. The first half of the book was great, but then the narrative seemed to fade, as if the author couldn't maintain his energy level. (Note: I later found out the Bulgakov died before he had a chance to revise the second half of the work.) Oddly, the title characters were the least interesting ones. Satan, once again, was complex and definitely sympathetic. Weirdly surreal in places, especially Satan's Ball. A good novel, overall.
The Age of Innocence
Subtle and complex. The society Wharton presents is every bit as complicated as any Jane Austen, and much more treacherous. The main character is compelling and believable, and the plot is linear and easy to follow. The dialogue and actions of the characters are less readily accessible, however. The love story conflict is great, and it reminds me in many ways of my second novel: forbidden love, conventions of society, strictures on behavior, etc.. In some ways, I'm mad that Wharton wrote the novel first (and that she did such a good job), but in other ways, I am gratified that I would have an idea similar to that of such an accomplished author. I like the way the author incorporated so much subtext into the dialogue. She explained much of it, but there was still a lot of room for interpretation and interaction on the part of the reader. The novel moved slowly but purposefully. The ending was a disappointment: Anti-climactic and pointless in some ways. I get the whole part about trying to hold the idea of the perfection of the love Archer felt for Olenska in their youths as opposed to tainting it through an attempt to re-kindle it in their waning years, but come on! Here's your chance at real happiness, not just a moderately satisfactory complacency. I guess I have his kid's perspective: Why come all this way and wait all this time just to turn and walk away when your goal is within reach? Sort of belittles his love for her into a mere pining. Probably not a novel I'd come back to anytime soon, but it's a future re-read.
Pride and Prejudice
I liked it more than I liked Emma. The plot was complicated, and the characters were compelling and varied. The father, Mr. Bennet, was my favorite character. He separated himself from his family as a method of self-preservation: With five daughters and a biddy for a wife, he could do nothing else and remain sane. His attitude was great, and his sense of humor was engaging. He poked fun at his wife and acted in many ways as her foil, bringing a welcome sense of pragmatism to the overly-formal society. He had little patience for his wife's flightiness, and he was perfectly willing to let his daughters make their mistakes and learn from them. Mrs. Bennet was a fun character whom we could not take seriously. Her role in the novel was that of catalyst, trying to marry off her daughters as quickly as she could while simultaneously trying to ensure her family's financial future in the inevitable event of her husband's death, the fact of which she continually reminded her husband. Lydia, one of the youngest daughters, was incredibly selfish and obnoxious. It was one thing for her to party all the time with her younger sister and all the officers, and quite another to run off and get married to that poser Wickham. She caused her family all sorts of grief throughout the novel. I'm surprised they didn't cut her off completely. I liked Elizabeth, the main character, much more than I liked Emma from the other novel. She was mature, bright, down-to-earth, and perceptive. She was sensitive without sentimentality. I can see why she was her father's favorite. (Wait, do I have to say 'favourite'?) Darcy was too stand-offish at first, but he was ultimately a good man. Collins was hilarious in his pomposity, especially when he enumerated the practical reasons why Elizabeth should marry him. His obsequious behavior toward his benefactor, the "condescending" Lady Catherine provided Austen numerous opportunities to satirize Victorian English society. The character interrelationships were quite complex, typical of a Jane Austen novel. The writing was formal, the sentences long, complex, and serpentine. I can certainly see why Austen would have been popular among her contemporaries. My only criticism is that is was predictable in many ways. Austen seemed so determined to make Elizabeth see only the negative qualities in Darcy that, clearly, she was destined to fall in love with him. Still, it was a good read, and I will pick up other Austen novels in the future.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man
Excellent! Stylistically impressive. The plot was deceptively simple and mild, and the conflict was almost entirely internal. Still, when I got to the end of this short novel, I realized that Joyce had been grappling with issues of sexuality, growth and maturity, Catholicism (and the accompanying guilt), education, (Irish) nationalism, family (esp. the father), and other such universal issues. The writing style became increasingly complex as the novel progressed, which I liked, simulating the protagonist's maturation. I read and loved "Araby", so I was prepared for some of the issues Joyce was probably going to address, and I already admired his style. He is, it is generally understood, one of the most well-developed stylists in English prose. The use of the dash to indicate dialogue was an annoying convention that I could do without. I like my fiction like my football: Americanized! Just kidding. (But the dashes were still annoying!) The book will, hopefully, be a nice prelude to Ulysses which I'm looking forward to tackling in the near future. Maybe I'll feel up to it by the end of the summer, but if I can't finish it, I'm not sure I want to start. I'm reluctant to begin the school year and have that novel hanging over my head.
Wuthering Heights
Just finished this today. I loved it, at first. Then it gradually became boring. The characters are mostly annoying jerks, like in On the Road, except these are less obnoxious and more overtly evil. I had heard about the great love between Catherine and Heathcliff, and knowing this to be a Victorian novel, I prepared myself for an Austen-esque type of romantic story. I loved the Gothic flavor of the opening chapters, which, given my expectations, were a pleasant surprise. Unfortunately, the novel deteriorated from there. My problems with the novel are many. Let's start with the characters. Heathcliff: Major, deliberate jerk. Makes Iago look like a Best Buddy. Catherine Earnshaw: Selfish, opportunistic, prideful, haughty. Edgar: Weak, effeminate loser. Hareton: Brooding jerk (but in a pitiable and ultimately redeemable way; I kind of liked him). Brooding in an Eddie Vedder kind of way. Nelly Dean: Intrusive, annoying, uppity, self-important, outspoken busybody. Somebody (read: Heathcliff) should really have given her a smack-down. Lockwood: Too poorly-drawn to elicit commentary. Linton: Whining, selfish weakling. Whatever torture Heathcliff had been inflicting on him wasn't sufficient; he couldn't die fast enough for me. Hindely: What a jerk! Deserves what he gets and then some. Joseph: Wha' th' foo kiz E sy' in? Ah couldna figger oot 'is accent. (Hey, Bronte! Avoid dialect next time.) Catherine Linton: Flighty, inconsistent, has a nasty case of ADD. So who do I like best? Who cares? They all just die anyway. Next up is creativity. Heathcliff gets rich...somehow. Apparently, Bronte couldn't figure out a believable way. Didn't even bother to hint at it. It just happens. Illnesses: All right, raise your hand if you've got a weak constitution. Wait, you're all too freakin' SICKLY or just plain DEAD to raise your hand! Every inconvenient character comes down with some bizarre, unnamed terminal disease and kicks off prematurely: Catherine E., Hindley, Heathcliff, Edgar, Linton, both elder Earnshaws, ... in short, just about everyone. It was like they lived in some improperly-managed toxic waste facility. And those who weren't busy dying were busy getting married. The setting: Too small. Everything happens either at Wuthering Heights or Thrushcross Grange. Hello, Bronte? Ever hear of broadening the scope? Well, it wasn't all bad. The narrative was annoying as hell, though. We've got, at various times, a story, a story-within-a-story, a story-within-a-story-within-a-story, a story-within ... you get the idea. Why the hell have all those first person narrators? What, didn't they invent the third person omniscient narrator yet? The novel was okay, but its literary stock is much too high, if you ask me. I liked the Gothic element, though.
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