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!

Delightful, intelligent, insightful, etc. etc. etc.

Sum: Forty Tales from the Afterlives
David Eagleman

It's always a pleasure to find that glowing blurbs get it right. Too often in my experience, a surfeit of praise indicates a turd. Not this time. Sum lives up to its praise -- and then some.

Sum is a collection of forty short (some only a page) tales that investigate "entirely new frameworks" (to quote the author in an interview) of the afterlife. You won't find people just hanging out on clouds: instead, you might relive all your experiences of the same type at once (that means sitting on the toilet for five months); you might find yourself with a disappointed God; you might even find yourself with the aliens who created humanity as an experiment. Would you like it if heaven were populated by only those people you knew in life? Perhaps -- perhaps not.

Eagleman's prose is so simple, yet so lovely, he makes it seem like anyone can write like he does. The stories are short, powerful, and intelligent, and I would bet it's nearly impossible to find a reader who didn't like this book.

If you'd like a sample, three excerpts are available online. Click here to read "Expectations," just one of the forty scenarios in which you just might find yourself.

In a nutshell: Why didn't I think of this? Oh, because I'm not that smart. Or that intelligent. Damn you, Eagleman.

Bibliolatry Scale: 6 out of 6 stars

FTCBS: alll miiiiine

Required Reading: The Sparrow

The Sparrow
Mary Doria Russell

Oh, The Sparrow. Where do I even begin?

I finished this book weeks ago, and yet I have not been able to put metaphorical pen to paper, until now. The interim has been filled with ceaseless pondering, The Sparrow continuing to occupy my mind even as I read several other novels.

Even now, scenes and characters from the novel still wander the halls of my mind, poking in at inopportune moments. When you consider that this is MDR's first novel, my envy is complete. Damn you, woman.

Before beginning with the obligatory summary, I must first state, as others have before me, that, although The Sparrow is classified as science-fiction, you should ignore this label if sci-fi ain't your bag. Although it may feature elements of sci-fi, this is literary fiction all the way.

Okay, on with the obligatory: The Sparrow follows two different timelines; we begin in 2059, when Emilio Sandoz, the lone survivor of an expedition to a faraway planet called Rakhat, returns to earth. Immediately an inquest is opened to discover the fates of the other explorers, but Sandoz is far too traumatized to offer up his secrets.

Before we can get too far, however, we are returned to 2019, as humanity first discovers life exists on Rakhat. While scanning the skies for extraterrestrial radio transmissions, beautiful, hymn-like singing can be heard. Because such music is nearly identical to our own songs of worship, many wonder if Rakhat can offer proof for the existence of God.

Quicker than you can shake a finger (or maybe not, if you happen to be Sandoz), eight intrepid explorers are off to meet the inhabitants of Rakhat. What they encounter is beyond all imagination and prompts them to question the meaning of faith, existence, and humanity. As an agnostic (something I dislike about myself, thanks to Yann Martel), I found this book very powerful; believers and non-believers alike cannot help but be affected by this novel.

In a nutshell: This crap review falls quite short of the power that is The Sparrow; simply put, you MUST read this book.

Oh, and Brad Pitt is set to play Emilio Sandoz? BLASPHEMY!

Oh, and, and -- many thanks to Heather for bringing this book to my attention!

Bibliolatry Scale: 6 out of 6 stars

FTCBS: Personal copy, woot woot

I can't believe I cried over a rat

Firmin
Sam Savage

If you're a book lover, you absolutely must read Firmin. Firmin is, well, a rat -- but he's the most likable fellow I've met in a long time.

Living in the basement of a bookstore in the 1960s, Firmin survives his early years by munching on the likes of Joyce and Melville. Soon, however, he learns that books are not for eating, but for reading -- and read he does, becoming arguably the most-educated rat to ever live.

Unfortunately, with his increasing knowledge comes a self-awareness that is none too kind. As Firmin becomes all-too-aware of his own limitations, he yearns for a greater life than the one he must endure.

Filled with allusions and pathos, Firmin is a book for everyone -- but especially for those who love literature. And look: the book comes replete with its own little bite mark. Sigh. I love you, Firmin!

In a nutshell: This is one rat you can't help but love. You can live with me, little buddy!

Bibliolatry Scale: 6 out of 6 stars

FTCBS: I bought this one myself.

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!)

Rachel, my torment

My Cousin Rachel
Daphne DuMaurier

I've been meaning to post about my lastest encounter with the late, great Daphne DuMaurier. Not too long ago, I read Rebecca, and I was floored. I knew I had to read something else by this author, and when I found a discounted version of My Cousin Rachel, I knew fate was on my side.

It wasn't long before fate and I had yet another run-in, this time during one momentous day in October when I was called for jury duty. Thankfully, I remembered my new friend and brought her along for the day. We had a wonderful time together, as we eagerly anticipated hearing each subsequent round of suckers jurors who were next up. I dodged a bullet that day, but if it weren't for the experience, I might not have been able to read My Cousin Rachel. Each hellacious hour was filled with this spellbinding story, and while reading I was able to imagine that I was far from the courthouse that day.

Instead, I was on the estate of Philip Ashley (AKA Idiot Who Needs a Smack in the Head). Philip, who has been raised by his cousin Ambrose, looks back on his life and the choices that have brought him to this moment. Idiot takes us back in time, to a time when Ambrose was still alive. They loved one another. A lot. (But not like that -- jeez.)

At any rate, they love one another so much that Idiot fairly falls apart after Ambrose passes away. Ambrose, a confirmed bachelor (I'm pretty sure he likes to spit on the floor in the face of encroaching femininity or some such) goes off to Italy for a little healthification. While there, he meets his cousin Rachel, whom he -- previous misogyny be damned -- quickly marries. Unfortunately, the happy groom's health takes a turn for the worse, and it isn't long before he's dead. When Cousin Idiot learns the news, he is crushed.

Right: Olivia deHavilland as Rachel squares off against Richard Burton as the Idiot

Impetuously, he blames Rachel. But when he inherits the entire estate, it becomes clear that Rachel has no financial claim on anything. Perhaps his blame was hasty. But then Rachel returns to England, and all sorts of shit hit the fan. Philip is soon torn apart by powerful, conflicting forces: he falls in love with her, but also believes she had a hand in his cousin's death. Plenty of evidence support each side of the argument.

Was Rachel guilty? Did she poison Ambrose -- and does she mean to do the same to the idiot? One can only hope! (He's dumb enough to warrant it.) But don't worry about him: he's got a fool-proof plan for flushing her out into the open. Only, not. Read the book and be flabbergasted at that genius ending! Brilliant!

In a nutshell: The ambiguity! The uncertainty! DuMaurier, you've done it again.

Bibliolatry Scale: 6 out of 6 stars

FTCBS: I bought this one meself, so la la la lala.

An open letter to Melanie Benjamin

Alice I Have Been
Melanie Benjamin

Dear Ms. Benjamin,

I know Alice I Have Been won't be published until January, so I hope you don't mind my impertinence by discussing your book so far before its publication date. Unfortunately, I just can't wait. It's that good.

True, I am predisposed to liking things that in any way involve Charles Dodgson, but I think my affinity for the man and his (hopefully) misunderstood fascination with children would lend me a keener critical eye. In fact, yes, I think that is so. My praise, therefore, is all the more difficult to secure. Sure, let's go with that.

It must be noted that I finished your novel a few weeks ago, and my praise remains undimmed. My reactions remain unchanged. I deemed Alice perfect immediately upon finishing it, and I still deem it so today.

The truth is, Alice I Have Been was one of the most enchanting, most moving books I've ever read. Alice Liddell comes alive in your novel, and watching the young girl transform into an elderly woman was both utterly riveting and totally realistic. Although I'm sure much of your work was a creative reimagining of events, the story never felt false. More importantly, Alice never felt false. It seemed as though she herself had written a memoir of her life, so totally did you capture her voice and her life. Perhaps that is the greatest compliment I can give.

However, I must make clear that Alice I Have Been is an excellent story on its own, regardless of the characters' connections to a famous author or another literary work. In fact, your novel does stand on its own, for at its core it is simply a moving story of a life blighted by the scrutiny of others.

My biggest complaint is that I received this book through LibraryThing's Early Reviewer program; while it is debatable that I would have heard of your novel otherwise, I can't help but feel chagrined when I see the ARC. Yours is a novel for which a quality copy is a must. That's okay -- your Alice, like her previous incarnations, won't be easily forgotten.

I wish you nothing but the biggest success with Alice I Have Been. It is more than a story of a young woman famous for her relationship with an older man. You have brought Alice to life and, in the process, allowed readers to find themselves in her.

In a nutshell: Simply enchanting, entirely captivating: this book should be preordered immediately.

Bibliolatry Scale: 6 out of 6 stars

envy is ignorance

The Little Stranger
Sarah Waters

You know, I don't even want to do an August recap, since everyone will vomit when they see that I read two books in August. That's right, TWO.

I know, I gagged a bit as well.

Sarah Waters gave me such an auspicious start to the month, as I tore through The Little Stranger like a bat outta hell. I loved Fingersmith, and, when The Little Stranger was longlisted for the Booker Prize, I went right out to see if it lived up to the hype.

It did.

In fact, perhaps Waters is to blame for the rest of the month being so non-bookish for me -- The Little Stranger was so good, so riveting, that nothing I picked up afterward could hold my attention. That's it! Damn you, you feisty little minx.

Anyway, in The Little Stranger a powerful, supernatural force is threatening the inhabitants of Hundreds Hall, and Dr. Faraday is there to save the day. We watch events unfold with increasing intensity, as Faraday is frequently called upon to lend a helping hand. Faraday himself is a bit of an outsider and his understanding is incomplete at best. The reader plunges along with him as he comes to know the family and their mysterious home better.

The Little Stranger is equal parts ghost story, social commentary, mystery, and psychological profile. There's so much to say, but it's better not to spoil the fun.

In a nutshell: Better than Fingersmith? I think so. The Little Stranger is a moving, thrilling, ultimately heartbreaking examination of class, love, and longing.

Bibliolatry Scale: 6 out of 6

A smarter review of the behemoth

Drood
Dan Simmons

Although I've already reviewed Drood here, I wrote another, more "legit" review for the awesome Pajiba. This new review is a little longer, better developed, and a little less "omg Dan Simmons Iloveyou."

If you'd like to read it, by all means, click here.

Dan Simmons, I heart you

Drood
Dan Simmons

That's it. I need a Kindle. Like, now. I suddenly feel a need to read everything ever written by Dan Simmons -- and, considering his propensity for the lengthy novel, I'm thinking the Kindle is the way to go.

My introduction to Dan Simmons came with The Terror, a book I fully expected to dislike, seeing as how it involved, of all things, boats. Mention boats and I simply cannot...stay...awa -- zzzzzzzzz. See? It happened again. Except that Dan Simmons makes boats interesting. Compelling, even.

As soon as I learned of his latest novel, Drood, I knew I was in for a similar treat. This time, Simmons turns his well-researched eye to those famous frenemies, Charles Dickens and Wilkie Collins. Mr. Billy Wilkie Collins is our esteemed narrator, and a more entertaining narrator -- if not a more reliable one -- couldn't be found. Wilkie's tale will force readers to consider what is real, and what is illusion. While posing that question, however, thrills and chills are encountered in droves.

Just as in The Terror, Drood centers on a real-life event that Simmons then meticulously explores, adding a supernatural twist along the way. The event in question is the Staplehurst rail crash of June 1865, which Dickens survived. On this day, the first seven carriages of the Staplehurst train plunged off a bridge -- only the carriage in which Dickens was riding was safe. Dickens, who aided the wounded and dying immediately after the accident, was never the same after this day.

Simmons uses the Staplehurst accident as the backbone of Drood, injecting the spectral figure of Drood himself into the wreckage of the crash. Who -- or what -- is this Drood? What does he want? I could tell you, Dear Reader, but you'll have much more fun if you find out for yourself.

Clearly, Drood's a pimp --
beyond that, I'm keeping mum

I've heard some claim that Drood is good, but not as good as The Terror. I disagree. I think it's equally as good -- if not better. I loved everything about this big behemoth.

In a nutshell: It's long, yes, but every single page is worth it. Dan Simmons, if we weren't both married, I'd be a' comin for you.

Bibliolatry Scale: 6 out of 6 stars

Manderley!

Rebecca
Daphne DuMaurier

Despite my glee at April's arrival, I'm grumpy. Why? I didn't purchase a new copy of Rebecca, one of the latest titles in my reading resolution. Instead, I bought a used copy, thinking I wouldn't really care about having an old and used one.

Unfortunately, I was wrong. I've fallen in love with this most-amazing book, and now I'm pissed that I don't own a better copy. Also, I'm angry that I totally sucked on this resolution this month. And, not surprisingly, I'm behind in my reviews.

But I digress.

I feel as though I'm the only one who didn't know the story of Rebecca, so a summary probably isn't necessary. If you're one of the few left alive that hasn't raved about this book, allow me a brief recap: our young narrator has just married the man of her dreams: the rich and mysterious Maxim de Winter. Things aren't so peachy, however, after their return to the de Winter estate, Manderley. Mrs. de Winter finds it impossible to run such a large household, and it seems as though she's doomed to fail. Even worse, the housekeeper, Mrs. Danvers, seems to hate her, her husband seems to be hiding something, and everywhere she turns, she is haunted by Rebecca, the first Mrs. de Winter who died a year before. You may think you know what's really going on -- but just wait. The suspense slowly builds until the mysteries of Manderley are unveiled in a stunning, surprise ending.

For years, I had heard Rebecca was good, but I didnt realize it was THAT GOOD. I couldn't put it down. I read while working, during eating -- even in the car (hubby was driving, obviously). Upon finishing the novel, I felt engulfed by the sadness one only feels at the end of a rare, amazing book. I could go on -- in fact, I can't say enough good things about Rebecca -- but now that I'm so far behind in both reading and reviewing, I haven't the time. Suffice it to say, if you haven't yet read this novel, do so immediately -- I can't imagine you'll be disappointed.

In a nutshell: Suspenseful, gorgeously written, utterly un-put-down-able -- Rebecca is a glory of a novel.

Bibliolatry Scale: 6 out of 6 stars

Valhalla, I am coming

The Terror
Dan Simmons

I’ve been told there are two types of people in the world: those who read the whale parts of Moby Dick, and those who skip them. I proudly admit to being among the latter, even though the above maxim omits a larger section of the population: those who don’t read Melville’s masterpiece at all. Whale parts notwithstanding, I’m proud I managed even 85% of it, and for one very simple reason: boats confuse the shit out of me.

First, there’s the terminology. What the hell’s wrong with saying “front, “back,” and “side”? Start throwing around terms like aft and starboard and god only knows what and my eyes immediately glaze over like a lonely nerd viewing his first Playboy. Considering Moby Dick is about 800 pages of such boat-ness, I’m just pleased I even minimally understood what I read, even though I probably imagined things happening all kinds of wrong. Oh well.

I discuss my literary psychology to explain my initial hesitation regarding The Terror. Despite glowing reviews from many people, several words loomed in my mind’s eye, inciting a growing terror of my own. Boats. Explorers. History. Boats.

Boats? History? BOATS? For how many pages, exactly???

What the hell kinda snoozefest is this?

Nevertheless, my bookish destiny intervened yet again, throwing The Terror into my path at every opportunity. Needless to say, I bowed to my fates, praying that it wouldn’t be too painful.

Surprisingly enough, The Terror was one of the best books I HAVE EVER READ. I’m not sure anything I can say will come close to describing its excellence.

First, I'll start with what history calls its own: In 1845, two ships (Erebus and Terror) sailed from England. Sir John Franklin, the leader of the expedition, was determined to find the Northwest Passage, the passage above Canada that connects the Atlantic and the Pacific.

Right: Sir John Franklin, leader of the expedition

Unfortunately, the pack ice (great expanses of extremely thick ice) was especially problematic this year, and the ships – and their crews – were frozen in for a period of three years. What happens then is not exactly known, but for the final outcome: ALL perish. There were no survivors, but whether the men succumbed to frigid temperatures (at times reaching -50F), starvation, mutiny, or cannibalism is anyone’s guess.


Left: Francis Rawdon Moira Crozier, the expedition's second-in-command

Enter Dan Simmons to fill in history’s gaps. He fleshes out characters whose real-life personalities have been sacrificed to history’s cold memory, creating Franklin (an idealistic fool), Crozier (an able and determined yet emotionally weak captain), and Goodsir (an inexperienced yet reliable doctor) in addition to countless other characters, from stewards to officers and everyone in between. The use of multiple voices contribute to our understanding of what happens both in their souls and on the ice.

Unfortunately for these men, they are not alone on the treacherous ice that shifts and cracks continuously around them. Something on the ice is stalking them, something intelligent enough to taunt and torture them.

Sometimes I can be quite juvenile, I know

As these men are stuck on the ice for months upon months, their food stores slowly dwindling and madness closing in, they soon realize that there is no escape. Not from the ice, from the thing, or from themselves. And while we know these men are doomed from the opening pages, Simmons is still able to inject both suspense and hope into this chilling novel. The end, as much as it can be, is uplifting.

Finally, I'd like to debunk the biggest criticism levied against The Terror. A few have argued that it is too long, too filled with back story, that Simmons should have excised chunks of text to create more suspense or cohesion.

To that I say: DON’T BE DAFT.

Not a single chapter detracts from the story. At almost 800 pages long, The Terror neither relents nor descends into dullness. If his other works are even half as good as this one, I'll definitely be happy to read more of him.

In a nutshell: Chilling, heartbreaking, uplifting ... perfect. I didn't even mind the boat parts.

Bibliolatry Scale: 6 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

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.

Bow before this work of blood and violence and few commas

Blood Meridian
Cormac McCarthy

Ok, I have to say I LOVE Cormac McCarthy. LOVE LOVE LOVE him. In fact to do him honor I will try to write sparsely using commas as little as possible. This will be hard for I do love my commas but if you try writing like McCarthy you'll find it has its benefits.

In speaking of the author's great genius for the written word I have to be honest: if I were playing the role of Mr. McCarthy I would be a royal prick. The man who wrote Blood Meridian deserves a little step and fetch is all I’m saying. In other words: bow down, plebs. At least that’s how I would act had I his great talent. Hell if Paris fucking Hilton can pull a diva act despite the presence of any discernible talent other than the ability to flash her cootch and drive drunk, I’d say McCarthy can pull diva in spades. And yet after seeing McCarthy’s Oprah interview (his only television interview ever), I’m shocked by how down-to-earth -- nay humble -- the man is. More astonishingly the man who wrote of dead babies and scalped Indians is one of the gentlest men I’ve seen on TV. Now how’s that for irony?

Anyone who has read Blood Meridian cannot remain unaffected by it, regardless of how one feels about the book. Good lord what a book, what an amazing, unforgettable book, and I loathe Westerns so this is saying something. Of course, Blood Meridian is more than just your average Western -- it's history. The Glanton gang did exist, the events depicted in the novel are historically accurate, and many characters -- including the Judge -- were real.

But a warning for those who would attempt this one: Blood Meridian is not for the faint of heart. (Then again, I suppose neither was The Road.) It was interesting to read two of McCarthy’s most famous works at the same time; the two are quite similar and yet utterly different. The Road was easier to read even though it features all the hallmarks of McCarthy’s prose (which becomes easier as one reads him). However The Road affects one emotionally; Blood Meridian is intellectually speaking the greater masterpiece, and though I didn’t enjoy it at every turn it is a novel that will be with me for a long long time.

Blood Meridian follows “the kid,” a 14-year-old orphan who joins a group of scalp-hungry bounty hunters scouring the Texas-Mexico border for Indians. These killers, led by the powerful Judge Holden (more about him later), are cleansing the countryside of its natives and getting paid to do it, and as the novel progresses we see the havoc that bloodlust wreaks on those who wallow in it.

And while the Kid comes to condemn the violence that blazes all around him, one could almost say his moral growth is secondary to the novel for it is the Judge, an enigmatic figure who delights in slaughter and pedophilia, who dominates the work. The Kid is described in the vaguest of terms but of the Judge we know more: he is “a great shambling mutant,” huge, bald and utterly hairless, who seems to be everywhere at once. He is scalper and artist, dancer and fiddler, and is still probably dancing and fiddling to this day for he never appears to age. Is he even human? It is too simplistic to say that he is the devil but like the devil, the Judge seems to have no precursor:

In that sleep and in sleep to follow the judge did visit. Who would come other? A great shambling mutant, silent and serene. Whatever his antecedents, he was something wholly other than their sum, nor was there system by which to divide him back into his origins for he would not go. Whoever would seek out his history through what unraveling of loins and ledgerbooks must stand at last darkened and dumb at the shore of a void without terminus or origin and whatever science he might bring to bear upon the dusty primal matter blowing down out of the millennia will discover no trace of ultimate atavistic egg by which to reckon his commencing.

Such a passage is also an example of the greatness of McCarthy’s style, which is both sparse and dense at the same time. Because of his prose, meticulously researched background, and creation of the incomparable Judge, Cormac McCarthy's Blood Meridian is a masterpiece on several levels. If one can withstand the blazing sun of violence that burns at the novel's core there is much there to behold.

In a nutshell: Both grotesque and beautiful, Blood Meridian deserves its status as one of the most important works of American fiction. Read it before the 2009 movie release, which had better be good or else I'll choke a bitch. Not really but I will shake my fist in anger.

Bibliolatry Scale: 6 out of 6 stars

Insert obligatory "Hey Jude" reference here

Jude the Obscure
Thomas Hardy

I admit it: I have a soft spot for Thomas Hardy. I did my master’s project on Tess of the d'Urbervilles, and I don’t understand why some colleagues of mine roll their eyes upon hearing of my fondness for the tragic writer. Just look at him. Talented and adorable. Take that, naysayers!

Jude the Obscure was Hardy’s last book; the public outcry it provoked compelled Hardy to cease writing fiction for the rest of his life. Hardy, however, was ahead of his time, for Jude the Obscure gives us Jude Fawley and Sue Bridehead, two of the most unconventional characters I have encountered in a long, long time.

The novel follows Jude Fawley though his quest to become a learned man. An orphaned country boy with neither money nor status, Jude has little chance of going to university and making something of himself. These hindrances won’t stop Jude, though, and as a young boy he procures himself some Greek and Latin texts, slowly laboring through them until he can gain some understand of the words. As he grows, he keeps his goal firmly in mind and appears well on the way to achieving it when he meets the wanton Arabella, and, after she tricks him into marriage, life for Jude starts to go downhill. Anyone familiar with Hardy knows Jude won’t end well, but I’ll keep the rest as a surprise (I’ve only discussed the first two out of six books, and there are far, far greater shockers to come).

Jude the Obscure illustrates what happens when one refuses to conform to society’s norms and provides Hardy’s outlooks on marriage (an archaic, economic institution; a true marriage is in one’s heart, not the lawbooks), religion (hypocritical and outdated), and education (elitist and unavailable for those who most want and need it). Jude rarely becomes preachy, however (although some might disagree), and I tore through this over 500 page novel with the quickness.

In a nutshell: I’ve always loved Tess; unfortunately for her, she has been usurped by Jude.

Bibliolatry Scale: 6 out of 6 stars

Read this book: The Road, by Cormac McCarthy

The Road
Cormac McCarthy

I can say with almost 100% certainty that nothing scares me more than

1. the living dead
2. surviving the apocalypse

So I think it goes without saying that The Road scared the hell out of me. Of course, this technically isn’t a novel about zombies, but I think anyone who reads it can agree that McCarthy is writing about both of my biggest fears.

slow, but so persistent

What can I say about The Road that hasn’t already been said? Quite simply, it’s amazing. Utterly breathtaking, painfully bleak, The Road needs to be read. Unlike Blood Meridian (which I’m still toiling through) The Road is absolutely readable and impossible to put down, and I finished it in a few hours.

If you haven’t yet heard about this book (which would be quite a feat, with all the press its received in the past year), I’ll briefly recap the plot: an unnamed father and son travel south after some tragedy (never fully explained, but most likely nuclear in origin) has destroyed America, maybe even the entire world. There are, of course, survivors, and that is where the real fear comes in: the lucky ones died in the attack.

And yet, despite the hopeless landscape, The Road remains a hopeful novel. There will always be love, always something to fight for, even when there is nothing left at all.

In a nutshell: Yet another reminder (see Earth Abides, I am Legend) to kill myself if I happen to survive the coming apocalypse. Doing so is, of course, the very thing McCarthy argues against. Whatever. Better than being a legless captive slowly eaten by cannibals. Oh, the horror.

Bibliolatry Scale: 6 out of 6 stars

Gigi, by Colette

Gigi, Julie de Carneilhan, and Chance Acquaintances: Three Short Novels
Colette

I defy anyone to read Gigi without falling immediately head-over-heels in love with both Gigi and her creator.

Gigi is a young girl being trained in the arts of the courtesan in turn-of-the-century Paris. Under the careful eye of her aunt, Gigi is learning how to dress, eat, fake weaknesses, and even choose cigars--all to please the rich men that will come into her life. Gigi, however, wants a life greater than this. While her own idealism seems immature to her family, it is this very quality which is Gigi's ultimate victory.

The story is not only perfectly delightful but also quite hysterical. I laughed out loud as Gigi, wishing to avoid a vague euphemism for her genitalia, asks to know its proper name. Her grandmother, however, sternly admonishes her: There is no other name. Each scene is embued with a subtle humor which entertains the reader at every turn.

This collection contains not only Gigi but also Julie de Carneilhan and Chance Acquaintances. Both of the latter pieces are short and delightful, and after reading them, I now want to read everything Colette ever wrote. There is, however, only one Gigi.

In a nutshell: If you haven't been introduced to Collete (described as "one of the glories of France" by Michael Straight), this is the perfect collection to begin with. J'adore Gigi!

Bibliolatry Scale: 6 out of 6 stars (for Gigi)

Delights and Shadows, by Ted Kooser

Delights and Shadows
Ted Kooser

I'm picky with my poetry. This is because I believe that much of what passes for "good poetry" these days is actually crap. By crap, I mean that which lacks soul, lacks beauty, just all-around lacks. Most are awfully pretentious, as if obscurity equals some sorth of Truth. (Anne Carson, I'm looking at you, dear.)

So I don't read too much poetry these days, with the exception of Louise Gluck, Mary Karr, Margaret Atwood, and a few other souls who have managed to pierce my rather tough armor. I'm glad I read a particularly insightful review of Ted Kooser's Delights and Shadows, or else I might have lumped him in with the rest of those poets I don't read.

Ted Kooser's poetry is often deemed "accessible," a label that seems damning to the would-be "serious" poet. And while it cannot be denied that his work is extremely accessible, that does not mean his poetry lacks depth and beauty.

Delights and Shadows tackles not only difficult subjects such as the death of his parents and Kooser's own sense of aging, but also "delightful" topics like the simple beauty found everywhere in life. I won't go into a long discussion of my favorite poems (there were too many) or a long analysis of his themes (which is unnecessary). True, his poems are accessible, but don't be mislead by the term. There is great depth to this work; you'll be able to read "simple" poems again and again and find more and more insights as you do.

In a nutshell: Finally, a contemporary poet that doesn't suck. Everyone can find meaning and illumination here.

Bibliolatry Scale: 6 out of 6 stars

House of Leaves, by Mark Danielewski

House of Leaves
Mark Danielewski

If you haven't yet read House of Leaves, you must immediately drop what you are doing and go get it. Seriously. Now. This is one of the craziest, freakiest, and smartest books I've ever read.

The story: Johnny Truant, a drug-addicted resident of Los Angeles, helps his friend clear out the apartment of the recently deceased Zampano, a blind old man who hoarded his possessions and sealed every crevice of his apartment shut. Johnny takes along an old trunk, inside of which is the life's work of the dead man--a collection of fragments, narratives, and research entitled "The Navidson Report." This report is the true (?) story of Will Navidson and his family, who move into an idyllic home.

This home is perfect -- until (insert ominous music here) the family goes away for the weekend; when they return, a closet is in the master bedroom. The problem? This closet was not there before. It's pitch black, devoid of all the usual closet-type stuff, and cold. The family is spooked. Navidson measures, checks the house plans; to his dismay, he discovers the house's interior measurements exceed the exterior measurements. Then a hallway "grows" downstairs where it could not possibly exist. Navidson, against the wishes of his wife, explores it. He finds cavernous spaces, pitch black, and something hunting him.

This frame-within-frame-within-frame story mixes elements of the horror story, academic research, mythological references, and a little extra craziness on the side. It's been dubbed "experimental," and it obviously is - but it's an experimental novel that actually works. The "plot" is composed of a central narrative offset by footnotes, diversions, appendices, and the like. You'll find yourself with finger in page as you track down a footnote or search out an appendix. You'll find yourself turning the book around and around, as Navidson enters the labrynth within his walls and the text mimics his movements. It's insane, it's wonderful, it's the most unique thing I've ever read.

That said, one reading isn't going to cut it. By far. I'm on my second read, and I'll need at least one more. I'm at the point where I can formulate some pretty good theories about the book, and I've got some opinions as to the "meaning" of certain things (i.e., I think this character and this character are really the same, and that the book is really this, not this) but it won't make sense unless you've read the book once, and I don't want to ruin any surprises. I'll be happy to provide my theories in the comments, if anyone is interested.

House of Leaves offers commentary on the nature of space, stability, madness, reality, and more. However, I can't even get to that point yet. I'm still trying to figure out exactly what is going on. I mean, what is really going on. But it's a hell of a ride getting there.

By the way, if you've ever heard of the singer Poe, you might be interested to know that her second cd Haunted, is meant to accompany the book. She and the author are brother and sister. So, after you've wrapped your mind around the book, you can throw the cd into the mix! Have fun with that. (I'm not being sarcastic, either--analyzing this book ad nauseum actually is fun.)

In a nutshell: Absolutely a must-read, House of Leaves is not without its flaws, but it is one of the most thought-provoking works I've ever read. And it's pretty creepy at times too, which is always fun.

Bibliolatry Scale: 6 out of 6 stars