The pickles! The pickles!

Ethan Frome
Edith Wharton

I have a love-hate relationship with DailyLit. On the one hand, it lets me have free reading material at the ready, even when I'm, say, at work. On the other hand, it doesn't give me hard copy, which -- in this case, anyway -- is a BIG problem.

Quite simply, I didn't expect to love Ethan Frome as much as I did. My mind has somehow come to equate Edith Wharton with TEH BORE, and so I figured reading this short little novel via DailyLit was the best way to slog through what was sure to be an excruciatingly slow read. I didn't expect to read it all in nearly one sitting (okay, it was more like two), requesting installment after installment until I had finished.

Ok, so Ethan lives alone with his dour, invalid harpy of a wife, and he's the stolid and "I'll just suck it up" type. BUT THEN his wife's cousin, Mattie, comes to take care of things -- and she's cute! And has a red ribbon in her hair! (symbolism!) And she gives Ethan pickles for dinner! (symbolism!) Meanwhile his wife remains all sick and dour and confined to her room, so one nearly hopes that Mattie and Ethan can continue to share secret glances and long, meaningful sighs in peace.

BUT NO! Of course, this is not to be. The story is told in flashback, and since we know Ethan is miserable at the beginning of the book, we know he'll be miserable at the end, too. But the end! It's so good! The sadness! The irony! The pickles!

In a nutshell: A gem of a novel; it's impossible not to love Ethan. And Ethan. And probably Edith, too, although I'm less convinced about her.

Bibliolatry Scale: 6 out of 6 stars (yeah, I said it)

FTCBS: DailyLit :( booooo I need Ethan all for myself!

The Classics Circuit: Alexander Pushkin

Eugene Onegin
Alexander Pushkin

Poor Pushkin has long suffered the fate of an impulsive buy.

A few years ago, I purchased Eugene Onegin knowing only it was Russian lit, which I needed to read more of beyond Dostoevsky. I arrived home and cracked open my purchase only to find a novel in verse!

[Insert party-stopping record scratch here]

Say what?

And so, poor Pushkin has sat unread on my shelf for many a year now. Thankfully, this latest installment of the Classics Circuit has given me the kick in the butt I needed to conquer this thing.

I'll say this: Eugene Onegin is not what you'd call a summer read. I wouldn't go so far as to say it's a difficult read, but it's definitely not an easy one. The translation (by Charles Johnston) makes for smooth enough reading, but our narrator digresses, rambles, philosophizes...oh boy. But I pressed on, ever the loyal CC participant.

The story is simple enough: Onegin is rich and bored with life. He flits from party to party -- oh, the emptiness of his life. Then, his uncle dies and Onegin inherits his house in the county. Alas! The country is just as boring as the city! So, he spends his days TORTUROUSLY: reading, walking by the river, and hanging out with his new friend, Lensky. In other words, his life totally sucks. (At least he doesn't he doesn't assault a remote, though.)

Eugene Onegin: first on the emo scene

Anyway, Lensky is head over heels in love with Olga. Fast forward a bit, and Olga's older sister, Tatyana, soon falls in love with the undeserving Onegin.

Tanya's in love with Onegin, Onegin's in love with Onegin -- this won't end well. And why should it? Onegin is utterly unsympathetic. It's a bit problematic to have a condescending, pompous prick as the work's hero -- I couldn't muster up a bit of feeling for him.

Ultimately, this work left me cold due to the unlikability of the "hero" and the narrator's numerous digressions. (Tatyana's pretty badass, though.) The action was drawn out, so I found myself skimming much more than I should probably admit. That said, Pushkin's achievement is undeniable: at nearly 400 stanzas and featuring an innovative rhyme scheme (a.k.a. the Onegin stanza), Eugene Onegin is no paltry accomplishment.

In a nutshell: Onegin may be a turd, but Pushkin is okay in my book.

Bibliolatry Scale: 4 out of 6 stars

FTCBS: Personal copy

Remember you must die

Memento Mori
Muriel Spark

It's a curious thing to objectively view a novel when you hated nearly EVERY. SINGLE. character. I mean, some seriously AWFUL people inhabit the pages of Spark's Memento Mori that I could barely get past the fourth chapter. Lucky for me, I soldiered on: things much improved (even if their characters didn't), and I found myself -- dare I say it -- even enjoying the novel.

I must say I'm proud of myself for even reading another Spark, since my first encounter with La Spark left something to be desired. But I was intrigued by the premise of the novel: a group of senior citizens begin receiving anonymous phone calls reminding them that they must die.

This is not a group of warm, sweet old people -- far from it. These pensioners are catty, scheming, and forever gossiping. They have secrets, hidden pasts, and a bottomless well of greed, and they are not above blackmail and intimidation to meet their desires. (As I said, the lot of them were vile creatures, which the exception of one (for the most part) sweet little biddy named Charmian. Wait -- Charmian?)

Don't squeeze the Charmian!
(I know, I know: GROAN...don't judge me)

These disturbing calls, however, are not the heart of the novel. Instead, the calls merely bring to light issues that had long been buried. In exploring the twilight of these people's lives, Spark comments not only on their individual foibles but also on what it means to live and grow old in modern times. She confronts aging without becoming sentimental; the result is a deft little novel, and one full of sharp wit.

Needless to say: I was pleasantly surprised.

In a nutshell: An intriguing premise, a slow start, a dash of wickedly sly humor, and a host of awful human beings combine to make a pretty good book.

Bibliolatry Scale: 4.5 out of 6 stars

FTCBS: I'm sure you already know . . . personal copy here.

The Classics Circuit: Alexandre Dumas

The Black Tulip
Alexandre Dumas

I must admit, I was a little daunted by Dumas. I chose The Black Tulip solely based on its length (it's the shortest of his novels), and when I read the book was about growing flowers, I didn't get my hopes up.

The novel begins as two prominent Dutchmen are unjustly executed, the victims of political intrigue. Their deaths, graphic and unsettling, are the first indication of the rollercoaster that is The Black Tulip.

We move from this violent scene to the quiet suburbs, to Cornelius Van Baerle, a rich man who loves nothing but tulips. Van Baerle is seeking to create the elusive "Black Tulip," which many believe is impossible.

Unfortunately for Corn, his neighbor Boxtel hates him. HATES. There's teeth gnashing and all. Boxtel is also in love with tulips, so of course he is envious of Corn's success with the ladies tulips.

Jeez. TWO men in love with tulips?

my milkshake brings all the boys to the yard

So Boxtel sets out to destroy Corn, and then MORE political intrigue happens and then before you know it Corn's in love with NOT ONLY tulips but now also Rosa, the daughter of his jailer. Escándalo!

Oh, and did I mention that the person to first create the Black Tulip will receive a Very Large Sum as a prize? The race to grow the tulip is on! Now throw in a few dazzling fight scenes and some hysterical dialogue, and you've got The Black Tulip.

This short novel was such fun to read. As I got wrapped up in the story, I even began to read a few chapters online while I was at work. The pacing is fast, and I often couldn't wait to read more. Many thanks to the Classics Circuit for the Dumas tour -- I'm not sure I ever would have read this without the tour, and that would have been a shame indeed!

In a nutshell: Fun, funny, and fantastical - a pleasant surprise!

Bibliolatry Scale: 5 out of 6 stars

FTCBS: Personal copy; also online

The Classics Circuit: Emile Zola

Therese Raquin
Emile Zola

Today I'm pleased to welcome Emile Zola as part of the the Classics Circuit!

For my stop on the Classics tour, I've read Therese Raquin, which has been on my TBR list for years. The tour finally gave me the kick in the pants I needed in order to get this thing done.

And now that I've read it, I can't help but wonder...what took me so long? Because, hands down, Therese Raquin was an INSANE read. INSANE! I was shocked by how graphic and disturbing this short novel was, and I can only imagine how Zola's readers reacted when it was first published almost 150 years ago.

In Therese Raquin, Zola is more concerned with temperament than character. So he combines three different "humors" and allows them to go crazy. There's phlegmatic Camille (who is NOT a girl, despite what my brain kept telling me), who is married to Therese, who is choleric and therefore full of energy. As you might think, Camille + Therese = unhappy marriage. And the two, together with Madame Raquin, Camille's maman, pass day after day after day doing THE SAME FRIGGIN THING over and over and over. LE SIGH.

Why, yes, there IS a cat in Therese Raquin, but sadly he is lacking bacon

Therese is resigned to her life of eternal return with only other "living corpses" to keep her company as her life unwinds.

BUT THEN! Entre Laurent. He's a beast! He's a man! He's pure sex on wheels! (Oh, and he's also sanguine, so he's creative and extroverted and if you really want to know more about humors then just go here). So Therese starts making googly eyes at Laurent and then before you know it THEY'RE HAVING SEX ON THE BEDROOM FLOOR.

Add lots of animal imagery, some plotting, more sex and what the back of my edition describes as "a crime that will haunt them forever" and you have the book in a nutshell.

Again, I was stunned by the graphic nature of Therese Raquin, and I was pleasantly surprised by the fast-paced nature of the plot. While I hated every single one of the characters (with the exception of Madame Raquin, the feisty little minx), I was still able to enjoy the novel -- surely a testament to Monsieur Zola. So thanks again to the the Classics Circuit for giving me reason to get my rear in gear.

In a nutshell: The melodrama! The gruesomeness! The cat! (Vraiment, Laurent?) Therese Raquin is fast enough to be read in a day, yet powerful enough to last a lifetime. (Possibly. It's only been a few days.)

Bibliolatry Scale: 4.5 out of 6 stars

FTCBS: Personal copy over here.

We can never be clean

Wise Blood
Flannery O'Connor

In Flannery O'Connor's first novel, Hazel Motes, grandson of an evangelical preacher, wants to escape his disturbing understanding of God. Haunted by Christ and unable to escape Him, Motes founds the Church of Christ Without Christ and preaches his ideas to any and all who would listen.

Unfortunately, things happen that stand in his way. And then OTHER things happen which are (a) pretty crazy, (b) contrary to Motes' actions and purported beliefs, and (c) provide the reader with O'Connor's opinions regarding Roman Catholicism.

Clearly, Wise Blood is a Very Important Book with Very Important Things to Say. That much is clear. Additionally, the prose is as fresh and as clear as a mountain spring. (Did I really just write that? I'm sorry.) Anyway, the point is, I was able to tear through this novel in a matter of hours.

At right: Brad Dourif as Hazel Motes

And now, for the single drawback: I couldn't connect emotionally to the book at all. I felt bad for Motes at times (especially by the end of the novel), but I didn't understand him. I "get" what O'Connor is trying to say via his character, but Motes himself is alien to me.

That said, Wise Blood is obviously profound and thought-provoking: I finished the book a couple of weeks ago and have been turning it over in my mind ever since. But that doesn't mean I enjoyed the experience.

Is that necessary, though? To a certain extent, it is -- for me, at least.

In a nutshell: A classic that is not necessarily enjoyable, but one that will leave you pondering for days.

Bibliolatry Scale: 4 out of 6 stars

FTCBS: Another Christmas present! Thus, no icky ties to disclose.

I think Wilkie Collins just blew my mind

This post is part of the Classics Circuit; please visit the site for more stops on the Wilkie Collins Tour!

Armadale
Wilkie Collins

I just don't get it. I don't understand how anyone can take a story as impossible and outrageous as this one and make it not only credible, but convincing. Clearly, the man was a master.

The events of Armadale (more incredible than those of The Woman in White and The Moonstone) nearly defy easy summary. Long story short, two men end up with the same name of Allan Armadale. One kills the other. Each has a son, also named Allan Armadale, who grows up never knowing of his "other." Years pass, and -- you guessed it -- they meet. (Cue dramatic music.) Then things get REALLY complicated.

There's more, of course -- lots more (the above is really only the first 100 pages of an 800+ monster). As in my previous encounters with Wilkie, the plot hinges on coincidence after coincidence, yet things never feel contrived even though they clearly are. Wilkie makes the impossible possible.

Armadale is also interesting for its comment on identity and the nature of free will. Are the sons of the first generation bound by the sins of their fathers? Can they redeem their fathers? And what of Lydia Gwilt, one of the most fascinating, corrupt villains I've had the pleasure of meeting? In an early glimpse into her character, she writes, "I am in one of my tempers to-night. I want a husband to vex, or a child to beat, or something of that sort. Do you ever like to see the summer insects kill themselves in the candle? I do, sometimes." And that's what she says when she's being charming! I don't want to say too much about her and ruin the fun, but trust me -- Armadale is worth reading for Lydia Gwilt alone.

An utterly fascinating, entertaining, and intelligent novel, Armadale exceeded even my high expectations. What seems like a confusing premise is anything but confusing in its execution. In fact, Armadale might have just toppled The Woman in White. I adored Count Fosco, but he is simply no match for Lydia Gwilt.

In a nutshell: How do you do it, Wilkie? I want to learn the ways of the Force.

Bibliolatry Scale: 6 out of 6 stars

FTCBS: I proudly paid for this one! (In fact, I snagged the Oxford edition AND a free Kindle edition, so I always had it at my fingertips!)

Learning to free ourselves from insane passion for the truth

The Name of the Rose
Umberto Eco

Once upon a time -- forever ago, it seems -- I was in high school. My years at this drab institution were colored by a variety of characters, including one particular young lady whom I'll call...Jane.

Jane was one of those annoying little twits who was too smart for her own damn good. Of course, being smart is never a bad thing -- unless, like Jane, you take every opportunity to shove your erudition into the face of EVERY SINGLE PERSON within a 10-mile radius.

a dead-ringer for the little know-it-all snit

(True story, though: During my senior year, members of my physics class were forced to take a national test euphemistically called "The Physics Bowl." Why labeling a test as a "bowl" should make it more palatable is beyond me, but, as it didn't affect my actual grade, I didn't really sweat it. Anyway, as they announced the winners -- and here I shit you not -- Jane stood to accept the grand prize...only they didn't call her name. Who did win, you ask? ME! She was none too happy that I had taken the highly-coveted (snort) prize, and even more embarrassed that she had stood to collect a prize that wasn't hers. I still have that plaque to this day. Victory = mine.)

Why do I bring this up? Well, as much as I hate to say it, Umberto Eco reminds me of my old nemesis, Jane. Like Jane, Eco loves showing off how much he knows, as he did the last time I encountered him. Still, EVERYONE praises The Name of the Rose, and it was another title in my reading resolution, so I plowed though like any good reader would do.

For those who don't know, The Name of the Rose follows William of Baskerville, a monk who investigates a death at a monastery. With him is his loyal but obtuse sidekick, Adso. William is a unique monk, since he is quite rational and given to logical arguments, even if logic leads him to beliefs counter to those of the Catholic Church. The Church is in upheaval at this time, and heresies are not taken lightly. But what, exactly, is heresy? Is it heresy to believe that Jesus owned property, or that he didn't? Is it heresy to believe that Jesus laughed? These monks argued such issues NONSTOP. Really, it was a bit much after the third or fifth (or tenth) such argument.

In truth, The Name of the Rose is a great book, but I just wish Eco didn't put in EVERYTHING he knew about the times, the beliefs, the customs, etc. of the period. However, the central issue of the whodunit is what really pushed me to the end. I was fascinated by the mysterious library at the center of the abbey, loved the Borges connections, enjoyed the semiotics at the heart of the novel, and found the ultimate solution to the mystery quite compelling.

In a nutshell: I'd have liked it more if there had been less arguing and more murdering. Just kidding, at least as far as the murdering goes. But seriously, some paring down and I'd have adored it. Still, I recognize that I'll appreciate it even more after I reread it...in a few years.

Bibliolatry Scale: 4 out of 6 stars

Wilkie Collins never disappoints

The Moonstone
Wilkie Collins

Damn you, February, for being so short!! I can tell already that I won't meet January's numbers for my reading resolution. That's okay, because I packed in a whopper like The Moonstone, by Wilkie Collins.

I wanted to read The Moonstone ever since my encounter with The Woman in White, which amazed and enraptured me. The Moonstone was almost equally compelling, although I must admit Woman's shoes are rather hard to fill.

The Moonstone follows the disappearance of a rather large diamond that had been taken by the British during their colonization of India. The diamond is taken to England, where it is hidden to avoid the curse that is said to befall those who have taken it unlawfully. Years later, the diamond is bequeathed to a young lady on her birthday. She doesn't have long to enjoy it, however -- she awakens the next morning only to find it stolen!

What ensues is the most entertaining investigation I've encountered in a long time. It's not all mystery, though -- a good love story is also thrown in for good measure, and the cast of characters feature some of the most memorable individuals I've encountered in awhile (I had to remind myself that they were only fictional). As for the whodunit, the suspects and motives are many, and Collins does an excellent job of maintaining pace and suspense while avoiding the expected. At times I thought certain elements became a little too far-fetched, but I was having too much of a good time to really care.

In a nutshell: Not as good as The Woman in White (although, to be fair, I didn't expect it to be), The Moonstone was great fun.

Bibliolatry Scale: 5 out of 6 stars

Victims of the Modern Age

A Clockwork Orange
Anthony Burgess

This review is a continuation of this post, in which other Weekly Geeks contributed questions about my unreviewed books. Questions and answers are below.


Alessandra asks, How did you like A Clockwork Orange? What did you think of the strange language of the main character?

I actually liked the novel a lot more than I thought I would. The strange language took some getting used to at first, but it was always pretty obvious what was meant. It also made me skim a bit more, which made for quicker reading.


Bybee asks, Did your edition of A Clockwork Orange have a lexicon at the back? Mine did, created by Stanley Edgar Hyman, husband of Shirley Jackson. Fun Lit Factoid. OK, I'll shut up now.

NO, mine DID NOT. And, as you can see, I’m fairly envious.


Bookchronicle asks, Did you struggle with the "new" vocabulary the author introduces? Did you feel the violence was too much or necessary? Was the violence well-written? If you've seen the movie, how does it compare?

Well, regarding the vocabulary, see above. As for the violence, I actually thought it was bearable in the novel, unlike in the movie. In the novel, the language obscures some of what's happening, and a lot of it isn't crystal clear, although one senses the gist of it. I thought the violence was well-written and not overdone, unlike in the movie (which I thought took the violence to extremes, although that was Kubrick's point).


Amanda asks, I've been wanting to read A Clockwork Orange but I remember seeing the movie a while back and wasn't sure if I'd like the book after that. Have you seen the movie as well and how does it compare with the book?

I’ve seen most of the movie, but the rape scenes always turned me off. And that whole eye scene, which is just SO unnecessary, in my opinion, is even worse than the rapes. I shudder to even recall it now. I did, however, appreciate how Kubrick captured the “mod” sensibility of the novel. And Malcolm MacDowell is hot as balls, so that helps too.

There is one important difference between the two, which Burgess was quick to discuss in my version of the novel, which contains an introduction by the author. The novel contains 21 chapters (three parts of seven chapters each). The final chapter is the most important, as it shows clear, positive change in the narrator. Kubrick, however, cut the final chapter from his movie, which totally changes the message of the novel.

I can see the merit in each, but I'm ultimately siding with Burgess.


Book Zombie asks, This was written as a social satire of man's inhumanity to one another, do you feel it is relevant or an over-exaggeration?

Both actually. Burgess exaggerates to make a point, a point which I feel is more relevant than ever. A lot of people find violence to be fun, much like the main character. Also, as our technology improves, we may be faced with the ability to force people to be "good," which raises some interesting questions regarding morality.


Jackie asks, For someone who has never heard all the hype over this novel, how would you describe it? What would you say to convince someone to read it, even though it's obviously outside of their comfort zone? Is there anything in this novel that doesn't feel like someone has seen it on the news lately or that they might possibly see it on the news in the future?

I'd have to say that A Clockwork Orange is unlike anything else I've read. Violence will always be on the news, but Burgess adds quite a few twists that hopefully aren't too common now (or ever will be). First, our narrator is very young and very violent. He's also a participant in experiments aimed to prevent people from doing bad.

As for the novel itself, it's social commentary, it's satire, it's philosophy. Burgess manages to pack a lot of ideas in a novel with a lot of action. He also uses language provocatively. I'd definitely recommend taking a look at this novel even if it's outside your comfort zone. It might not be a favorite, but it will definitely make you think.


JoyRenee asks a bunch of questions, all of which are below:

How was Point-of-View handled? Was there a single POV character or did it alternate among two or more? Was it always clear whose eyes and mind were filtering?

Yes, POV was always clear. Burgess used first-person narration, told through the eyes of Alex, a very violent teenager.

How was language used to set tone and mood?

Burgess uses language to illustrate both the youth and the violence of the lead character. He perfectly captures Alex's personality, and I felt as though Alex were sitting next to me, telling me his story.

Was the prose dense or spare? Were sentences generally simple or complex?

The prose was pretty dense and featured complex sentences, although it felt simple while I was reading it, probably due to the fast-paced nature of the plot.

How was metaphor used? Were associations fresh or did they tend toward cliche? Did they add to your understanding of the theme?

Considering Burgess employed a special dialect of his own invention (although much was taken from other languages, like Russian), I would say the language was fresh.

What was the central or organizing theme?

Some key themes are man's inhumanity man, the nature of man (whether intrinsically good or bad) and if that nature can be changed (and if it should be changed), the nature of morality, and so on.

How does the title relate to the story? Was it fitting?

The idea of a clockwork orange refers to that which is alive (an orange) yet which has been reduced to little more than a machine (a clockwork orange). Burgess ponders whether it's better to be an orange (even if it means you're a bad orange) or if it's better to be a clockwork orange (in which the bad orange is made to be good). I believe Burgess would argue that the orange must choose to be good; clockwork oranges are bad.

* * * * *

Thanks to everyone who submitted questions! You helped me review a book that's stumped me for awhile.

In a nutshell: Complex and thought-provoking, but worth the effort.

Bibliolatry Scale: 5 out of 6 stars

Wherever the fates lead us let us follow

The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie
Muriel Spark

On a good day, I believe in signs. I’d like to believe that a superior being guides our lives, and in so doing sends signs, omens, and portents to direct or forestall our behavior. On a bad day, I feel there is only chaos, and while I know some who manage to find comfort in such disorder, I am not one of them.

Happily enough, I never find more signs than when searching for my next book to read. Without a set course of action, I bebop from book to book, author to author, period to period with no special plan. Many times, I feel a distinct “call” to read a particular novel, and I know its time has come. With few exceptions, each book I’ve been “called” to read has been essential to understanding some facet of my life at that moment. And so it was with The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie. The bookish fates worked their magic again.

psst...let's make her read another one by Crichton

I first became aware of The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie due to a blithe reference one friend made about another. Immediately, I was intrigued. Was this person truly a Brodie? I had little time to ponder this before encountering another reference to the book via one of my favorite book blogs, Books 4 Breakfast, where I read this review on the book. The very next day, I came upon yet another reference to the short novel. My bookish destiny, it seemed, was at hand yet again, and I ordered Muriel Spark’s novel without delay.

My immediate motivation for reading The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie was not to enjoy the book as much as it was to see if I knew anyone who could be described as a “Miss Brodie in her prime.” Thankfully, I can say with honesty that I cannot recognize Miss Brodie in anyone I know.

You see, Miss Jean Brodie is not a teacher one should emulate. She is unprofessional and discusses with her students matters of professional import that are best kept between adults. Worse still is her narcissism and belief that only her opinions are correct. Her likes and dislikes are to be taken up (or rejected, as the case may be) by her young, impressionable students. Most troubling is the fact that Brodie consciously meddles in the private affairs of her students, at times with disastrous results. It is no surprise that Miss Brodie, teaching as she does in the late 1930s, finds the politics of Mussolini and Hitler attractive.

The novel surrounds Brodie and her core group of students, especially Sandy, the student who receives the most attention from the omniscient narrator. The prose is both deft and concise; much is spaced into only about 150 pages. The structure of the novel is like an ever-tightening spiral: the reader is told the ending of the book at the very beginning, but the specifics are held back until the very end.

Despite the remarkable technical aspects of the novel, I was ultimately left cold by the book. I did not feel as though I truly understood the bizarre Brodie or her motivation; nor did I truly understood Sandy, the most enigmatic of characters. This is a book that needs to be reread; I get the feeling that I'll be able to appreciate Miss Jean Brodie after a few more years have passed. Perhaps I'm a bit too young to fully comprehend her perspective.

In a nutshell: Quick and intriguing, The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie begs to be reread. I'm sure I'll do it...one day.

Bibliolatry Scale: 3 out of 6 stars

well I never saw THAT coming

The Invention of Morel
Adolfo Bioy Casares

The Invention of Morel has been getting a lot of attention recently due to its appearance on Lost. I don’t watch Lost, so don’t expect any great revelations about how Morel explains the show. By the way, are they still on that damn island? I only watch quality television, like Big Brother 9. I like my tv with a side of brainlessness, thank you very much.

The Invention of Morel begins as our unnamed protagonist, a fugitive from the law, hides on an uninhabited island. One day, mysterious tourists suddenly appear, and our fugitive is frightened they have come searching for him. He needn’t have feared, however; it’s clear they are unaware of him.

He soon becomes entranced by one of the tourists, the beautiful Faustine (inspired by actress Louise Brooks, who appears on the cover). The narrator often hides in the bushes in order to watch Faustine as she watches the sunset. His love for Faustine soon overcomes his fear of capture, and he plans to speak to her.

the muse

When he tries to express his love, he is met with derision, for Faustine ignores him. Soon, however, he comes to realize that she, like all others on the island, ignores him not out of derision but because he cannot be seen. By anyone. Who is truly there? Who is not? What can explain this mystery?

When I finally understood what was happening, I was shocked. As you can tell by the title of this post, I never saw that one coming. No worries: I won’t spoil a thing. I doubt I could explain it coherently anyway.

Let me say right up front that this is one of those books that is much smarter than I am, and so my response to it must come in two forms:

1) the “smart” response that discusses this book as a philosophical work of art;

2) my “real” response that discusses this book as a book.

Feel free to read only the response that interests you most.


THE SMART RESPONSE

Any “smart” response to this book will be painful, and I don’t really feel like thinking right now. A smart response to this book will read like one of those papers I wrote in grad school. DO. NOT. WANT. I need more coffee.

I know! I’ll go make some another pot.

Ok, done. Yummm. Coffee.

I know! I’ll write the real response. Then, when that’s finished, I’ll come back to do this one.

I’m so smart!


THE REAL RESPONSE

You know what? Casares is way too goddamn smart for me.

I understood The Invention of Morel, and I understood the points (at least I think I do, but, let’s face it: I didn’t try too hard, either) Casares was making about creation, immortality, and the nature of reality, but I didn’t enjoy the read as much as I wanted to. As I was reading, I couldn't help but feel that I had to write a paper on it later, and that scared me.

Thankfully it was only 100 pages – and with pictures, too! Now that’s nifty.

In a nutshell: When you first begin Morel, you’ll definitely never guess what’s really going on. It's fascinating and prompts one to ponder the nature of existence and all that, but...my brain hurts.

Oh, yeah, and the "smart" response? Fuck it. I have a snow day today!! No thinking for me!!

Bibliolatry Scale: 5 out of 6 for thought-provokingness; 3 out of 6 for enjoyability = 4 out of 6 total

Peer pressure kills

The Grass Is Singing
Doris Lessing

The Grass is Singing was my second jaunt into the world of Lessing; this, her first novel, is set against the backdrop of white-ruled South Africa. This short novel (practically a novella, really) is a study in psychology, portraying the suffocating nature of both the landscape and the society that inhabits it.

For awhile, I was so stifled by the setting that, despite the cool weather, I could feel the South African heat almost as if it were literally upon me. How on earth do people live in such conditions? The sun, the heat, the humidity — give me my foggy, dreary climes any day of the week. I prefer a jaunt upon the moors before a walk on the beach any day.

But a walk on the beach is most certainly what is this book is NOT, not matter how similar the weather may be. The novel begins as a black man is arrested for the murder of a white woman, arrested, interestingly enough, hours after the murder and yet still at the scene of the crime. The murderer, knowing his fate is sealed, makes no attempt to flee. Meanwhile, the victim’s husband wanders the nearby fields, having suffered a mental breakdown. What could have brought these three individuals to this state? We will soon learn that all three are victims, and Lessing will examine the myriad causes and effects that have laid these people so low.

Soon after describing this final scene, Lessing takes us back in time, to a moment when the deceased, Mary, is alive and well. In fact, she flourishes. One immediately wonders how such a happy person can meet such a fate, and we realize how much can change in an instant. Mary is what is deemed by others to be an odd sort of woman, although she herself is oblivious to their judgment – she is a single woman living independently and happily, and though she nears thirty, she has not married. In fact, she has no plans to – she enjoys her life as it is, free and complete.

Unfortunately, one day Mary overhears some friends discussing her odd lifestyle, and finds shame in their condemnation and curiosity. At once questioning her lifestyle, she decides it might be best if she married after all.

Wait, WHAT???

YOU EEDIOT!

And so, Mary enters into what is, not surprisingly, an unhappy and unfulfilling marriage with a man completely incapable of satisfying any of her needs. Poor Dick Turner. It’s not his fault; he didn’t know how poor his taste in a wife would turn out to be.

Dick is a farmer ... well, sorta. Dick has as much luck growing crops as I have at changing a tire. Dick slaves away, day after day, year after year, and only just manages to avoid total bankruptcy. While he tills the fields, Mary is left alone, sweltering in their tin can of a hut, alone with a rotating cast of servants, all black men she quickly alienates.

The South African society is partially to blame. As a white woman, Mary is forced by social codes to behave in a certain way. She is to be cold, aloof, demanding – even though she is by nature none of those things. And, although not originally a racist, Mary’s forced behavior modifies her way of thinking. Lessing is quite adept at portraying the subtle changes that occur in the attitudes of the whites who arrive in the area: all arrive hopeful, vowing to be different from the others, vowing to be open-minded and friendly. All soon succumb to racism.

Like the rest, Mary quickly changes from the open-minded woman of days past to a demanding, prejudiced housewife who takes out all of her frustrations on her servant. Because of her irrational standards, servant after servant leaves their employ.

Until, that is, Moses arrives. Moses and Mary begin to share an odd bond. Although he is her servant, Moses behaves more like her equal. Mary finds in Moses a comfort she cannot find anywhere else.

Why, then, would Moses kill Mary? Is he murderer or savior? Lessing leaves the reader to ponder these possibilities. If anyone is to blame, it is not Moses, but instead the stifling society into which all are thrown and from which none of them can escape.

In a nutshell: DON’T GET MARRIED JUST BECAUSE YOUR FRIENDS SAY YOU’RE WEIRD FOR BEING SINGLE. If you do, don’t be surprised when your life turns to shit. Duh.

Bibliolatry Scale: 5 out of 6 stars

Cover blurbs finally got it right: this book is perfection

Atonement
Ian McEwan

There are certain books that, after having finished them, one almost weeps for the experience. Reading Atonement, my first McEwan novel, was just such an event.

I’d heard his name bandied about for years, generally in connection to high praise or a literary award, and every time I’d come across another McEwan reference I’d think: “Oh yes, I really *do* need to read some of him right away” and then promptly forget all about the resolution. I only wish I had followed my intuition years ago, or else I would have sooner read Atonement, what might be McEwan's most well-known work (in addition to, perhaps, On Chesil Beach).

To say Atonement was astounding would be putting it mildly, and there really isn't much I can give in the way of praise that hasn't been said by persons more qualified than I. For once, all the praise, all the cover blurbs hailing McEwan as the second coming of [insert lit-changing author here] are true. Suffice it to say, I feel compelled to go out and buy every work of his I can lay my hands on, and I’m just thankful I purchased Saturday at the same time I grabbed this one so I need not wait.

For those of you who haven’t yet read this work (I feel as though I’m the last one to board this train), Atonement is a study in how one person’s incomplete understanding of a situation can have irrevocable, life-altering results. Briony, a young girl given to fantasy, witnesses a scene between her older sister and a young man. Naïve and immature, Briony entirely misinterprets the scene and imagines a reality far different from the one inhabited by her sister. Possessed by her truth, Briony feels compelled to act, and in so doing sets forth a chain of events that will change the lives of everyone involved.

Please bear in mind that the above summary does entirely zero justice the novel, which is grander in scope and much more compelling than it might seem. At first, Atonement forced a visceral reaction from me that prevented me from finishing the book more quickly. I loathed Briony with a passion and could not bear to read too much of the book at once. I wanted to tear the pages of the novel in an attempt to beat this brat senseless. As the novel progresses, however, the characters grow and change, and so too did my perspective. By the end of the novel, I had come to feel a sort of pity for Briony (even though I’d still like to give her a good smack), whose life is also forever affected by her unwise, childish actions.

Finally, IMDB lists this film as being released in the UK in September of this year. Has it premiered over here yet, or have I just been dolefully unaware of it? I’m not sure I can take Keira Knightly as Cecilia, but I suppose one must push on, regardless of the misfortunes life throws one’s way. Sigh.

In a nutshell: If there’s a flaw in this book I can’t find it, but far be it from me to point one out if I could. Atonement = perfection.

Bibliolatry Scale: 6 out of 6 stars

Serves you right, fools

The Haunting of Hill House
Shirley Jackson

I always wonder to myself: If I had the opportunity to spend a night in a "haunted" house, would I go? I say so in theory, but would I really? Somehow, I think I'd chicken out. Visiting is one thing, but spending the night? Isn't that just asking for trouble? And when you tempt fate, don't be surprised when you get bitten in the ass. So, to the characters of Shirley Jackson's novella The Haunting of Hill House, I say serves you right.

The novella begins as Dr. Montague seeks people to assist him in studying Hill House. He wants to document evidence of supernatural phenomena, and he seeks those with some history of involvement with the paranormal. Despite the dozens of invitations he sends, only two assistants arrive at the door to Hill House: Eleanor, a shy and lonely woman who has recently been freed from servitude by the death of her mother, and Theo, a sophisticated lady who can pick up on the emotions and thoughts of others. Along with them is Luke, the nephew of the owner, there to keep an eye on things. The four of them plan to spend the summer in Hill House and see if the rumors are true.

And what, exactly, are the rumors? It’s true the house has a checkered past – lots of “accidental” deaths and even a suicide or two – but nothing that clearly proves the house is evil. Of course, there’s the unfortunate connection between “Hill” and “hell,” but that isn’t proof of the supernatural. And just because no one will go there after dark might be just out of respect. At any rate, the house is huge and impressive, and the rooms within rooms adds to the claustrophobic effect by making it difficult to find one’s way around. The house consumes its inhabitants.

okay, maybe I'd take a little evil if it meant living here

Despite the overwhelming sense of claustrophobia, nothing much happens at first. Doors close that were left open, but perhaps that’s just due to the odd geometry of the house. As the doctor explains, every angle in the house is wrong, creating a “large distortion” in the house. Soon enough, however, more sinister occurrences happen, and it becomes increasingly difficult to explain these events as purely innocent, especially as the suffocating nature of the house causes cracks in the psyche of each inhabitant.

However, it soon becomes clear that Eleanor is targeted in a different way than the others. This isn’t totally unforeseen, since she has from the beginning of the book repeated a line of poetry to herself over and over: Journeys end in lovers meeting. Perhaps that’s not the best sentiment one can feel upon meeting what is commonly assumed to be an evil place.

Eleanor is certainly affected differently than the others, and no wonder: she is all alone in the world, and it is her loneliness and need to belong that mark her as more susceptible to Hill House than the others. She becomes enmeshed in a world of illusions, and at times the reader finds it difficult to separate what is actually happening from what Eleanor is imagining. Are the others turning against her? Or is the house infiltrating her mind? And what will become of her -- can she withstand the onslaught of Hill House?

In a nutshell: An excellent psychological ghost story; it's a must for fans of Jackson or for anyone who enjoys a good, unnerving tale.

Bibliolatry Scale: 5.5 out of 6 stars

A Formula for Success: dumb parents + evil child = Nobel

The Fifth Child
Doris Lessing

I’ve tried to expose myself to some of Doris Lessing’s work, although the woman is so damned prolific that, despite thinking myself quite brilliant for choosing three of her works, I actually haven’t really read too much of her at all. I’ve chosen The Grass is Singing (1950), and The Fifth Child (1988), The Grandmothers (2003), so it’s a pretty good survey of her stuff.

I was nervous to read Lessing, since upon hearing of my intention to read some of her work, a poster had warned me against her “turgid prose,” and I feared my endeavor would be an exercise in pain. Keeping this warning in mind, I began my foray into the newest Nobel with the shortest – and therefore least intimidating – of my purchases, The Fifth Child.

Immediately, I was relieved: her prose was not turgid, in my opinion; instead, I found her writing both simple and elegant. Lessing begins the tale without delay or unnecessary frills, and we are quickly plunged into the world of the Lovatt.

The novel begins with the meeting of David and Harriet, who meet at an office party and instantaneously recognize in the other the very qualities they had been seeking. It isn’t long before the two are married, eager to embark upon the ONLY GOAL THEY HAVE: children.

No, seriously.

I’m not saying that having children isn’t an admirable goal, but these people take it to a whole ‘nother level. The second they are married, they buy a huge house they can't afford because they know that they will one day fill it with lots and lots of children. Harriet gets pregnant immediately and quits working, because working mothers = bad, or some such. And, despite financial problems that do not go away, they keep. having. children. What could go wrong?

sometimes a smackdown's necessary;
thankfully, Ben will do just that

Needless to say, I was really glad when Ben, the evil fifth child, was born. I sat back and snickered as these two freaks received a little karmic kickback. Their fifth child is, to put it bluntly, an evil little troll.

I’m not sure if The Fifth Child is meant to be a scathing indictment of those whose only goal is procreation, or if Lessing’s literary sword seeks a broader target, such as bourgeois domesticity at large. Lessing might simply be denouncing selfish parents, and lord knows there are plenty of those out there. Perhaps Lessing means none of these, and simply wants to stick it to her annoying protagonists – in which case, I can’t say I blame her. As someone with little-to-no domestic instincts, I couldn’t relate at all to the Lovatts, and I took a perverse joy in seeing Ben wreak utter havoc on their domestic bliss.

Ben is primitive and violent from the womb, and this behavior only worsens after his birth. To say that he does not interact well with other family members is putting it mildly, and soon, Ben has destroyed the peaceful domesticity that has reigned in the Lovatt house for years before his birth. The Lovatt house, which has become a haven for not only the immediate family but for anyone with even a slight connection to the happy couple, eventually stands empty and nearly abandoned.

The time quickly comes when Harriet must choose between her family and her fifth and final child. What’s a good mother to do? Unfortunately, Harriet’s a sucker. If Ben were my kid, I’d beat his monstrous, symbolic ass back to the Stone Age where he belongs.*

In a nutshell: Short, thought-provoking, and now with that nougaty, Nobel goodness.

Bibliolatry Scale: 5 out of 6 stars (although I think my overall hatred of the Lovatts is preventing me from rating The Fifth Child higher.)




*This is not entirely true. I’d have killed the little fucker long before it got to that point.**


**This is also not true, as I doubt any child will ever be dumb enough to exit my womb.***


***These points are all moot anyway, since I am very obviously Team Ben. Seriously. Watching Ben tear the Lovatts apart is really quite charming.

New review and random reading

A kinda-sorta new review is up at Pajiba: a reworking of my earlier review of The Road by Cormac McCarthy. The new review (one which focuses less on zombies and more on -- call me iconoclast, I know -- the work itself) can be found here.

You might also enjoy reading the following fascinating miscellanea:

Hollywood scumbags an Afghan kid.

Because we all know that people -- excuse me, dinosaurs -- don't actually read magazines.

Assuming he was in possession of nothing else, could you be arrested for a book?

Paper Cuts predicts the Nobel, which should be announced soonish.

For the Life of Pi fan, Yann Martel talks about his inspiration.

In case you give a damn, Oprah wants you to read this next.

Dude, I didn't even know you could put vodka there. That's kinda awesome.

Get ready: the gestalt is coming!

More Than Human
Theodore Sturgeon

Have you ever heard of science-fiction master Theodore Sturgeon? One of the leading figures of science-fiction’s Golden Age? What, you haven’t? For shame!

Actually, it’s not much of a surprise if you haven’t heard of Sturgeon. Despite being acclaimed as a science-fiction master, Sturgeon receives little to no attention in America—despite the fact that he was an American writer. (I had assumed he was British until reading his biography on wikipedia. Incidentally, he was a distant relative of Ralph Waldo Emerson, which really isn’t all that interesting I guess.

At any rate, I might have remained ignorant of Sturgeon’s presence in the literary world were it not for Edwin Hesselthwite over at Little Man, What Now?. When he recommended I read some of Sturgeon's work, I was immediately intrigued and I felt instinctively Sturgeon was worth a try. I hunted down a copy of More Than Human and sat back to see what this Sturgeon was all about.

Upon reading the opening of the novel, I was immediately taken with Sturgeon’s style. Unlike many other writers of science-fiction, Sturgeon’s prose is not stark and to the point, like, say, Philip K. Dick. Instead, Sturgeon veers into a poetic prose that competes with his original ideas, and it is difficult to say which of these two characteristics is more important when determining his importance as a science-fiction writer.

And while his prose is definitely beautiful (and rare, for the genre), it was his original ideas set forth in More Than Human that wowed me more. The novel’s focus is the next step in human evolution, and Sturgeon conceives a wildly new human than I’ve ever seen before. Sturgeon’s new human will be Homo Gestalt, a single being composed of individuals who are incomplete alone. As one of the characters remarks, “the I is all of us.”

The novel is composed of three sections; in the first, the group finds one another after being drawn together. The group is made of Lone, a man others believe is an idiot and little better than an animal; Janie, a young girl capable of telekinesis; Bonnie and Beanie, twins who can teleport but who do not speak; and Baby, a severely retarded infant whose mind is like a computer. Alone, these individuals can barely function in society, but together they make a single unit can both survive and finally belong.

The second section picks up several years later; Lone has died and a new Gestalt leader must be found. This time, Gerry is called to the group, only Gerry has been abused and is filled with anger and hate. The group must cope with his emotional handicap just as they dealt with Lone’s. The third section follows the addition of the group’s final member, Hip, who adds morality and completes the group. Of course, this is the most superficial of summaries and does not come close to touching on the myriad capabilities of humanity's new human. You'll just have to read More Than Human to find out exactly what Homo Gestalt is capable of doing.

More Than Human left me wondering: Is Sturgeon’s importance due to the poetic beauty he brought to science-fiction? Or because he conceived of new directions for humanity, directions never before seen in science-fiction? Hardly an expert on the genre, I’m in no position to say. I can, however, state the obvious, that Sturgeon is unduly ignored in this country. Don’t feel bad for Sturgeon, though; dead since 1985, he isn’t much affected by the American public’s ignorance of his work. Instead, it’s readers who may never enjoy this master who are missing out the most. If you’re a fan of science fiction, you owe it to yourself to read him.

In a nutshell: More Than Human is unlike any science fiction you’ve read before. It’s weird, it’s poetic, it’s unforgettable.

Bibliolatry Scale: 5 out of 6 stars

Reality’s always better when it’s made up

Northanger Abbey
Jane Austen

Catherine Morland is a girl after my own heart. She loves a good novel, especially a good Gothic romance. Unfortunately, her propensity for such literature colors her perception of reality, adding an overactive imagination to an existing naiveté. Because she so wishes to see herself the heroine of a great Gothic romance, she often finds conspiracies where there are none and frequently misreads people’s motivations.

But we can’t really blame her. How many times do people view life through the lens of their favorite songs, television shows, and movies? Hopefully readers of Bibliolatry are more influenced by their favorite books, but as Jane Austen proves, doing so is hardly preferable.

It all begins when Catherine Morland is invited to vacation with family friends. An innocent seventeen-year-old girl, Catherine is often at a loss in Bath and frequently misreads the social situations in which she finds herself. She immediately falls in love with Henry Tilney but remains unsure as to his feelings for her. Soon, however, she befriends his sister as well – their happy friendship culminates in her visit to the family estate, Northanger Abbey.

A real abbey! To say Catherine is excited at such a prospect would be an understatement. She views such an excursion as an opportunity to experience a real Gothic setting. Catherine wants nothing more than to explore the old abbey and discover its secrets. But what secrets does it hide, if any? Is there a great mystery lurking at the heart of Northanger Abbey, or is Catherine simply confusing fiction with reality? What about Mr. Henry Tilney – does he truly love her, or is she simply romanticizing a rather mundane friendship? And what will become of the silly girl who sees secrets, plots, and omens everywhere she turns?

Of course, an Austen novel would not be an Austen novel if it lacked her famous social commentary, which is thankfully not lost here. But while Austen criticizes the social hypocrisy and false flattery that ran so rampant back then (as it still often does today), one might say the social commentary takes a backseat to Austen’s critique of the Gothic genre.

To put it simply, Northanger Abbey is a novel for those who love novels, especially Gothic ones, and even though I’ve already set two summer challenges for myself one involving poetry and one involving my bought-but-ignored books, reading Northanger Abbey has inspired me to add yet one more challenge.

I hereby declare that the summer of 2007 will also be known as The Gothic Summer. Even though I’ve labeled several modern works as Gothic (check out the Gothic Lit label to the right if you’re interested), I’ve only reviewed three truly classic Gothic Lit novels: The Monk, The Woman in White, and The Castle of Otranto. Before the end of the summer I also plan to add The Italian and The Mysteries of Udolpho by Ann Radcliffe as well as The Necromancer by Peter Teuthold.

If I’m missing a great read which you feel should be added to my Gothic Lit Challenge, please leave a comment and let me know. Hopefully I haven’t bitten off more than I can chew with all these challenges I’m setting for myself. Oh well. Thankfully failure is always an option.

Don't ask me; Rummy appeared when I did a GIS on "failure is an option."
There's a joke here, but you go ahead instead.

In a nutshell: Fast, fun, and funny, with a few spooks thrown in along the way. A must for Austen fans, Gothic lit fans, and just plain "good-book" fans.

Bibliolatry Scale: 5.5 out of 6 stars

Who knows what monsters lurk in the hearts of men?

Grendel
John Gardner

Grendel knows! Of course, that's because he's peeking through your windows. Poor Grendel, always an outsider. Oh well.

For anyone not familiar with the original source, Grendel was inspired by the epic poem Beowulf, sung by scops and transcribed by monks between the 8th and 10th centuries. Beowulf describes the feats of the Geat warrior of the same name, and only one such example is his killing of the monster Grendel. Grendel, however, focuses solely on the monster, humanizing him and presenting a complex being not found in the original. While Grendel meets the same end in each, the focus here is entirely shifted to the “enemy” of the original.

As one might expect, Gardner turns labels like “hero” and “enemy” on their heads. The novel documents the origins of Grendel’s hatred of humans, including the time he is stuck in a tree and found by a band of humans. When he tries to speak to them, they cannot understand him and, hearing only vicious howls, attack him. This band of humans, led by Hrothgar (who becomes their king), colonize the area and lose their nomadic ways. Such an event allows Grendel to observe these strange creatures further and he soon learns he is similar to – yet fatally different from – them in several key ways.

Why is he carrying a purse?

For one, Grendel remains tragically misunderstood by the humans with whom he wants to connect. In fact, one could say that Grendel examines the effects of miscommunication, as Grendel is unable to truly communicate with anyone, except perhaps the Dragon, a fatalistic character who transcends time. The dragon informs Grendel that existence is meaningless, an idea Grendel finds confusing; nevertheless, coupled with the Dragon's spell which renders him invulnerable to human attack, Grendel begins his 12-year attack on the meadhall of the Danes, an attack which eventually leads to the arrival of Beowulf and consequently Grendel's demise.

Another way in which Grendel differs from humans involves the philosophical elements of perception and meaning. The novel proposes that we create the universe by observing it: Grendel comes to see this as a reason to destroy; humans, however, use this idea positively, creating for themselves meaning where before there was none.

Ultimately, as Beowulf explains, "whether you make it a grave or a garden of roses is not the point." Of course, whether one makes her life a personal grave or rose garden is meaningless to the world at large; it is everything, however, to the individual doing the perceiving. We could all do with the reminder that life is what we make of it; even the best of lives can be a grave for those too foolish to see it otherwise.

In a nutshell: An excellent read, regardless of one's familiarity with the original source. Grendel has much to say about humanity, meaning, and perception.

Bibliolatry Scale: 5.5 out of 6 stars