Prodigy - Marie Lu (G. P. Putnam's Sons, 2013)
Not just one triangle, but two. Or maybe more. It gets kind of complicated. But sort of more fun. Because when it's a bunch of teenagers running a rebellion against one (or more?) totalitarian regimes, you need something to remind you that they are kids and have hormones and stuff.
Day & June are recruited by the rebel Patriots, but June isn't sure that the Republic isn't trying to change from within. And then there are the Colonies, which is some sort of capitalism-gone-wild state. And the two protagonists aren't sure who they can trust, particularly whether they can trust one another.
Which is all to say: blow it all up. Let's the children take over. Easy. Done.
So what happens in the next installment?
Saturday, June 29, 2013
Wednesday, June 26, 2013
The fabrication of causal connections
The Pleasure of My Company - Steve Martin (Hyperion, 2003)
A novella, set in early 2000s Santa Monica, about a young man with fairly debilitating OCD. And the ways in which his compulsions block him from the world, and how he tries to find a way back in.
There are parts of this novel that are truly lovely. Daniel is a sweet kid, albeit a strange one, and as narrator connects pretty well with the reader. I sympathized each time the OCD led to behavior that disconnected him from other people. Oh, and thank goodness for a portrayal of the disorder that isn't about compulsive neatness and handwashing. Daniel can only cross the street at perfectly aligned driveways (no curbs) and must always have lights on with a combined wattage (?) totaling 1125. He can tell you the day of the week for any given date (this is a trait I've always associated with autism, and in generally I wonder about the comorbidity of the two) and is generally amazing with numbers and letters.
I'd here like to go off on a tangent about the role of rituals to ward off anxiety. If the lights always add up to 1125 then... what? Or what is comforting about the compulsive need to check and check and check again that the door is locked? And how much do we play these games on a broader social scale? Where is the dividing line where what is socially acceptable (or even desirable) becomes disordered?
But enough of that, because my thoughts are inchoate. Back to the book. Daniel slowly negotiates new relationships with his most debilitating compulsions mostly by putting himself in a situation where he has no choice. And most especially by taking care of a small child. Then everything wraps up in an ending that is way too pat, but still sweet, for all that.
A novella, set in early 2000s Santa Monica, about a young man with fairly debilitating OCD. And the ways in which his compulsions block him from the world, and how he tries to find a way back in.
There are parts of this novel that are truly lovely. Daniel is a sweet kid, albeit a strange one, and as narrator connects pretty well with the reader. I sympathized each time the OCD led to behavior that disconnected him from other people. Oh, and thank goodness for a portrayal of the disorder that isn't about compulsive neatness and handwashing. Daniel can only cross the street at perfectly aligned driveways (no curbs) and must always have lights on with a combined wattage (?) totaling 1125. He can tell you the day of the week for any given date (this is a trait I've always associated with autism, and in generally I wonder about the comorbidity of the two) and is generally amazing with numbers and letters.
I'd here like to go off on a tangent about the role of rituals to ward off anxiety. If the lights always add up to 1125 then... what? Or what is comforting about the compulsive need to check and check and check again that the door is locked? And how much do we play these games on a broader social scale? Where is the dividing line where what is socially acceptable (or even desirable) becomes disordered?
But enough of that, because my thoughts are inchoate. Back to the book. Daniel slowly negotiates new relationships with his most debilitating compulsions mostly by putting himself in a situation where he has no choice. And most especially by taking care of a small child. Then everything wraps up in an ending that is way too pat, but still sweet, for all that.
Wednesday, June 19, 2013
One woman's 20th century
Personal History - Katharine Graham (Vintage Books, 1998)
If some scholar from the far off future wanted a single source for understanding 20th century America, he or she could do far worse than Graham's memoir. Born in 1917 and writing on the cusp of her 80th birthday, Graham was a player - or next to the players - in many of the most dramatic moments of the century. Daughter of two luminaries, wife to a man who took to advising Kennedy & Johnson as a side gig, publisher of The Washington Post during Watergate.... the list goes on and on.
This thing is a brick, and chock full of detail. She begins with her parents' histories, and how they met. She both does and doesn't hold back - there is plenty Graham leaves off the page, but she is also pretty direct about the failings of those around her. For instance, I found myself wondering if the reader will end up believing that her relationship with her mother was actually more fraught than it really was. And I saw complaints on Goodreads about all the name dropping. And yes, the names are really EVERYWHERE. You do occasionally wonder if there were ever moments in her life without other famous people around. And this sometimes seems to hide how much she doesn't tell. There is lots of "and we spent many dinners/vacations/whatevers quite pleasantly together," and plenty of pointing out rumors of her romances with various beaux. I have to believe that some of the rumors here and there may have been founded, although she doesn't say much. But the line "and I can attest to his virility," tossed off about some luminary, left me almost desperate to find out more.
There's plenty about life in the Washington elite, and about being a young wife during World War II. And about her mother's, father's, and husband's various political activities. In all honesty, up almost to the point of her husband's death, the "Kay Graham" character in the memoir has little agency. I can't tell whether this was truly the case, or whether it's how she perceived her own life, but it does mean that the book picks up quite a bit of speed after the mid-1960s.
For one thing, there's Watergate. Information about the newspaper - how it was acquired, what the business was like, how it grew, etc. - is all throughout the book, but once she takes over, you get all of the excitement of politicians' hostility to Post coverage and how that culminated in Watergate. And then the chapter on Watergate ends and you immediately move into a huge labor crisis. I didn't find Graham a wholly reliable narrator on this matter, but her treatment of it was fascinating.
Historians of feminism could find much to consider in this memoir too. Graham broke glass ceilings, but consciously reflects back upon what it meant to be a woman throughout the decades, and ways in which it changed over time. She speaks for a specific race and class, but it's enlightening all the same.
Reading this was an undertaking, and I'm sincerely glad to have it behind me. But it was a fascinating read, and I'm looking forward to trying to find the book the right new home.
If some scholar from the far off future wanted a single source for understanding 20th century America, he or she could do far worse than Graham's memoir. Born in 1917 and writing on the cusp of her 80th birthday, Graham was a player - or next to the players - in many of the most dramatic moments of the century. Daughter of two luminaries, wife to a man who took to advising Kennedy & Johnson as a side gig, publisher of The Washington Post during Watergate.... the list goes on and on.
This thing is a brick, and chock full of detail. She begins with her parents' histories, and how they met. She both does and doesn't hold back - there is plenty Graham leaves off the page, but she is also pretty direct about the failings of those around her. For instance, I found myself wondering if the reader will end up believing that her relationship with her mother was actually more fraught than it really was. And I saw complaints on Goodreads about all the name dropping. And yes, the names are really EVERYWHERE. You do occasionally wonder if there were ever moments in her life without other famous people around. And this sometimes seems to hide how much she doesn't tell. There is lots of "and we spent many dinners/vacations/whatevers quite pleasantly together," and plenty of pointing out rumors of her romances with various beaux. I have to believe that some of the rumors here and there may have been founded, although she doesn't say much. But the line "and I can attest to his virility," tossed off about some luminary, left me almost desperate to find out more.
There's plenty about life in the Washington elite, and about being a young wife during World War II. And about her mother's, father's, and husband's various political activities. In all honesty, up almost to the point of her husband's death, the "Kay Graham" character in the memoir has little agency. I can't tell whether this was truly the case, or whether it's how she perceived her own life, but it does mean that the book picks up quite a bit of speed after the mid-1960s.
For one thing, there's Watergate. Information about the newspaper - how it was acquired, what the business was like, how it grew, etc. - is all throughout the book, but once she takes over, you get all of the excitement of politicians' hostility to Post coverage and how that culminated in Watergate. And then the chapter on Watergate ends and you immediately move into a huge labor crisis. I didn't find Graham a wholly reliable narrator on this matter, but her treatment of it was fascinating.
Historians of feminism could find much to consider in this memoir too. Graham broke glass ceilings, but consciously reflects back upon what it meant to be a woman throughout the decades, and ways in which it changed over time. She speaks for a specific race and class, but it's enlightening all the same.
Reading this was an undertaking, and I'm sincerely glad to have it behind me. But it was a fascinating read, and I'm looking forward to trying to find the book the right new home.
Saturday, June 15, 2013
"Old timey" hockey is BS
Icebreaker - Deirdre Martin (Berkley Sensation, 2011)
At first, I couldn't figure out what made me so cranky about this book. It follows a formula that has worked well enough for me in the past: urban career woman ends up working for/with a hockey team [other sports acceptable] and is drawn to the no-nonsense, driven captain.
In this case, Sinead O'Brien is defending Adam Perry against trumped up assault charges stemming for a fairly brutal (albeit not uncommon) hit on another team's player. Obviously, the assault charge thing is absurd, fine. But it raises an entire plotline that posits Adam as the heroic defending of traditional hockey, against suits that are trying to sissify the game. While I'm as eager as the next girl to see Gary Bettman hilariously skewered as a greasy, greedy, union-busting lawyer, this plot rankles. Big time.
I'm sorry, but even in 2011 (especially in 2011) the issue of headshots in professional hockey was too big to dismiss so blithely. It also happened to be the year my very favorite player - the reason I became a hockey fan in the first place - finally retired, because doctors told him continuing to play was far too risky given his history of concussions. What Martin does - probably without intending to, or maybe she just disagrees with me - is glorify a style of play that became increasingly dangerous, that takes headshots, concussions, and brain damage as an acceptable price to pay. I'm sorry, but I can't get on board with that, and as a result, I could only celebrate the idea that Adam Perry retired, allowing the "evil suits" on the Board of Governors to really push the kinds of rule changes that would make hockey more about skills and less about trying to injure your opponent in the name of sport.
At first, I couldn't figure out what made me so cranky about this book. It follows a formula that has worked well enough for me in the past: urban career woman ends up working for/with a hockey team [other sports acceptable] and is drawn to the no-nonsense, driven captain.
In this case, Sinead O'Brien is defending Adam Perry against trumped up assault charges stemming for a fairly brutal (albeit not uncommon) hit on another team's player. Obviously, the assault charge thing is absurd, fine. But it raises an entire plotline that posits Adam as the heroic defending of traditional hockey, against suits that are trying to sissify the game. While I'm as eager as the next girl to see Gary Bettman hilariously skewered as a greasy, greedy, union-busting lawyer, this plot rankles. Big time.
I'm sorry, but even in 2011 (especially in 2011) the issue of headshots in professional hockey was too big to dismiss so blithely. It also happened to be the year my very favorite player - the reason I became a hockey fan in the first place - finally retired, because doctors told him continuing to play was far too risky given his history of concussions. What Martin does - probably without intending to, or maybe she just disagrees with me - is glorify a style of play that became increasingly dangerous, that takes headshots, concussions, and brain damage as an acceptable price to pay. I'm sorry, but I can't get on board with that, and as a result, I could only celebrate the idea that Adam Perry retired, allowing the "evil suits" on the Board of Governors to really push the kinds of rule changes that would make hockey more about skills and less about trying to injure your opponent in the name of sport.
Wednesday, May 29, 2013
Legend - Marie Lu (G.P. Putnam's Sons, 2011)
Eventually I will burn out on the YA dystopia novels. But until then....
This one is set in LA! Well, some sad future version of LA with giant lakes (from flooding) and plagues and such. And of course this is the Republic of America, fighting against the Patriots and others to the east who are making claims about how the whole land was once one united country and such.
But anyway, there are people! You've got a whole Romeo & Juliet thing. Death, lies, love, etc! All very exciting, and half of the people have crazy names.
This is pretty much the worst and most snarky sales pitch ever, but I did sincerely enjoy this book. Waiting for the next one.
Eventually I will burn out on the YA dystopia novels. But until then....
This one is set in LA! Well, some sad future version of LA with giant lakes (from flooding) and plagues and such. And of course this is the Republic of America, fighting against the Patriots and others to the east who are making claims about how the whole land was once one united country and such.
But anyway, there are people! You've got a whole Romeo & Juliet thing. Death, lies, love, etc! All very exciting, and half of the people have crazy names.
This is pretty much the worst and most snarky sales pitch ever, but I did sincerely enjoy this book. Waiting for the next one.
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
P.D. James tries fanfic
Death Comes to Pemberley - P.D. James (Alfred A. Knopf, 2011)
I had heard some fairly negative buzz about this novel - a murder mystery set in the world of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice, some years after its happy ending. But that rarely stops me when it comes to P&P takeoffs, so here I am.
And while it was not perhaps the strongest of novels, and the whodunit seemed weird at best, I then looked at James' bio and discovered that she was over 90 when the book was published. And all was forgiven. Damn, if I am around at 90 (and I hope I am) I want to be clever enough to put together this novel.
Plot summary: Elizabeth & Darcy are happily wed, and happily estranged from Lydia & Wickham. Until Lydia shows up screaming bloody murder, and then end up ensconced in a murder trial. I think I've been ruined by too much media that has to have thrilling climaxes, because for all that there's a murder and a trial and verdicts and much excitement, it all seems rather calm and (spoiler alert, I guess) neither Elizabeth nor Darcy find themselves in a showdown with the real killer, waiting for some deux ex machina rescue. Which, in retrospect, was rather nice.
James also plays homage to other Austen novels, namechecking characters from at least two other novels. If there were others, I missed them and want very much to have them brought to my attention. That was cute, although sorta silly. And I didn't much take to her renditions of some beloved characters, although I suppose her visions of them are just as likely to be accurate as my own.
All in all, it made for pleasant, if somewhat incongruous, poolside reading.
I had heard some fairly negative buzz about this novel - a murder mystery set in the world of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice, some years after its happy ending. But that rarely stops me when it comes to P&P takeoffs, so here I am.
And while it was not perhaps the strongest of novels, and the whodunit seemed weird at best, I then looked at James' bio and discovered that she was over 90 when the book was published. And all was forgiven. Damn, if I am around at 90 (and I hope I am) I want to be clever enough to put together this novel.
Plot summary: Elizabeth & Darcy are happily wed, and happily estranged from Lydia & Wickham. Until Lydia shows up screaming bloody murder, and then end up ensconced in a murder trial. I think I've been ruined by too much media that has to have thrilling climaxes, because for all that there's a murder and a trial and verdicts and much excitement, it all seems rather calm and (spoiler alert, I guess) neither Elizabeth nor Darcy find themselves in a showdown with the real killer, waiting for some deux ex machina rescue. Which, in retrospect, was rather nice.
James also plays homage to other Austen novels, namechecking characters from at least two other novels. If there were others, I missed them and want very much to have them brought to my attention. That was cute, although sorta silly. And I didn't much take to her renditions of some beloved characters, although I suppose her visions of them are just as likely to be accurate as my own.
All in all, it made for pleasant, if somewhat incongruous, poolside reading.
Tuesday, May 07, 2013
What Gatsby?
The Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald (Scribner, 1925, 1995)
First off, this is a re-read. Once upon a time (high school) I read this book and was profoundly moved to indifference tinged with distaste. (This was typical of the books I read for my American literature class, which may say quite a bit about my teacher.) I couldn't quite figure out what to do with that when I got to college and got interested in the Jazz Age, and when I was enchanted by Tender is the Night. (On the other hand, I was totally unmoved by This Side of Paradise.) When I found a cheap copy, I bought it, figuring that eventually I would give Fitzgerald another try, this time giving him the benefit of how much I wanted to like him.
And here the assist goes to Baz Luhrmann. The story seems right up his alley, and while I haven't particularly liked his other big films, I am newly fascinated by Leonardo DiCaprio, and have to go see this one. But I wanted to be back in the text first, even if that is likely to hurt my enjoyment of the film.
First and foremost, I was amazed at not only how short the novel is, clocking it at 189 pages, but how quick a read. I blew through it. The events of the novel take place over a single summer, and they pass as quickly as summer always seems to. Nick meets up with Daisy and Tom, meets Jordan, meets Tom's mistress, meets Gatsby, meets Gatsby's business associate, hears a variety of rumors and half-truths and straight up lies about Gatsby's origins and wealth, and watches as a series of love triangles collide. And then it mops up.
Weirdly, while I remembered lots of feelings about the book's characters (Nick is lame, Gatsby naive, Tom terrible, Daisy annoying -- and everyone made me feel vaguely uncomfortable) I had lost a lot of the plot. Like I knew the raw sketch of the climax, but not all the details. How did I lose those?
Oh, and here's what the LA Times had to say back in 1925. I'll approve, but how on earth does the reviewer get away with not only giving away the fate of the characters but what might also be one of the best lines in the whole book, when Nick realizes the truth about Tom and Daisy?
First off, this is a re-read. Once upon a time (high school) I read this book and was profoundly moved to indifference tinged with distaste. (This was typical of the books I read for my American literature class, which may say quite a bit about my teacher.) I couldn't quite figure out what to do with that when I got to college and got interested in the Jazz Age, and when I was enchanted by Tender is the Night. (On the other hand, I was totally unmoved by This Side of Paradise.) When I found a cheap copy, I bought it, figuring that eventually I would give Fitzgerald another try, this time giving him the benefit of how much I wanted to like him.
And here the assist goes to Baz Luhrmann. The story seems right up his alley, and while I haven't particularly liked his other big films, I am newly fascinated by Leonardo DiCaprio, and have to go see this one. But I wanted to be back in the text first, even if that is likely to hurt my enjoyment of the film.
First and foremost, I was amazed at not only how short the novel is, clocking it at 189 pages, but how quick a read. I blew through it. The events of the novel take place over a single summer, and they pass as quickly as summer always seems to. Nick meets up with Daisy and Tom, meets Jordan, meets Tom's mistress, meets Gatsby, meets Gatsby's business associate, hears a variety of rumors and half-truths and straight up lies about Gatsby's origins and wealth, and watches as a series of love triangles collide. And then it mops up.
Weirdly, while I remembered lots of feelings about the book's characters (Nick is lame, Gatsby naive, Tom terrible, Daisy annoying -- and everyone made me feel vaguely uncomfortable) I had lost a lot of the plot. Like I knew the raw sketch of the climax, but not all the details. How did I lose those?
Oh, and here's what the LA Times had to say back in 1925. I'll approve, but how on earth does the reviewer get away with not only giving away the fate of the characters but what might also be one of the best lines in the whole book, when Nick realizes the truth about Tom and Daisy?
Sunday, April 28, 2013
A Glittering Void
The Line of Beauty - Alan Hollinghurst (Bloomsbury, 2004)
...and the last in my trilogy of Sunday posts. This was the book I started reading first, and the one that I finally just finished this morning. And I can't decide what that says about the book itself.
First, let me set the scene. Nick is a young gay man in early 1980s London, an Oxbridge grad who is living with an upper-class friend's family. The father has just been elected to Parliament, right as Thatcher was re-elected (I think). "The Lady" is an enormous figure in the book, although she herself appears only briefly, and it was a (lucky?) coincidence that she died while I was reading the book, and I got to see why she loomed so controversially larger than life in the minds of Britons. Meanwhile, the inexperienced Nick gets his first taste of sex and reciprocated love, which spirals out of control in the way only the '80s really could.
The prose was beautiful. So lovely and readable. Once I picked up the book, I tended to read in great big chunks. But I wasn't compelled to sneak in reading time, which is how it lingered while I snuck in two (lesser) books.
...and the last in my trilogy of Sunday posts. This was the book I started reading first, and the one that I finally just finished this morning. And I can't decide what that says about the book itself.
First, let me set the scene. Nick is a young gay man in early 1980s London, an Oxbridge grad who is living with an upper-class friend's family. The father has just been elected to Parliament, right as Thatcher was re-elected (I think). "The Lady" is an enormous figure in the book, although she herself appears only briefly, and it was a (lucky?) coincidence that she died while I was reading the book, and I got to see why she loomed so controversially larger than life in the minds of Britons. Meanwhile, the inexperienced Nick gets his first taste of sex and reciprocated love, which spirals out of control in the way only the '80s really could.
The prose was beautiful. So lovely and readable. Once I picked up the book, I tended to read in great big chunks. But I wasn't compelled to sneak in reading time, which is how it lingered while I snuck in two (lesser) books.
Ashes ashes they all fall...
Reached - Ally Condie (Dutton Books, 2012)
Book One was just Cassia, Book Two introduced Ky's POV, so no surprise that in the final entry of the trilogy we get Cassia, Ky, and Xander. (As I was hoping for.)
Because I'm not in the mood for spoilers, there isn't a whole lot to share without giving away too much. But the rebellion against Society comes to a head, and things get out of control, and somehow -- like in all great revolutions -- three teenagers are the key to saving the world.
If you're really in it for the love triangle, which I'll admit I may have been, you may find yourself feeling a little unsatisfied. On the other hand, you get to face the exciting possibility that instead of Cassia being torn between two very different loves, both guys may decide on a future that moves on without her. [For Vampire Diaries watchers, this is akin to wanting Stefan to run off with Caroline and Damon to run off with ... well, someone, and Elena to sit around wondering how she somehow stopped being the center of attention. And don't we all kind of want that?]
Anyway, super propulsive read. I kept trying to find ways to sneak in chapters despite the fact that I spent the whole weekend running around doing other stuff. (And finishing up yet another book - post coming shortly....)
Book One was just Cassia, Book Two introduced Ky's POV, so no surprise that in the final entry of the trilogy we get Cassia, Ky, and Xander. (As I was hoping for.)
Because I'm not in the mood for spoilers, there isn't a whole lot to share without giving away too much. But the rebellion against Society comes to a head, and things get out of control, and somehow -- like in all great revolutions -- three teenagers are the key to saving the world.
If you're really in it for the love triangle, which I'll admit I may have been, you may find yourself feeling a little unsatisfied. On the other hand, you get to face the exciting possibility that instead of Cassia being torn between two very different loves, both guys may decide on a future that moves on without her. [For Vampire Diaries watchers, this is akin to wanting Stefan to run off with Caroline and Damon to run off with ... well, someone, and Elena to sit around wondering how she somehow stopped being the center of attention. And don't we all kind of want that?]
Anyway, super propulsive read. I kept trying to find ways to sneak in chapters despite the fact that I spent the whole weekend running around doing other stuff. (And finishing up yet another book - post coming shortly....)
Computer reading
Strange Bedpersons - Jennifer Crusie (HQN, 1994, 2009)
Was playing around with ebooks and ended up downloading this to my computer, and then discovering that I couldn't transfer it to my iPhone. (Note to self: pay more attention to ebook downloading rules)
Anyway, adorable. Took my laptop to bed with me a few times so I could read this tale of a free-spirit teacher and a yuppie attorney finding love. Much cuteness, and a nice escape during a busy period. But be prepared for pretty much every romance stereotype under the sun.
Was playing around with ebooks and ended up downloading this to my computer, and then discovering that I couldn't transfer it to my iPhone. (Note to self: pay more attention to ebook downloading rules)
Anyway, adorable. Took my laptop to bed with me a few times so I could read this tale of a free-spirit teacher and a yuppie attorney finding love. Much cuteness, and a nice escape during a busy period. But be prepared for pretty much every romance stereotype under the sun.
Friday, April 05, 2013
The descent, and the struggle back
The Bell Jar - Sylvia Plath (Bantam Books, 1971)
One of the things that has made me nuts for years about this book was that I would see "bell jar" and think "bell curve" -- no matter what I did, I couldn't shake that immediate association, and who wants to read a book about depression while you're thinking about statistics and averages and such.
Welcome to my brain, ladies and gentlemen.
This paperback belonged to my mom, and apparently she bought it shortly before her 27th birthday. (It's weird to think of parents as being adults, but still younger than you are now.) None of this is particularly relevant to my review, but I did find myself wondering about the various eras of the book and how it was read... Plath's lightly fictionalized autobiography is about events in the early 1950s, was written mostly in the early '60s before her suicide in 1963, came out in 1971, and here I am reading it 30 years later. Our culture's relationship with mental illness has changed drastically over the past 60 years, and Plath's tale likely played some role in that. Would I have been her, or her alter ego heroine Esther, had I lived in a different time?
Which takes me to the point I wanted to make about this book all along. I was so struck by how much this book reminded me of The Catcher in the Rye. (Of course, I hated that book passionately, and quite liked this one.) Both seem to speak directly to young people, assuring them that others too feel that same sense of alienation from the world around them. (The list of artists and works that do this goes on and on, but for whatever reason, these two seemed perfectly paired.) Even more so, Esther Greenwood, like Holden Caulfield, has a strong (and to my mind unreasonable) abhorrence of hypocrisy and phoniness. This seems particularly strange coming from Esther, who plays the phony game so so well. But man does she judge other people harshly.
I'm babbling quite a bit. I'm glad I finally read The Bell Jar, and can more clearly consider its place in 20th century literature, and society more generally. I also wish I could know how my 16 y.o. self would have met it. Would she have had as little tolerance for Esther as she did Holden? Would she have any idea how much sympathy she would have for her a decade and a half later?
One of the things that has made me nuts for years about this book was that I would see "bell jar" and think "bell curve" -- no matter what I did, I couldn't shake that immediate association, and who wants to read a book about depression while you're thinking about statistics and averages and such.
Welcome to my brain, ladies and gentlemen.
This paperback belonged to my mom, and apparently she bought it shortly before her 27th birthday. (It's weird to think of parents as being adults, but still younger than you are now.) None of this is particularly relevant to my review, but I did find myself wondering about the various eras of the book and how it was read... Plath's lightly fictionalized autobiography is about events in the early 1950s, was written mostly in the early '60s before her suicide in 1963, came out in 1971, and here I am reading it 30 years later. Our culture's relationship with mental illness has changed drastically over the past 60 years, and Plath's tale likely played some role in that. Would I have been her, or her alter ego heroine Esther, had I lived in a different time?
Which takes me to the point I wanted to make about this book all along. I was so struck by how much this book reminded me of The Catcher in the Rye. (Of course, I hated that book passionately, and quite liked this one.) Both seem to speak directly to young people, assuring them that others too feel that same sense of alienation from the world around them. (The list of artists and works that do this goes on and on, but for whatever reason, these two seemed perfectly paired.) Even more so, Esther Greenwood, like Holden Caulfield, has a strong (and to my mind unreasonable) abhorrence of hypocrisy and phoniness. This seems particularly strange coming from Esther, who plays the phony game so so well. But man does she judge other people harshly.
I'm babbling quite a bit. I'm glad I finally read The Bell Jar, and can more clearly consider its place in 20th century literature, and society more generally. I also wish I could know how my 16 y.o. self would have met it. Would she have had as little tolerance for Esther as she did Holden? Would she have any idea how much sympathy she would have for her a decade and a half later?
Tuesday, April 02, 2013
Boo...
Ghosts in the Middle Ages: The Living and the Dead in Medieval Society - Jean-Claude Schmitt, trans. Teresa Lavender Fagan (University of Chicago Press, 1998)
Why hello historical monograph. I carved out time to do a quick read (not quite a skim, but close) of this very scholarly work over the last few days. It exercised the muscles I developed in grad school the first time around, when I was reading at least 1000 pages weekly of history, philosophy, primary texts, etc. I was so good at reading for content and argument then. But in the intervening years, those skills have waned quite a bit.
But not so much that I couldn't get into the text. Schmitt is exploring the role of ghosts in medieval culture, primarily how they (or rather the way people talked about them) evolved. The church played a primary role, of course, but there was some amount of room for older traditions of the dead. Anyway, there was a lot of souls stuck in purgatory, asking those still living to do something (pray, make financial arrangements) to better their lot in the afterlife. And somehow there was a tie-in to the tradition of charivari, which was more typically related to marriages that threatened society in some way (widowers taking young wives, widows remarrying unexpectedly, cuckolding). But the point is clearly that ghosts exist because of the function they serve for the living.
As a fan of the social construction of pretty much everything, I am down with this. And it's convincing. And yet, as a believer in ghosts - or at my most skeptical, an agnostic - I find myself working facing a bit of a quandary. If ghosts manifest in response to social expectations and constructions, can they still have an objective reality? I vote yes, although I can't imagine Schmitt agrees with me.
Why hello historical monograph. I carved out time to do a quick read (not quite a skim, but close) of this very scholarly work over the last few days. It exercised the muscles I developed in grad school the first time around, when I was reading at least 1000 pages weekly of history, philosophy, primary texts, etc. I was so good at reading for content and argument then. But in the intervening years, those skills have waned quite a bit.
But not so much that I couldn't get into the text. Schmitt is exploring the role of ghosts in medieval culture, primarily how they (or rather the way people talked about them) evolved. The church played a primary role, of course, but there was some amount of room for older traditions of the dead. Anyway, there was a lot of souls stuck in purgatory, asking those still living to do something (pray, make financial arrangements) to better their lot in the afterlife. And somehow there was a tie-in to the tradition of charivari, which was more typically related to marriages that threatened society in some way (widowers taking young wives, widows remarrying unexpectedly, cuckolding). But the point is clearly that ghosts exist because of the function they serve for the living.
As a fan of the social construction of pretty much everything, I am down with this. And it's convincing. And yet, as a believer in ghosts - or at my most skeptical, an agnostic - I find myself working facing a bit of a quandary. If ghosts manifest in response to social expectations and constructions, can they still have an objective reality? I vote yes, although I can't imagine Schmitt agrees with me.
Friday, March 29, 2013
Hiking the Appalachian Trail, pre-Mark Sanford
A Walk in the Woods: Rediscovering America on the Appalachian Trail - Bill Bryson (Broadway Books, 1998)
Thanks to a certain former South Carolina governor, I have a slightly confused relationship with the Appalachian Trail. And I also had no idea they stretched over 2000 miles of pretty much the entire East Coast. Enter, belatedly, Bill Bryson.
After spending something around two decades in England, Bryson - originally from Iowa - returned to America. And decides a good way to get back into the swing of things would be to hike the entire Appalachian Trail. He makes it sound like it was one of those decisions made mostly on a whim, and that he begin to regret pretty much as soon as he picked up a guidebook. I'm pretty sure it didn't happen quite like this, but anyway...
He and an old (desperately out of shape) childhood friend start out on the journey.
An aside: when I was 19, I found myself in Geneva for a weekend, visiting a friend who had a UN summer internship. (Fancy.) And I joined her and some friends for a daytrip to Gstaadt. As we picnicked, someone had the bright idea to go whitewater rafting. I vetoed this idea as too dangerous, but was talking into trying canyoning, "a nice little hike down to a lake with a waterfall." This was roughly in the same place and about 3 days before this happened. That afternoon was among the most grueling of my life, and I was miserable and cold and wet and scared the entire time. I was also intensely proud of myself for making it through.
This is pretty much how Bryson sounded talking about much of his hike. He definitely did not make me think that this is an adventure I should try. On the other hand, he did tell me a lot more about the geography of the area, the history and (mis)management of the National Park Service, and make me terribly envious of the type of person who would embark on such a challenge. Even more so, it reminded me how little I walk anymore, and how much I truly miss walking. (DC, I will always be grateful.)
Also, and perhaps more pertinently, Bryson is hilarious and witty and such a wonderful voice to spend time with. (As I discovered a couple years back as well.) So glad he exists.
Thanks to a certain former South Carolina governor, I have a slightly confused relationship with the Appalachian Trail. And I also had no idea they stretched over 2000 miles of pretty much the entire East Coast. Enter, belatedly, Bill Bryson.
After spending something around two decades in England, Bryson - originally from Iowa - returned to America. And decides a good way to get back into the swing of things would be to hike the entire Appalachian Trail. He makes it sound like it was one of those decisions made mostly on a whim, and that he begin to regret pretty much as soon as he picked up a guidebook. I'm pretty sure it didn't happen quite like this, but anyway...
He and an old (desperately out of shape) childhood friend start out on the journey.
An aside: when I was 19, I found myself in Geneva for a weekend, visiting a friend who had a UN summer internship. (Fancy.) And I joined her and some friends for a daytrip to Gstaadt. As we picnicked, someone had the bright idea to go whitewater rafting. I vetoed this idea as too dangerous, but was talking into trying canyoning, "a nice little hike down to a lake with a waterfall." This was roughly in the same place and about 3 days before this happened. That afternoon was among the most grueling of my life, and I was miserable and cold and wet and scared the entire time. I was also intensely proud of myself for making it through.
This is pretty much how Bryson sounded talking about much of his hike. He definitely did not make me think that this is an adventure I should try. On the other hand, he did tell me a lot more about the geography of the area, the history and (mis)management of the National Park Service, and make me terribly envious of the type of person who would embark on such a challenge. Even more so, it reminded me how little I walk anymore, and how much I truly miss walking. (DC, I will always be grateful.)
Also, and perhaps more pertinently, Bryson is hilarious and witty and such a wonderful voice to spend time with. (As I discovered a couple years back as well.) So glad he exists.
Saturday, March 23, 2013
I think I'm missing the point
Major Barbara - (George) Bernard Shaw (Penguin Books, 1913, 1951)
I am pretty sure I'm exactly the kind of fan GBS would not have wanted. I swoon over the witty dialogue and fast pace and the sort of ineffable charm that his plays possess. I also manage to read them as sort of skewed romantic comedies, or I least I did with Arms and the Man, which I am now once more desperate to see staged.
But if you read the plays and slog through the author's prefaces, you'll see what is so easily glossed over by the audience, which is that GBS is trying to make rather biting commentary about society and capitalism and the class structure and morality and and and. It's all rather exhausting.
When I'm feeling particularly bright, I like to think that it's the way that he packages the two things together - the comedy of manners and the sharp critique of someone who would enjoy such a thing (namely me) - that is what I admire in his work. But I fear that might be painting too rosy a picture.
Whatever. George Bernard Shaw knew exactly the kind of audience he was reaching, and I'm going to try not to feel guilty about liking the "wrong" things about his plays.
Oh, which reminds me that maybe I should tell you about Major Barbara. Said Major is a wealthy young lady who has joined the Salvation Army. Her estranged father is an arms manufacturer, her mother an aristocrat. Her mother calls her father back to town because the family needs more money - one daughter is marrying a doofus who won't come into money for a few more years, Barbara is doing her Salvation Army thing and marrying a (rather upwardly mobile, it turns out) Greek professor, and the son is fairly worthless as well. And what ensues is much banter, including a scene at the Army site, which involves dialogue with an accent so thick I had to read aloud to figure out what was being said. And in the end, well I suppose everyone is made to look the hypocrite. And it was delightful.
I am pretty sure I'm exactly the kind of fan GBS would not have wanted. I swoon over the witty dialogue and fast pace and the sort of ineffable charm that his plays possess. I also manage to read them as sort of skewed romantic comedies, or I least I did with Arms and the Man, which I am now once more desperate to see staged.
But if you read the plays and slog through the author's prefaces, you'll see what is so easily glossed over by the audience, which is that GBS is trying to make rather biting commentary about society and capitalism and the class structure and morality and and and. It's all rather exhausting.
When I'm feeling particularly bright, I like to think that it's the way that he packages the two things together - the comedy of manners and the sharp critique of someone who would enjoy such a thing (namely me) - that is what I admire in his work. But I fear that might be painting too rosy a picture.
Whatever. George Bernard Shaw knew exactly the kind of audience he was reaching, and I'm going to try not to feel guilty about liking the "wrong" things about his plays.
Oh, which reminds me that maybe I should tell you about Major Barbara. Said Major is a wealthy young lady who has joined the Salvation Army. Her estranged father is an arms manufacturer, her mother an aristocrat. Her mother calls her father back to town because the family needs more money - one daughter is marrying a doofus who won't come into money for a few more years, Barbara is doing her Salvation Army thing and marrying a (rather upwardly mobile, it turns out) Greek professor, and the son is fairly worthless as well. And what ensues is much banter, including a scene at the Army site, which involves dialogue with an accent so thick I had to read aloud to figure out what was being said. And in the end, well I suppose everyone is made to look the hypocrite. And it was delightful.
Sunday, March 17, 2013
16 y.o. Erin's dream job
Those Guys Have All the Fun: Inside the World of ESPN - James Andrew Miller and Tom Shales (Little, Brown and Company, 2011)
When I was a teenager, I desperately wanted to work at ESPN. Statistics preferably, but whatever. I was completely enthralled by the world of sports, and how could I not want to work for the Worldwide Leader? There was this small thing about being located in Bristol, but I figured I could sort that out.
At any rate, I've always had a soft spot for the network, one that has survived despite their callous disregard for hockey in the years since they lost broadcasting rights. So this huge (roughly 750 page) oral history felt like it was right up my alley.
And in so many ways, it was. Different voices - often conflicting - tell the story of ESPN's genesis and rise to glory. It was a peek behind the scenes, and a helpful glimpse of the ways it was amazing, and the ways it really wasn't.
But still, I had such a time getting through this beast. I started it two months, and it languished often enough on my nightstand, because I craved narrative. I needed a story. And this wasn't the right book to give it to me. Which in no way is meant to disparage Miller's & Shales' work, which is incredible. But it just felt overwhelming, and endless, and sad.
That said, it was fun to hear about the first decade, the one I never knew. And then the 90s, when I discovered sports, and started setting my TV to turn on SportsCenter every morning as an alarm clock, and watched pretty much anything that was on, even (dread) boxing. And there was hockey on then! And then shows that I had all but forgotten, or whatever. To realize how many of these names I recognized without really noticing that I knew them.
I'm nothing but glad that I read this, but I'm also shockingly relieved that I'm finished.
When I was a teenager, I desperately wanted to work at ESPN. Statistics preferably, but whatever. I was completely enthralled by the world of sports, and how could I not want to work for the Worldwide Leader? There was this small thing about being located in Bristol, but I figured I could sort that out.
At any rate, I've always had a soft spot for the network, one that has survived despite their callous disregard for hockey in the years since they lost broadcasting rights. So this huge (roughly 750 page) oral history felt like it was right up my alley.
And in so many ways, it was. Different voices - often conflicting - tell the story of ESPN's genesis and rise to glory. It was a peek behind the scenes, and a helpful glimpse of the ways it was amazing, and the ways it really wasn't.
But still, I had such a time getting through this beast. I started it two months, and it languished often enough on my nightstand, because I craved narrative. I needed a story. And this wasn't the right book to give it to me. Which in no way is meant to disparage Miller's & Shales' work, which is incredible. But it just felt overwhelming, and endless, and sad.
That said, it was fun to hear about the first decade, the one I never knew. And then the 90s, when I discovered sports, and started setting my TV to turn on SportsCenter every morning as an alarm clock, and watched pretty much anything that was on, even (dread) boxing. And there was hockey on then! And then shows that I had all but forgotten, or whatever. To realize how many of these names I recognized without really noticing that I knew them.
I'm nothing but glad that I read this, but I'm also shockingly relieved that I'm finished.
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