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.

Waiting for you in the poetry section

So I’m standing there, killing time, and I’m picking
up these books of poetry and reading in between
inspections of my watch and they’re pretty good, the poems,
and I find this one–was about beautiful women–and it
reminded me of you, so I got this idea that, here I’d be
when you came in, reading this poetry, and I’d glance
up when you appeared in the doorway, harsh backlight
so you look, I don’t know, let me find an image…here,
like you’re cradled in clouds and there I’d be,
and when you came up to me I’d start reading this poem
about the beautiful women before you could say anything
and you’d be impressed as hell with my nonchalant charm,
but now it’s getting late and you’re not here yet, though
this poetry is pretty good so I’ll just wait a bit more for you.
-M.Fabrizi

The Waiter

By now, after so many years, I know
Everything there is to know about it.
I serve with grace, foreseeing customer needs,
Like that man over there, chuckling at his friend’s joke:
He hasn’t touched his water all night,
But he’s going to need a refill
In a moment I am behind him with the dripping pitcher
Before he puts his empty glass on the table.

I catch the glance of an older woman, well-practiced in the art
Of marriage, only slightly less so in the art of divorce,
Her lipsticked mouth a cracked canyon of red and
Eyes that stare from dark caverns of skin.
I nod to her and head to the bar, scratching her order
With the pencil I keep behind my ear.

I am next to you, grazing your black sleeve of silk,
Peering into the blond web of hair at the curve of your neck.
I take my pencil from behind my ear,
Put it back, take it out again,
Watching you without staring–a trick I have learned–
While you lift your glass to your smile
And the white wine, the wine, the wine--

The annoyed bartender fills my order,
And I take the glass to the marriage expert,
Replacing with a slender glass of chardonnay
Her half-filled highball.

-M.Fabrizi

Heated Verse

What more do we need but a quiet night
of walking in winter’s early darkness?
What more but soft snow falling through spindly branches
that reach heavenward like bent hands in supplication?
What more but the gentle pressure of your hand in mine,
of our laughter muted by snowflakes that flurry around us?
Nothing but poetry breathed in each other’s ears,
steaming from our mouths: as if we need the heated verse
to warm each other on this frozen night.

-M.Fabrizi

Uncle Tom's Cabin

Okay, okay. So I started this book many years ago when I co-taught "History in Literature and Film" with Brian Bodner. I never actually finished the book back then; I only got about 1/3 of the way through it. I figured it was about time I finished it.

I liked the plot and characters. Stowe, for a Nineteenth century New England Baptist, has a great sense of dialogue. Her slave characters had interesting and slightly varied dialects (difficult to write well), and the evil characters (e.g., the diabolical Simon Legree) were frightening in their viciousness. All the characters had original, unique voices, and Stowe fleshed them out thoroughly with extensive backgrounds. Overall, the story was realistic, an aspect confirmed by the superfluous and didactic final chapter in which she relates many of the real-life anecdotes upon which numerous novel events were based.

The book had some memorable scenes: Eliza crossing the Ohio River, infant in her arms, by jumping across floes of ice (an event supposedly based upon reality), the death of little Eva, the wonderfully careless but compassionate Augustus St. Clare, and of course the emotional death of Uncle Tom himself. The book was surprisingly humorous, despite- or perhaps because of--its serpentine prose and intrusive narrator. Maudlin at times, preachy and overwritten on occasion, and with a series of final coincidences that stretch believability, the book nevertheless was enjoyable to read. The ending (i.e., the final two chapters) dragged horribly, but I can forgive her inability to resist driving home her point and providing a happy ending for as many of her characters as she could, considering what she undertook in writing the novel. Abraham Lincoln certainly had a high opinion of the novel, as evidenced by his comment upon meeting Harriet Beecher Stowe at a White House reception: "So you're the little woman who wrote the book that made the great war!"