Meditations, by Marcus Aurelius

Meditations
Marcus Aurelius

This might be deemed a rather traditional pick, but I’m surprised to find myself liking Meditations so much.

First, however, I have an interesting anecdote related to my reading this book. About eight years ago, I worked in a prominent Philadelphia law firm. I hated it. The people were creeps, for the most part. Well, everyone knew that I was only working there while on break from college, and that I wasn’t *really* interested in becoming a lawyer. There was one guy there, a secretary (which is odd in itself; not that there’s anything wrong with being a male secretary, except for the fact that he was the only one). Aside from being practically the only male secretary (in a firm which boasted about several hundred permanent and floating secretaries), he was just an odd dude. He had a penetrating stare that seemed to bore into a person, and yet he rarely spoke to others. When he did, his conversation was stilted and awkward. Well, anyway, once this guy confronted me in an elevator. I worked on about the fiftieth floor, so we were in the elevator for a bit, and escape was, unfortunately for me, impossible.

“I hear you’re an English major,” he said.

“Um...yeah, I am.”

“Have you read Meditations?”

“Um…no. Who wrote it?”

“Marcus Aurelius. It’s excellent. I will bring it in for you to borrow.”

The next day, here comes Mr. Weird, with his prized book. Who lends a book to someone he hardly knows? Not I. I don’t like lending books to my own mother, much less a twenty-year-old stranger. It’s even more bizarre when you consider that this, according to him, was one of the most influential books he’s ever read. You wouldn’t pry that book from my cold dead hand. What can I say, I’m protective of my books.

Anyway, that summer, I was busy partying, like every other summer before I turned 21 and became bored with such doings. I had no time for Marcus Aurelius or anyone else, for that matter. But a few weeks later, he stops by my desk.

“Have you read it? What do you think?”

“Actually, no…I haven’t had a chance to read it yet. I’ve been so unbelievably busy. [A blatant lie.] I will bring it in for you tomorrow since I am taking so long with it.”

And then, unbelievably, he says, “No. Give it back when you’ve finished it.” And, with those words, he walked away.

I never saw him again. I returned to college, graduated, and got a real job, one that did not involve lawyers. [If you are a lawyer, I’m sorry. But it is more than likely that you are a pain in the ass to work for.]

I graduated college in May 2000, and I’ve finally found time to fit Marcus into my life. Of course, I still have this poor guy’s book, and now I’m mocking him on my stupid blog. I can respect his generosity, although I can admit that I would not be so generous myself. And I thank him, really I do, because Meditations is really damn good.

As the translator notes in his introduction, this book is an excellent bedside book, because you can just pick it up, read a short selection from anywhere in the book, and put it down again. The book basically consists of his thoughts (ahem, meditations) on life. Sometimes he writes his advice on how to lead a good life; other times, he writes his thoughts on death and other important topics. Each nugget is short—a paragraph at most—and these paragraphs are compiled into 12 books, or chapters.

While I don’t find every thing he says to be relevant to my life, he does make many points that I find myself going back to underline so that I might remember them. To wit:

1. To wonder what so-and-so is doing and why, or what he is saying, or thinking, or scheming—in a word, anything that distracts you from fidelity to the Ruler within you—means a loss of opportunity for some other task. (Book 3)


2. That men of a certain type should behave as they do is inevitable. To wish it otherwise were to wish the fig-tree would not yield its juice. In any case, remember that in a very little while both you and he will be dead, and your very names will quickly be forgotten. (Book 4)


3. Nothing can happen to any man that nature has not fitted him to endure. (Book 5)

In a nutshell: I cannot imagine that anyone would read this book and not find it helpful in some way. There is something for everyone here. His wisdom is timeless, and he makes many points which we would do well to remember more often.

Bibliolatry scale: 6 out of 6

Possession, by A.S. Byatt

Possession
A.S. Byatt

Maybe I just don’t get it. I consider myself a literary person—I’ve read a lot of classic and contemporary literature. I consider myself educated; I have a Master’s degree in literature. But I just don’t get Byatt’s Possession. What is wrong with me? Everyone else sings this book’s praises.

Well, not me.

Possession has been recommended by nearly everyone I know. Ok, that’s an exaggeration, but close. And, based on everything I’d heard, I thought that, when everything was said and done, I’d recognize it as a great book as well. It didn’t happen.

This book took me forever to read because I simply couldn’t get into it. I could give a shit about every single one of these characters. If you are unaware of the storyline, Possession is about two literary scholars who are each researching a poet. As they pour through the old letters of their respective poets, they uncover the secret love affair that these two carried on. Meanwhile, the two researchers fall in love. Conflict arises because other academics want these love letters, as this research is obviously earth-shattering and would forever change academia. So the race is on to find all of these letters and piece together the zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. Oh, sorry. I fell asleep.

Good lord, I consider myself an academic; I love learning, and I love literature, and I love poets. I even love secret affairs. I love mysteries!! So I should love this book, right?

Allow me the following analogy. I love brownies. And French fries. And cookie-dough ice cream. OOH, and butter cake. I LOVE ME SOME BUTTER CAKE. And coffee! I love coffee. I also love cheese, like gouda. And grilled cheese sandwiches. And Red Bull. And salad with raspberry vinaigrette dressing. Using the above logic, if I combine these things into one big meal, I’d have THE BEST MEAL EVER, right? Wrong. I’d have pile of shit that most Fear Factor contestants couldn’t even eat. That’s what Possession was like. A brownie-cookie-dough-butter cake-coffee-cheese-and-Red-Bull salad with French fries.

Ok, perhaps I’m being unfair. The love letters were good, and I was interested in watching the love affair unfold through them. But when the book shifted to the two dolts performing the research, I wanted to gouge out my eyes in Oedipal despair. MY GOD, I berated myself, WHAT HAVE I DONE? WHY, YE GODS, WHY HAVE YOU LET ME BE DUPED BY THE HYPE THAT IS POSSESSION?

And the ending!! For a book that is touted as “literature” even though only a few years old, I expected the ending to be a bit better than this. I suppose it is fitting that, in keeping with the mystery that the characters seek to solve, the ending is no better than a Scooby Doo episode. And at least that show had Scooby and Shaggy, enjoyable and fun characters, not these annoying nerds. And I’m a nerd, so you know these characters must be bad.

Back to the novel’s contrived and improbable ending. The lead male character (a.k.a. boring researcher #1) and his new girlfriend (a.k.a. the other boring researcher) go to a pub with his ex-girlfriend. Never mind that he and his ex have suffered through a particularly bad relationship and breakup—he’s going to ask her help in his quest. She and her new boyfriend immediately and unreservedly agree, of course. Then after a very-Scooby chase scene, they catch the bad guy, who is in the act of stealing the last few letters necessary to understanding the mystery! Thankfully they save them, because at this point in the novel, I was only continuing to read the novel just so I could see what these letters contained. In case you were curious, after being “caught,” the bad-guy academic makes some very Scooby comments. You know the drill: “I would have gotten away for it, too, if it hadn’t been….” Ugh.

A few people have said that the best part of the novel is Byatt’s poetry, which is the poetry of these fictional poets. Sure. No offense, but whoever said this to me should never recommend another book to me again. In reality, the best part of the book is the letters that these two poets share. If you want good poetry, go read REAL POETS. I’ve read that the male poet is based on Browning. Great. Go read him, not this silliness. Who calls this book literature?

And YES, I do understand that I am a twenty-seven-year-old NOTHING, who has written NOTHING*, and will never writing anything like Possession, which I am okay with. If Satan came to me and said: Give me your soul and you will be the author of Possession and will achieve literary success for having written it, I’d have to politely refuse. I’m ok with writing my blog, and I’m entitled to my opinion. And I recognize the irony in critiquing the writing of others when my own is subpar / nonexistent. Deal with it.

*That’s actually not true. I was once editor (and sole writer) of The (now-defunct) Inside Scoop. I was 11, and the magazine was the shit, let me tell you. My mother STILL has copies. And I also once wrote a beautiful story about some animals in the forest, lead by a noble stag whose name I now forget.** AND, I’ve written lots of A papers, some even in French, so there.

**It's several days later, and I remember the stag's name: Nestor. The wise stag was Nestor. Now THAT'S literature, folks.

In a nutshell: Apparently I’m the only one who hates this book. So go ahead and read it, nerd. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Bibliolatry Scale: 1 out of 5 stars

The Coming Global Superstorm, by Art Bell and Whitley Strieber

The Coming Global Superstorm
Art Bell and Whitley Strieber

Considering that

1. winter seems to be abnormally upon us, with several snow storms hitting the US early (and, did you know that, last week, the Middle Eastern country of Dubai received snow for the first time in recorded history?!); and


2. I recently saw the highly mediocre (despite the beauty that is Jake Gyllenhaal) The Day After Tomorrow (also written by one of our great authors here),

I now feel a resurgence of my old paranoia rising from the pit of my stomach and threatening my usually cool exterior. What a great time to discuss The Coming Global Superstorm! (I might here gloat that I read this book years ago, well before Hollywood hopped on the bandwagon. So there.)

Now, I love ridiculous theories as much as the next geek. And if it’s a conspiracy theory, even better. So I was eager to read this work by Art Bell (radio talk-show host who deals with topics such as UFOs, conspiracy theories, etc….And no, I’ve never heard his program, and I’m not interested in hearing it, either) and Whitley Strieber (author and regular on Bell’s show).

Admittedly, these two do not have much in the way of credentials to recommend their work; they are neither scientists nor scholars. At best they are concerned citizens; at worst, crackpots. But because I am a sucker for a good theory to arouse my great paranoia and curiosity, I figured I’d give the book a whirl.

To be fair, the duo admits in their preface that they were denounced as alarmists by such bastions of insightful reporting as Matt Lauer and the Today show team. And, to be even fairer, I believe this theory. One only needs to watch the news to see some alarming patterns in the weather. Does that mean the next Ice Age is creeping up on us? Probably not (hopefully not?), but we still need to recognize the warning sings of an ecology in upheaval.

Bell and Strieber make a thorough case, and I must say I was convinced by their argument, which appeared thoroughly researched. And now we get to my problem: not the argument, but the research itself. That they did research seems obvious; first, they say they did research, and, secondly, they do “cite” some studies and news articles. However, as an English teacher, I have to call them on this: WHERE IS THIS “RESEARCH”??

To Bell and Strieber: What are you citing? Where are the references? The bibliography?? Works Cited?? Perhaps these references have been swallowed by the superstorm, but if they were in the book, I couldn’t find them. And, while I believe you did find some (if not many) sources to support your thesis, failing to include them leads a skeptical reader to call bullshit. And I wasn’t skeptical upon beginning the book. I wanted to believe!!! (Although I’m glad that I can’t believe. Who really wants to believe that a very cold death awaits them in a few years?)

Admittedly, there are a few (take that literally) times when the authors state something like (and, Bell and Strieber, if you are reading this [yeah right], take note at what I’m about to do): “On March 15, 1999, scientists at the University of Arizona and the University of Massachusetts reported…” (10). DID YOU SEE THAT??? A CITATION!! A DIRECT QUOTE, TOO!! Go ahead, marvel at my talent. It is amazing, I know.

But what the above quote did NOT contain was an indication of where the authors found this information. Where did they read it? I’d like to know in case I’d like to read it for myself! (I won’t. But I’d like the option.) And, even more problematic is the fact that most of the time, they don’t even give you that tiny nugget of information.

If their sources were documented completely and therefore verifiable, this book would go from being a piece of alarmist overreaction to a valid, scientific hypothesis on the future of our planet, one that is clearly written for even a lay person. Such a work would be important and could not be ignored. Alas, this is not the case. Again, I’m glad; otherwise, I might have to give this work more credit than I do.

In a nutshell: if you already believe in the truth of their message, or if you have a solid scientific background and know the studies on which they “based” their information, then this book is for you. Skeptics won’t be convinced by their shoddy reporting and their apparent lack of research that turns this work of non-fiction into science fiction.

Bibliolatry Scale: 1.5 out of 6 stars. (only for entertainment’s sake)

A Long and Happy Life, by Reynolds Price

A Long and Happy Life
Reynolds Price

This is an interesting piece to write after just having discussed The Probable Future. Since finishing that book on Tuesday, I finished A Long and Happy Life in less than two days. Obviously it’s a quick read (it’s not even 200 pages), but after finishing it, I felt as if I had just read a much longer novel. I mean this as a compliment.

Reynolds Price is a Southern novelist, although I hate to characterize him as such. But like his fellow Southern writers, he shares a lot of their characteristics (such as the extra-long sentence). Usually I am turned off by this technique, but Price’s prose is simply too exquisite to reject it because of such a silly reason.

The plot of A Long and Happy Life focuses on Rosacoke (lord, what a name) Mustian and her love for Wesley Beavers. Hehehe beaver. Ok, seriously. Even though I’ve never really been to the South (well, Hatteras once and Orlando twice, but I’d hardly call either The South) and even though I’m living roughly fifty years after the story takes place, I could really connect to Rosacoke and her misguided love for Wesley. The novel didn’t feel dated at all, another of its strengths.

The narration is third-person, told from Rosacoke’s point of view. I’ve heard it said that A Long and Happy Life is one of the few novels in which an author successfully embodies a character of the opposite sex without seeming false. I must agree, because I never thought that Rosacoke seemed false to me, and I totally forgot that she was written by a man.

(Having taught Tess of the d’Urbervilles, I spend some time on Hardy’s treatment of Tess, and it never fails that several [female] students are outraged because a woman would never act like that! However, I disagree; I strongly believe in Tess as a character, so perhaps I am not the best one to believe when I say I never questioned Rosacoke.)

At any rate, the book began slowly, but I was hooked by the tenth page. The story starts in medias res (in the middle of the action), and it is only gradually that the reader learns important facts about these characters. It makes the beginning of the story somewhat confusing; for example, there are two characters named Sissie and Little Sister, and for a few pages I thought they were the same person, but no. Also the story subtly shifts at times from present to past in that Faulkner-esque way that is also characteristic of Southern writers.

However, it wasn’t very long before I forgot those minor annoyances and let myself enjoy the beauty of the book. Unable to put it down, I finished it quickly and still had time to reread a few parts that I found especially moving. Price has an ability to take even the most mundane of actions and create poetry out of it. Consider exhibit A, Rosacoke watching Wesley dive:

Wesley had run from the bathhouse and taken the high-dive steps three at a time and up-ended down through the air like a mistake at first, rowing with his legs and calling “Milo” as he went (for Milo to laugh), but then his legs rose back in a pause and his arms cut down before him till he was a bare white tree (the air was that clear) long enough for Rosacoke to draw one breath while he went under slow—not a sound, not a drop and what began as a joke for Milo’s sake didn’t end as a joke.

One more example should suffice. Exhibit B, Rosacoke staring up at a hawk:

She took her breath to go, and a light wind in her face brought two things out to meet her—low on the trees a hawk with his tan wings locked to ride the air for hours(if the air would hold and the ground offer things to hunt) and his black eyes surely on her where she stood and clear against the sky, his iron beak, parting and meeting as he wheeled but giving no hawk sound—only shivering pieces of what seemed music riding under him that came and went with the breeze as if it was meant for nothing but the hawk to hear, as if it was made by the day for the hawk to travel with and help his hunting—yet frail and high for a killing bird and so faint and fleeting that Rosacoke strained on her toes to hear it better and cupped her ear, but the hawk saw that and his fine-boned wings met under him in a thrust so long and slow that Rosacoke wondered if they wouldn’t touch her—his wings—and her lips fell open to greet him, but he was leaving, taking the music with him and the wind.

It’s not all like this, by the way. These long pieces of descriptive prose are broken by dialogue and shorter descriptions, depending on the scene.

In a nutshell: A Long and Happy Life is excellent—true literature, it is a beautifully written novel that you won’t regret reading.

Bibliolatry Scale: 5.5 out of 6 stars.

The Probable Future, by Alice Hoffman

The Probable Future
Alice Hoffman

Well, I just finished this novel, and I have the perfect word for it: meh.

It was ooookay. I would describe it as a beach book, the type of book that should be read when you want to fly through a novel without taxing your brain. In fact, I skimmed a good third of the book without feeling cheated afterward.

The book’s plot is interesting enough: all of the Sparrow women, upon turning 13, receive a “gift” of some sort. One could make food out of anything; another could feel no pain. The story focuses on Elinor Sparrow (who can tell when a person is lying), her daughter, Jenny (who dreams the dreams of others), and Jenny’s daughter, Stella, who has just turned 13 and received the ability to see a person’s death.

However interesting the plot may seem, it is filled with so many contrivances and conveniences that prevent the reader from even trying to believe the story. I’d be willing to believe the Sparrow’s supernatural abilities, but I just can’t swallow that ten individuals, several having suffered failed marriages or major life upheavals, can, in the span of only a few months, manage to resolve all their problems AND find (and connect with) their true loves. By the end, everything has been tied up neatly in a way that rarely happens in the real world. If only.

The characters were for me the most interesting part of the book, but they weren’t truly remarkable, either. Finally, the prose was well enough written, but was overall bland and trite. Granted, I’m not exactly writing Nobel-prize-winning material here, either, but I just call ‘em like I see ‘em, folks. At any rate, I was able to read this book quickly and with little mental exercise on my part.

If this book were a movie, it would be You’ve Got Mail. That is to say, it’s not even Sleepless in Seattle. Rather, it’s the type of book for when there’s nothing else on, but you really just want to lounge on the sofa and veg out, so you settle for whatever old thing is playing for the billionth time on USA.

In a nutshell: this is a good book to read in between literary classics or other tough reads. Ultimately it’s a forgettable novel, but one that will help you pass a few hours in a mundane, yet basically enjoyable way.

Bibliolatry Scale: 3.5 out of 6 stars