* a note from the blogger *
Woohoo! One month into the challenge and I have 10 books checked off my list! Hopefully, if I keep up this pace, I'll be in good shape for August :)
* end of note *
When I was younger, my favorite series in the world was Anne of Green Gables. This was partly because I related to the lively young orphan who was full of wonder and curiosity about the world. But mostly, I loved Anne because the series seemed less like a novel, and more like a biography. Yes, her life had ups and downs, but there was no overlying story-arc or climax. The work was character-driven rather than plot-driven, and that was what I loved most of all.
Now, maybe it's because I've gotten older, but the character-driven Sons and Lovers just didn't do it for me. The entire time I was waiting for all of the rising action to go somewhere. I kept waiting for the exposition to make way for the conflict. And by the time I finally had created in my mind the illusion of a plot structure, the book was already over. I had already spent two days begging Mr. Lawrence to show me what I was supposed to get out of his work.
Alas, Mr. Lawrence didn't answer my prayers. What he did give me, however, was a slew of three-dimensional characters with emotional-attachment issues. Seriously -- all of the characters had trouble loving one another. The mother, Gertrude, wavers between disdain for her newborn son Paul and teary-eyed passion. When Paul grows up, he fluctuates between knowing that Miriam is the only woman he would marry, to hating her for understanding him so well. His older brother, William, describes his feelings for his new fiancée as such: "When I'm away from her I don't care for her a bit. I shouldn't care if I never saw her again. But, then, when I'm with her in the evenings I am awfully fond of her."
All of these emotional problems stem from the horrible marriage of Gertrude and Walter Morel. Walter comes home drunk from the mines every night and yells at his wife and kids. Surprisingly, this leads to everyone in his family hating his guts (one of his children prays that he dies in a mining explosion). While I felt for the plight of his family, they never actively tried to change his behavior, which bothered me.
At any rate, Sons and Lovers is not a book I particularly recommend for those who aren't hardcore D.H. Lawrence fans. For those who are, this book was apparently slightly autobiographical, so you might enjoy it more.
Only 15 books left!
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Monday, June 28, 2010
Darkness at Noon by Arthur Koestler
The funny thing about this book is that it seems to be a mash-up of three books I've previously read: Catch-22, Crime and Punishment, and Native Son. And what's more, all of these books (with the exception of Crime and Punishment) are on the Top 25 list!
Considering Catch-22 was the book I just finished reading (my review can be read here), its similarities were the most striking to me. Almost immediately, the main character Rubashov encounters a case of circular-reasoning much like... well, much like every character in Catch-22. That excerpt (which can be read here), although short, is just the beginning of these resemblances. For one, Gletkin, the commanding officer in charge of Rubashov's case, is as conniving and evil as Colonel Cathcart. They both twist the words of their inferiors in order to charge them with crimes they didn't commit. And the inferiors, though once idealistic youngsters, are devoid of hope when faced with their immutable fates.
Crime and Punishment is not only emulated in this novel; it's actually referenced! Ivanov, another interrogating officer, constantly teases Rubashov for being "a Raskolnikov". They spend time discussing not only Raskolnikov's faults (as anyone who has read C & P knows are many), but also why what he did was wrong. During an intriguing monologue, Ivanov claims that Raskolnikov was wrong in killing the old woman, not because it was the morally wrong thing to do, but because he killed for his own personal benefit. If, for instance, he "had bumped off the old woman at the command of the Party," then the murder would be justified. Ivanov's statement comes to play later in the story, when they suggest Rubashov wrongly confess to treason for "he good of the party".
The similarities to Native Son are more subtle. Both Bigger Thomas, the main character in Native Son, and Rubashov are ruthless men. They killed innocent people because they thought they had to, and for that they were punished. In both books, the reader can't help but think that perhaps Bigger and Rubashov will be spared the severity of the law. However, she knows that any other ending would be unfaithful to the scenario, and therefore both characters must suffer the deathly consequences.
Perhaps it is because the book felt so familiar that I didn't like it very much. Every twist, every turn in the story seemed uninteresting. I knew how the story would end as soon as I realized which 3 books Darkness at Noon reminded me of. Of course, none of this is the fault of the author. If I had read this book before all the others, I may have found it supremely engaging. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case. However, the book is still a good rendition of the Communist Party during the purges, despite Koestler's ommision of specific countries *ahem, Russia* or party leaders *cough cough, Stalin*.
And what's funny is the fact that George Orwell claims he was inspired by this book to write some of the scenes in 1984. So I guess all these great books feed into one another! More on that when I finally read 1984 ;)
Until next time!
Considering Catch-22 was the book I just finished reading (my review can be read here), its similarities were the most striking to me. Almost immediately, the main character Rubashov encounters a case of circular-reasoning much like... well, much like every character in Catch-22. That excerpt (which can be read here), although short, is just the beginning of these resemblances. For one, Gletkin, the commanding officer in charge of Rubashov's case, is as conniving and evil as Colonel Cathcart. They both twist the words of their inferiors in order to charge them with crimes they didn't commit. And the inferiors, though once idealistic youngsters, are devoid of hope when faced with their immutable fates.
Crime and Punishment is not only emulated in this novel; it's actually referenced! Ivanov, another interrogating officer, constantly teases Rubashov for being "a Raskolnikov". They spend time discussing not only Raskolnikov's faults (as anyone who has read C & P knows are many), but also why what he did was wrong. During an intriguing monologue, Ivanov claims that Raskolnikov was wrong in killing the old woman, not because it was the morally wrong thing to do, but because he killed for his own personal benefit. If, for instance, he "had bumped off the old woman at the command of the Party," then the murder would be justified. Ivanov's statement comes to play later in the story, when they suggest Rubashov wrongly confess to treason for "he good of the party".
The similarities to Native Son are more subtle. Both Bigger Thomas, the main character in Native Son, and Rubashov are ruthless men. They killed innocent people because they thought they had to, and for that they were punished. In both books, the reader can't help but think that perhaps Bigger and Rubashov will be spared the severity of the law. However, she knows that any other ending would be unfaithful to the scenario, and therefore both characters must suffer the deathly consequences.
Perhaps it is because the book felt so familiar that I didn't like it very much. Every twist, every turn in the story seemed uninteresting. I knew how the story would end as soon as I realized which 3 books Darkness at Noon reminded me of. Of course, none of this is the fault of the author. If I had read this book before all the others, I may have found it supremely engaging. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case. However, the book is still a good rendition of the Communist Party during the purges, despite Koestler's ommision of specific countries *ahem, Russia* or party leaders *cough cough, Stalin*.
And what's funny is the fact that George Orwell claims he was inspired by this book to write some of the scenes in 1984. So I guess all these great books feed into one another! More on that when I finally read 1984 ;)
Until next time!
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Catch-22 by Joseph Heller
What can I say? I loved this book. I loved Heller's descriptions of characters. I loved his use of deja-vu to bring across an important point. I loved his hilarious and ridiculous circular reasoning (my favorite "catch-22" can be read here). But most of all, I love Yossarian, one of Catch-22's main character.
No, he's not a perfect man. But really, what man is? Whatever his faults are, he makes up for them with a idealistic view of justice and honor. Despite, or rather because of, the fact everyone thinks he's crazy, Yossarian is perhaps the most sane character in the novel. He is one of the few who confronts his fears, and stands up to the government. Instead of shrinking away from conflict, he welcomes the challenge of defending what he thinks is right. And, on top of all that, he fights fair: despite the intolerable ill-will his superiors have shown him, he refuses to enter in an assassination attempt against them.
But what makes Catch-22 a great read is its portrayal of the idiotic bureaucracy. It's not too hard to believe that there are Generals out there as crazy and malicious as General Peckman. It's enirely plausible that supposedly the bravest men in our country are cowards who risk thousands of innocent lives in order to save face. And I am sure that the men who do fight honorably for our country are killed and then forgotten all too quickly.
Yet despite the tragedy and violence described in this book, Heller's message is hopeful. Sometimes good can triumph over evil, and all can be right with the world. All you have to do is speak out against the horrors, and to stand up for what you believe in.
If only more people in the world were able to stand up for their rights, the world could be a better place.
No, he's not a perfect man. But really, what man is? Whatever his faults are, he makes up for them with a idealistic view of justice and honor. Despite, or rather because of, the fact everyone thinks he's crazy, Yossarian is perhaps the most sane character in the novel. He is one of the few who confronts his fears, and stands up to the government. Instead of shrinking away from conflict, he welcomes the challenge of defending what he thinks is right. And, on top of all that, he fights fair: despite the intolerable ill-will his superiors have shown him, he refuses to enter in an assassination attempt against them.
But what makes Catch-22 a great read is its portrayal of the idiotic bureaucracy. It's not too hard to believe that there are Generals out there as crazy and malicious as General Peckman. It's enirely plausible that supposedly the bravest men in our country are cowards who risk thousands of innocent lives in order to save face. And I am sure that the men who do fight honorably for our country are killed and then forgotten all too quickly.
Yet despite the tragedy and violence described in this book, Heller's message is hopeful. Sometimes good can triumph over evil, and all can be right with the world. All you have to do is speak out against the horrors, and to stand up for what you believe in.
If only more people in the world were able to stand up for their rights, the world could be a better place.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
The Sound and the Fury by William Faulkner
My opinion of Faulkner before this week was that all of his books were dense and difficult to read. The Sound and the Fury in particular presented an extra challenge, due to its non-chronological narrative.
However, I managed to finish this book in 2 days, thanks to a wonderful online project. The University of Saskatchewan has created a hypertext that color-codes each chronological event. I know my explanation of probably makes no sense, so you should check it out for yourself. All I can say is that it saved me from trying to figure out which sentences were flashbacks and which were not.
Thanks, University of Saskatchewan!
The Sound and the Fury is, at its best, the tale of a highly dysfunctional family. The Comptons are all unstable characters, with a tendency to lash out at each other at a moments notice. Every family member is either on the verge of or completely racist, as shown by the generous use of the n-word throughout the book. While I know that the word is used often in early 20th century literature, it still catches me off guard every time. After I finally accustomed myself to his word choice, I began to truly read the work.
My favorite section was "June 2nd, 1910", which follows Quentin, a Harvard student who sets out to commit suicide by the end of the day. The chapter centers, in my opinion, around a conversation he once had with his father about the nature of time (read that excerpt here). Throughout the rest of the chapter, this conversation is alluded to, due to a peppering of words like "time", "ticking", "clock" and "ringing". This, to me, is Quentin's rationale for his suicide: if his life only truly begins when the "clock stops ticking", then he'll do what he can to end his time on earth. Yet despite his wanting to end time, he never seems rushed for time. In fact, the calmness with which he takes care of his final affairs is unnerving to say the least. He packs his suitcase, mails some letters, buys a small girl a pastry, and generally goes about his business as if it were a normal day. He is not fazed by his decision, and in fact seems pleased with the whole situation. It is this juxtaposition that makes this chapter so fascinating.
Another wonderfully heart-wrenching section was the first chapter of the book, told from the perspective of Benjy, the mentally retarded son of the Comptons. While Benjy's family and caretakers all view him as a burden who is incapable of comprehending the world around him, the reader knows the opposite to be true. Benjy's narrative is clear and knowledgeable, despite his inability to share his thoughts with the world around him. It is the desperation with which he wants to communicate with others (especially in this portion) that made me teary-eyed on many occasions.
The rest of the book didn't really appeal to me, which I found ironic considering how much easier it was to understand! I think it's because the last two sections felt a little labored: not much happened and the characters weren't very relatable. Oh well, in my opinion it's worth it to read this book just for the two sections alone. Just make sure to use U of S whenever you can!
Next up on the agenda: Catch-22! I'm very excited for this one!
However, I managed to finish this book in 2 days, thanks to a wonderful online project. The University of Saskatchewan has created a hypertext that color-codes each chronological event. I know my explanation of probably makes no sense, so you should check it out for yourself. All I can say is that it saved me from trying to figure out which sentences were flashbacks and which were not.
Thanks, University of Saskatchewan!
The Sound and the Fury is, at its best, the tale of a highly dysfunctional family. The Comptons are all unstable characters, with a tendency to lash out at each other at a moments notice. Every family member is either on the verge of or completely racist, as shown by the generous use of the n-word throughout the book. While I know that the word is used often in early 20th century literature, it still catches me off guard every time. After I finally accustomed myself to his word choice, I began to truly read the work.
My favorite section was "June 2nd, 1910", which follows Quentin, a Harvard student who sets out to commit suicide by the end of the day. The chapter centers, in my opinion, around a conversation he once had with his father about the nature of time (read that excerpt here). Throughout the rest of the chapter, this conversation is alluded to, due to a peppering of words like "time", "ticking", "clock" and "ringing". This, to me, is Quentin's rationale for his suicide: if his life only truly begins when the "clock stops ticking", then he'll do what he can to end his time on earth. Yet despite his wanting to end time, he never seems rushed for time. In fact, the calmness with which he takes care of his final affairs is unnerving to say the least. He packs his suitcase, mails some letters, buys a small girl a pastry, and generally goes about his business as if it were a normal day. He is not fazed by his decision, and in fact seems pleased with the whole situation. It is this juxtaposition that makes this chapter so fascinating.
Another wonderfully heart-wrenching section was the first chapter of the book, told from the perspective of Benjy, the mentally retarded son of the Comptons. While Benjy's family and caretakers all view him as a burden who is incapable of comprehending the world around him, the reader knows the opposite to be true. Benjy's narrative is clear and knowledgeable, despite his inability to share his thoughts with the world around him. It is the desperation with which he wants to communicate with others (especially in this portion) that made me teary-eyed on many occasions.
The rest of the book didn't really appeal to me, which I found ironic considering how much easier it was to understand! I think it's because the last two sections felt a little labored: not much happened and the characters weren't very relatable. Oh well, in my opinion it's worth it to read this book just for the two sections alone. Just make sure to use U of S whenever you can!
Next up on the agenda: Catch-22! I'm very excited for this one!
Monday, June 21, 2010
Update: 6/21/2010
Well, it's been 21 days, and I've only been able to finish 3 books: so far it's not going so well.
The last few days have been really difficult because of family celebrations and whatnot. Normally, I'd say to just suck it up and deal with it. However, that means I'll only have three days each to read the remaining books.
So, here's the deal: the books that I've already read (Native Son and Brave New World) won't be given blog posts until after the challenge is over. That means you won't see reviews of these books until after August 15th.
Hopefully, that still sounds fair to all of you :)
I hope everyone is having a wonderful summer!
The last few days have been really difficult because of family celebrations and whatnot. Normally, I'd say to just suck it up and deal with it. However, that means I'll only have three days each to read the remaining books.
So, here's the deal: the books that I've already read (Native Son and Brave New World) won't be given blog posts until after the challenge is over. That means you won't see reviews of these books until after August 15th.
Hopefully, that still sounds fair to all of you :)
I hope everyone is having a wonderful summer!
Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov
Although I had a vague knowledge of the main characters (I knew, for instance, there was a girl named "Lolita"), I had no further knowledge of the plot. In fact, I only knew of the book because it shares the name of a genre of Japanese fashion (Lolita wearers, however, insist that their style was not inspired by Nobokov's novel). Imagine my surprise, then, when the intentions of a perverted psychopathic are made perfectly clear within the first few paragraphs!
I should begin by saying that this novel is in no way vulgar or smutty. The language is far from offensive despite the horrifying subject matter. In fact, any depiction of sexual behavior is written with the utmost care and tenderness; there is no doubt that Humbert, no matter how psychologically disturbed, truly loved Lolita.
That being said, the novel artfully balances the line between lighthearted frolicking and gruesome acts of violence. Each character is completely two-dimensional and unpredictable. And just as every character suffers from violent mood swings, the reader's emotions are constantly toyed with.
As a huge fan of Edgar Allen Poe's poem "Annabel Lee", the book took on a second layer of importance for me. Nobokov refers to the poem extensively in the first few chapters, and then alludes to it throughout the rest of the novel. Everything from direct quotations, to mentions of sea kingdoms, to even character names (a girl named "Annabell Leigh"? Really?) heightens the obsessive, repetitive actions of Humbert Humbert. He views himself as a tragic hero who has wronged and been wronged by society, and therefore obviously identifies with the brooding unfortunate Poe.
Was the novel disturbing? Yes. But I loved every minute of it. It's not often that a main character is so despicable and yet so incredibly apologetic for his behavior. I found myself shaking my head in disbelief every few paragraphs, simply because the situations were so outrageous.
I know I'm probably one of the few who has not read this important step in sexually liberated literature, but for those who, like I, really only knew Lolita as a clothing line, I highly recommend it.
Aren't I boring? I'm recommending nearly everything! I suppose that's why they're all on Top 25 list.
I should begin by saying that this novel is in no way vulgar or smutty. The language is far from offensive despite the horrifying subject matter. In fact, any depiction of sexual behavior is written with the utmost care and tenderness; there is no doubt that Humbert, no matter how psychologically disturbed, truly loved Lolita.
That being said, the novel artfully balances the line between lighthearted frolicking and gruesome acts of violence. Each character is completely two-dimensional and unpredictable. And just as every character suffers from violent mood swings, the reader's emotions are constantly toyed with.
As a huge fan of Edgar Allen Poe's poem "Annabel Lee", the book took on a second layer of importance for me. Nobokov refers to the poem extensively in the first few chapters, and then alludes to it throughout the rest of the novel. Everything from direct quotations, to mentions of sea kingdoms, to even character names (a girl named "Annabell Leigh"? Really?) heightens the obsessive, repetitive actions of Humbert Humbert. He views himself as a tragic hero who has wronged and been wronged by society, and therefore obviously identifies with the brooding unfortunate Poe.
Was the novel disturbing? Yes. But I loved every minute of it. It's not often that a main character is so despicable and yet so incredibly apologetic for his behavior. I found myself shaking my head in disbelief every few paragraphs, simply because the situations were so outrageous.
I know I'm probably one of the few who has not read this important step in sexually liberated literature, but for those who, like I, really only knew Lolita as a clothing line, I highly recommend it.
Aren't I boring? I'm recommending nearly everything! I suppose that's why they're all on Top 25 list.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man by James Joyce
* a note from the blogger *
For the sake of my sanity (and wrists) I will be shortening the title of this work to Portrait. I know that this is very forward of me, as I don't have his express permission, but I hope that Joyce (may he rest in peace) will forgive my casualness.
At least I haven't started calling him J.J.
* end of note *
Yes, readers, I went from reading one daunting piece of Joycian literature to another. But before you ask me, "Why would you subject yourself to another difficult stream of consciousness 20th Century classic?," know that I enjoyed this one a great deal more. Portrait is not nearly as long (a relaxing 255 pages), nor is is it complex in its structure. In fact, I wish I had read this piece first, for two reasons: One, it would have been allowed me time to acclimate to Joyce's writing style, and two, Ulysses is, in a way, a sequel to this book. Portrait was written 6 years earlier, and describes the childhood and early adult life of Stephen Dedalus, the first main character introduced in Ulysses. For anyone wanting to read both books, I suggest you do so in chronological order: Although both pieces are truly independent of each other, it's nice to have a little background on the character.
Stephen is, like most young men and women, questioning his belief in God and the role of a structured education. He starts his education as small pious child, following his parents' orders and attending a school run by Jesuits. Stephen finds beauty and importance everywhere, which makes for vivid descriptions of the world around him. Stephen is hyper aware of his surroundings hyper aware, as he experiences his fluctuating hot and cold sensations, both physically and mentally. He then goes through a vicious teenage rebellion, in which he squanders his families hard earned money on prostitutes, and generally sins a lot. As if this radical change wasn't enough, he then suddenly finds the light of God, and almost joins the priesthood. The last chapter of the book, we find Stephen somewhere in the middle: a man who feels that God may not exist, and yet fears that he might be. He also debates whether a formal education is necessary to acquiring knowledge, when so much can be learned from observation.
What makes all of Joyce's novels interesting is their lack of a climax or conflict. Stephen is living his life, and while he experiences many ups and downs, there is not one pivotal moment in which the fate of the characters are decided. Joyce teaches us, in a way, that nothing in life is decided; that life is a series of thousands of choices, each of which alters the course of our life.
Calling this book a "portrait" is really an accurate description: Every aspect of Stephen's personality, from his hopes for the future to his theory on what makes something beautiful (one of the most intriguing passages in my opinion) , is masterfully rendered by Joyce. I thoroughly enjoyed this book, and I highly recommend it.
For the sake of my sanity (and wrists) I will be shortening the title of this work to Portrait. I know that this is very forward of me, as I don't have his express permission, but I hope that Joyce (may he rest in peace) will forgive my casualness.
At least I haven't started calling him J.J.
* end of note *
Yes, readers, I went from reading one daunting piece of Joycian literature to another. But before you ask me, "Why would you subject yourself to another difficult stream of consciousness 20th Century classic?," know that I enjoyed this one a great deal more. Portrait is not nearly as long (a relaxing 255 pages), nor is is it complex in its structure. In fact, I wish I had read this piece first, for two reasons: One, it would have been allowed me time to acclimate to Joyce's writing style, and two, Ulysses is, in a way, a sequel to this book. Portrait was written 6 years earlier, and describes the childhood and early adult life of Stephen Dedalus, the first main character introduced in Ulysses. For anyone wanting to read both books, I suggest you do so in chronological order: Although both pieces are truly independent of each other, it's nice to have a little background on the character.
Stephen is, like most young men and women, questioning his belief in God and the role of a structured education. He starts his education as small pious child, following his parents' orders and attending a school run by Jesuits. Stephen finds beauty and importance everywhere, which makes for vivid descriptions of the world around him. Stephen is hyper aware of his surroundings hyper aware, as he experiences his fluctuating hot and cold sensations, both physically and mentally. He then goes through a vicious teenage rebellion, in which he squanders his families hard earned money on prostitutes, and generally sins a lot. As if this radical change wasn't enough, he then suddenly finds the light of God, and almost joins the priesthood. The last chapter of the book, we find Stephen somewhere in the middle: a man who feels that God may not exist, and yet fears that he might be. He also debates whether a formal education is necessary to acquiring knowledge, when so much can be learned from observation.
What makes all of Joyce's novels interesting is their lack of a climax or conflict. Stephen is living his life, and while he experiences many ups and downs, there is not one pivotal moment in which the fate of the characters are decided. Joyce teaches us, in a way, that nothing in life is decided; that life is a series of thousands of choices, each of which alters the course of our life.
Calling this book a "portrait" is really an accurate description: Every aspect of Stephen's personality, from his hopes for the future to his theory on what makes something beautiful (one of the most intriguing passages in my opinion) , is masterfully rendered by Joyce. I thoroughly enjoyed this book, and I highly recommend it.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald
I read this book my Junior year as part of my AP Literature class. I was very excited when my teacher handed us her well-worn copies from the storage room for two reasons: a) I had heard it was a great book, and b) the cover intrigued me. "Who's the chick on the cover?" I asked myself. "Why are her tears green? And more importantly, how can she possibly be sad when she's hovering above a Ferris wheel?" I read the Great Gatsby fervently, searching for answers to my deep, philosophical questions.
Unfortunately, none of these questions were ever answered. If they had been answered by Mr. Fitzgerald, the book probably would have been a lot more interesting.
That's right, folks. I didn't like The Great Gatsby. At all. I thought it was a dreadfully boring book, due in no small part to the dreadfully boring lives the main characters lead.
The book is told from the point of view of Nick Carraway, a self-proclaimed outsider who is "inclined to reserve all judgments," a statement which I could spend a whole other post disagreeing with. He spends most of his time either bored at his cousin Daisy's mansion, bored at a party, or bored while commuting to New York City. In fact almost all of the main characters are utterly dissatisfied with their luxurious lifestyles. Dozens of pages are spent just explaining that the Buchanans are reclining on sofas in their living room and complaining about the heat. Pages that could have been spent describing the Buchanans' excitement from riding a Ferris wheel at an amusement park, perhaps.
The only characters of any interest are Myrtle and Jay Gatsby, and that's simply because I feel sorry for them. Both of them desperately want to fit in, and yet despite their connections (For Myrtle, it's her affair, for Gatsby it's his newly made fortune), they are forced to watch while the Buchanans have everything they want.
I understand that Fitzgerald's intention was to show the flaws in the American Dream. Money doesn't make the world go round. In the words of a British rock band, "Can't buy me love" (Which I, for the longest time, thought was "Can puppy love." Anybody? Nobody.) But I feel that there are better ways of showing the characters' discontent with their lives. Ways that don't involve the reader feeling discontent with her life.
That being said, I did like his use of color symbolism. Green representing envy or money. White representing the "holier-than-thou" attitude of the upper-class. It made the experience slightly more enjoyable.
But only slightly.
That's all for today. My next review will be A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man by James Joyce. See you next time!
Unfortunately, none of these questions were ever answered. If they had been answered by Mr. Fitzgerald, the book probably would have been a lot more interesting.
That's right, folks. I didn't like The Great Gatsby. At all. I thought it was a dreadfully boring book, due in no small part to the dreadfully boring lives the main characters lead.
The book is told from the point of view of Nick Carraway, a self-proclaimed outsider who is "inclined to reserve all judgments," a statement which I could spend a whole other post disagreeing with. He spends most of his time either bored at his cousin Daisy's mansion, bored at a party, or bored while commuting to New York City. In fact almost all of the main characters are utterly dissatisfied with their luxurious lifestyles. Dozens of pages are spent just explaining that the Buchanans are reclining on sofas in their living room and complaining about the heat. Pages that could have been spent describing the Buchanans' excitement from riding a Ferris wheel at an amusement park, perhaps.
The only characters of any interest are Myrtle and Jay Gatsby, and that's simply because I feel sorry for them. Both of them desperately want to fit in, and yet despite their connections (For Myrtle, it's her affair, for Gatsby it's his newly made fortune), they are forced to watch while the Buchanans have everything they want.
I understand that Fitzgerald's intention was to show the flaws in the American Dream. Money doesn't make the world go round. In the words of a British rock band, "Can't buy me love" (Which I, for the longest time, thought was "Can puppy love." Anybody? Nobody.) But I feel that there are better ways of showing the characters' discontent with their lives. Ways that don't involve the reader feeling discontent with her life.
That being said, I did like his use of color symbolism. Green representing envy or money. White representing the "holier-than-thou" attitude of the upper-class. It made the experience slightly more enjoyable.
But only slightly.
That's all for today. My next review will be A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man by James Joyce. See you next time!
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Ulysses by James Joyce
Wow. Let me start off by saying that this probably wasn't the best way to begin my challenge, as it took me 11 days to finish the book! Finishing each chapter felt like running a never-ending marathon; I was tired, out of breath, and yet determined to reach the speck of a finish line in the far horizon.
Although not my favorite book ever, I understand why Modern Library considers Ulysses the quintessential novel of the 20th century. I could read this book another dozen times and still learn something new with each reading. In fact, I probably SHOULD read it another dozen times; the sheer number of literary, biblical, and historical allusions present in James Joyce's novel is astounding. In fact, there is a whole book written by Don Gifford that consists, not of Ulysses' text, but of FOOTNOTES relating to the work (Gifford's book, entitled Ulysses Annotated, is a must-have for in-depth comprehension. Had I afforded myself more time for this challenge, I would have used this book constantly).
It's also been a while since I read The Odyssey, and that definitely made my experience with Ulysses more difficult. Before every chapter, I would read a synopsis of the corresponding chapter in Homer's epic poem (Each one of Joyce's chapters is named for a chapter of The Odyssey). This allowed me to find at least some of the parallels between the two works. For instance, knowing that the 12th chapter is called "Cyclops" allowed me to understand why the word "eye" kept appearing in the text, why this chapter was told in first-person narrative (get it? "I"?), and why when one of the characters got mad, he imagined his fury starting an earthquake. I suggest anyone attempting to read the novel to try the same technique (Or watch the Wishbone version. Because seriously; who doesn't love a talking dog?)
The format in which the novel is written is a puzzle in and of itself. The majority of the chapters have no quotation marks signifying dialogue, but rather em-dashes when a new character begins to speak. This led to some confusion as to whether I was reading the character's thoughts, or what he was saying aloud. Some chapters take on decidedly different formats: "Aeolus" is peppered with newspaper headlines, while "Circe" is written as a script for a play. One of my favorite chapters, "Ithaca", is written in question and answer format, while the last chapter is 36 pages long and contains 8 run on sentences.
I could literally spend hours discussing the finer points of this book, but for your sake I think I'll simply describe my favorite chapters.
Chapter 13, entitled "Nausicaa", focuses on an encounter between Leopold Bloom, the main character, and Gerty MacDowell, a naive, beautiful, 17-year old girl. The first half of the chapter focuses on Gerty's musings on love and romance. After seeing Leopold from a distance, she decides that he's the perfect man for her, and that she'll never love anyone else. Her effort to balance innocence and seduction is incredibly realistic and relatable. I found her character's spirit to be a refreshing change from the dark, depressing tone of the previous chapters. Her wide-eyed optimism is all the more poignant because the reader knows that she'll soon be just as blasé and unsentimental as the other women in the novel (such as Bloom's wife, Molly). The second half of the chapter focuses on Bloom's attraction to this young girl and how he deals with it. Despite his intense desire for Gerty, his lackluster marriage, and a sexually charged passage involving fireworks (which can be read here), Leo chooses to remain faithful to his wife and vows to never see the girl again. His decision, as well as his actions throughout the rest of the novel, makes Bloom, in my opinion, one of the most realistically decent characters ever written about.
My second favorite chapter is Chapter 17, entitled "Ithaca". The entire chapter is written, as I mentioned earlier, in the form of a Q&A. What makes this chapter so brilliant is the answers given to some of the most mundane questions ever asked by man. For instance, when asked what Bloom thinks about water, what follows is an incredibly long list of scientific and philosophical thoughts (the passage can be read here). And that's not all; the same detail and attention was given to questions about constellations, shaving, and items located in obscure drawers. Despite embarking on a 540 page journey with Leo, I had never felt more connected to him than in this chapter. I saw the innermost workings of his mind; his hopes and dreams, fears and habits, and I loved every single word of it.
The book as a whole challenged my idea of what a novel can be. Joyce's use of language and syntax is truly groundbreaking, and I often found myself shaking my head out of sheer astonishment. I highly recommend that everyone read this work, but without a deadline. Enjoy the piece, and truly savor his poetry. You won't regret it.
My next review will be of The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald. See you soon!
Although not my favorite book ever, I understand why Modern Library considers Ulysses the quintessential novel of the 20th century. I could read this book another dozen times and still learn something new with each reading. In fact, I probably SHOULD read it another dozen times; the sheer number of literary, biblical, and historical allusions present in James Joyce's novel is astounding. In fact, there is a whole book written by Don Gifford that consists, not of Ulysses' text, but of FOOTNOTES relating to the work (Gifford's book, entitled Ulysses Annotated, is a must-have for in-depth comprehension. Had I afforded myself more time for this challenge, I would have used this book constantly).
It's also been a while since I read The Odyssey, and that definitely made my experience with Ulysses more difficult. Before every chapter, I would read a synopsis of the corresponding chapter in Homer's epic poem (Each one of Joyce's chapters is named for a chapter of The Odyssey). This allowed me to find at least some of the parallels between the two works. For instance, knowing that the 12th chapter is called "Cyclops" allowed me to understand why the word "eye" kept appearing in the text, why this chapter was told in first-person narrative (get it? "I"?), and why when one of the characters got mad, he imagined his fury starting an earthquake. I suggest anyone attempting to read the novel to try the same technique (Or watch the Wishbone version. Because seriously; who doesn't love a talking dog?)
The format in which the novel is written is a puzzle in and of itself. The majority of the chapters have no quotation marks signifying dialogue, but rather em-dashes when a new character begins to speak. This led to some confusion as to whether I was reading the character's thoughts, or what he was saying aloud. Some chapters take on decidedly different formats: "Aeolus" is peppered with newspaper headlines, while "Circe" is written as a script for a play. One of my favorite chapters, "Ithaca", is written in question and answer format, while the last chapter is 36 pages long and contains 8 run on sentences.
I could literally spend hours discussing the finer points of this book, but for your sake I think I'll simply describe my favorite chapters.
Chapter 13, entitled "Nausicaa", focuses on an encounter between Leopold Bloom, the main character, and Gerty MacDowell, a naive, beautiful, 17-year old girl. The first half of the chapter focuses on Gerty's musings on love and romance. After seeing Leopold from a distance, she decides that he's the perfect man for her, and that she'll never love anyone else. Her effort to balance innocence and seduction is incredibly realistic and relatable. I found her character's spirit to be a refreshing change from the dark, depressing tone of the previous chapters. Her wide-eyed optimism is all the more poignant because the reader knows that she'll soon be just as blasé and unsentimental as the other women in the novel (such as Bloom's wife, Molly). The second half of the chapter focuses on Bloom's attraction to this young girl and how he deals with it. Despite his intense desire for Gerty, his lackluster marriage, and a sexually charged passage involving fireworks (which can be read here), Leo chooses to remain faithful to his wife and vows to never see the girl again. His decision, as well as his actions throughout the rest of the novel, makes Bloom, in my opinion, one of the most realistically decent characters ever written about.
My second favorite chapter is Chapter 17, entitled "Ithaca". The entire chapter is written, as I mentioned earlier, in the form of a Q&A. What makes this chapter so brilliant is the answers given to some of the most mundane questions ever asked by man. For instance, when asked what Bloom thinks about water, what follows is an incredibly long list of scientific and philosophical thoughts (the passage can be read here). And that's not all; the same detail and attention was given to questions about constellations, shaving, and items located in obscure drawers. Despite embarking on a 540 page journey with Leo, I had never felt more connected to him than in this chapter. I saw the innermost workings of his mind; his hopes and dreams, fears and habits, and I loved every single word of it.
The book as a whole challenged my idea of what a novel can be. Joyce's use of language and syntax is truly groundbreaking, and I often found myself shaking my head out of sheer astonishment. I highly recommend that everyone read this work, but without a deadline. Enjoy the piece, and truly savor his poetry. You won't regret it.
My next review will be of The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald. See you soon!
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Not a walk in the park...
So, I've started my journey. I began reading Ulysses by James Joyce on Monday. And let me tell you, folks. It's not easy.
It is, in fact, probably the most difficult book I've ever read. My goal was to finish it by Tuesday, but it's looking more like Friday now. Hopefully the other books will be easier. Perhaps I should have started with number 25...
At any rate, I promise to blog about Ulysses as soon as I'm done!
It is, in fact, probably the most difficult book I've ever read. My goal was to finish it by Tuesday, but it's looking more like Friday now. Hopefully the other books will be easier. Perhaps I should have started with number 25...
At any rate, I promise to blog about Ulysses as soon as I'm done!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
