Katie and I have reached a compromise about this month's horrible Mainstream Book Club selection, The Epicure's Lament. I'm about 1/3 of the way through, and I hate it. Katie read a few pages and then skimmed the rest, and hates it. So she's going to use this amazing power of skimming that she has to get the whole plot down, and I'm going to find passages and details from the language in the 1/3 I've read, and we're going to pool our resources in our own little set of Cliff's Notes to avoid reading the rest.
Huzzah; it is an awful book.
Monday, April 25, 2005
Saturday, April 23, 2005
Fellow Alumni
Linden says she doesn't feel like there are a lot of good books out there to read, and she doesn't know where to find them, except through recommendations. This is how I do it:
I'm on the Boston area Williams alumni listserver. Amanda Eyre Ward, a Williams alum, was going to be reading from her new book. I couldn't make the reading (I really try not to do things that require me to trek too far out on the Green Line), but I looked her up at the library and idly checked out her first book, Sleep Toward Heaven. It was really quite a good book--simple, but true, and personal. She did a great job of creating three characters, and also of tying them together without (mostly) being heavy-handed about it.
This method is often hit-or-miss. It includes things like books that are reviewed on Slate, books that are mentioned in the reviews of other books, books that we read for book club, or that were considered for book club but discarded, or books I see on my friends' shelves, or on display at the bookstore. There are a lot of duds in this pile, though I think I'm a pretty good judge of what I'm going to enjoy at this point.
I've also gotten comfortable with stopping after 50 pages if I really don't like it. I'm getting older, my time is too valuable to waste. That's been a very liberating thing--I rarely have to regret picking a book up, because it never wastes more of my time than it's worth. Fifty pages of wasted time is worth experiencing a cautionary example.
For example, I'd stop reading The Epicure's Lament, if I didn't feel this dragging obligation of Book Club. Urg--another story.
I'm on the Boston area Williams alumni listserver. Amanda Eyre Ward, a Williams alum, was going to be reading from her new book. I couldn't make the reading (I really try not to do things that require me to trek too far out on the Green Line), but I looked her up at the library and idly checked out her first book, Sleep Toward Heaven. It was really quite a good book--simple, but true, and personal. She did a great job of creating three characters, and also of tying them together without (mostly) being heavy-handed about it.
This method is often hit-or-miss. It includes things like books that are reviewed on Slate, books that are mentioned in the reviews of other books, books that we read for book club, or that were considered for book club but discarded, or books I see on my friends' shelves, or on display at the bookstore. There are a lot of duds in this pile, though I think I'm a pretty good judge of what I'm going to enjoy at this point.
I've also gotten comfortable with stopping after 50 pages if I really don't like it. I'm getting older, my time is too valuable to waste. That's been a very liberating thing--I rarely have to regret picking a book up, because it never wastes more of my time than it's worth. Fifty pages of wasted time is worth experiencing a cautionary example.
For example, I'd stop reading The Epicure's Lament, if I didn't feel this dragging obligation of Book Club. Urg--another story.
Friday, April 15, 2005
Rhapsody
Kazuo Ishiguro wrote The Remains of the Day, which was a good movie, and which now I have to read, along with When We Were Orphans. And all this because I just finished his new book, Never Let Me Go, which was so good I had a really hard time returning it to the library. Which is not to say that I need to own it, but that when I finished it and sat back, I felt strongly like it wasn't really done with me.
It's deceptively simple--the voice of the main character is not of someone speaking poetry, or even trying. It's the voice of a friend of yours, a 30-year-old woman recounting stories from her private-school childhood. She tells them in the meandering way that one recounts one's own life, because in reality, a lifetime of moments do not all point to some cataclysmic ending. Rather, she tells stories she remembers, about her relationships with her best friends, about their growing up. Kathy will begin with a story that sticks out in her memory, then backtrack to an earlier incident that gives more meaning to the later incident, and hint at how it's affected who she is now.
But I think what makes this book wonderful is that it's about an alternate world. The England in the story is one with an alternate history, but only slightly. And the characters in the story inhabit an alternate society that lives side-by-side with the rest of us in their England, but it's not about us. Kathy is familiar, moreso than most characters in books, I think, because she is the same distance from you as people you meet--you're listening to her talk to you, rather than living inside her head with her. And that makes the separation of her world more poignant.
Also, the book is about injustice without being about change. I think this is very powerful. Almost every social injustice that has been or is being fought against was once and for a long time accepted as fact, without fanfare. I feel like there aren't a lot of those left--plenty of injustices, but few that aren't recognized. But these people live lives that make you at first want them to rise up and change things. Gradually, though, you realize this book isn't about change. It's about realization, and the meaning of life. It doesn't give answers, but yes, I'd say this book is about the meaning of life.
It's deceptively simple--the voice of the main character is not of someone speaking poetry, or even trying. It's the voice of a friend of yours, a 30-year-old woman recounting stories from her private-school childhood. She tells them in the meandering way that one recounts one's own life, because in reality, a lifetime of moments do not all point to some cataclysmic ending. Rather, she tells stories she remembers, about her relationships with her best friends, about their growing up. Kathy will begin with a story that sticks out in her memory, then backtrack to an earlier incident that gives more meaning to the later incident, and hint at how it's affected who she is now.
But I think what makes this book wonderful is that it's about an alternate world. The England in the story is one with an alternate history, but only slightly. And the characters in the story inhabit an alternate society that lives side-by-side with the rest of us in their England, but it's not about us. Kathy is familiar, moreso than most characters in books, I think, because she is the same distance from you as people you meet--you're listening to her talk to you, rather than living inside her head with her. And that makes the separation of her world more poignant.
Also, the book is about injustice without being about change. I think this is very powerful. Almost every social injustice that has been or is being fought against was once and for a long time accepted as fact, without fanfare. I feel like there aren't a lot of those left--plenty of injustices, but few that aren't recognized. But these people live lives that make you at first want them to rise up and change things. Gradually, though, you realize this book isn't about change. It's about realization, and the meaning of life. It doesn't give answers, but yes, I'd say this book is about the meaning of life.
Wednesday, April 06, 2005
On a Promised Topic
The good news is that I can release a little of my library list guilt. I just realized that at least 17 of the titles on that list are not so much things that I want to read as things that I want to remember the existence of so that I might someday go back to read them. This means that there are not 50 books I'm trying to cram into my brain at the same time--only 33.
As advertised: Why I Didn't Finish Up the Down Staircase. I expected a book about teaching, and this is a book about having a job. This young woman, just out of graduate school, who has studied English with passion and has been excited to share it with students arrives at her first teaching job to discover that it's not what she expected. This is exactly what I signed on for--excellent!
But what she found had nothing at all to do with students or connecting to people. It was about bureaucracy, bosses who micromanage trivial things, other bosses who are oblivious to reality, janitors who don't show up. There has been one scene that even involved students, and that was based entirely arounder there being too many directives from the office and a broken window that nobody would clean up. It was in no way about students.
The structure of the novel makes this feel inevitable. It's an assemblage of memos from the office, clippings from the school paper, notes written back and forth between teachers, and letters to the main character's friends. This leaves a lot of room for her to talk about the nitty gritty of her day-to-day, but not a lot for actual interaction with people.
It's too bad--I saw the play based on this book once, and it was quite good. Probably there's a story in here somewhere, but it's a long book, I'm not enjoying it, and I've got other things to do. I'm going to read Dangerous Minds, though, because I suspect that book will fulfill my need for a story about teachers reaching out to kids who aren't eager to learn.
Also, a note on my observation that books I read come in waves I can't necessarily predict: I'm currently reading three books about people with genetic abnormalities. Expecting Adam, about a woman who finds out her unborn son has Down's Syndrome, Middlesex, about a child who is born with ambiguous genetalia and is raised a girl, only to grow up and find out himself a man, and Fearless, a really TERRIBLE young adult book (by the Sweet Valley High author, if that tells you anything) about a girl "born without the fear gene." Ugh.
As advertised: Why I Didn't Finish Up the Down Staircase. I expected a book about teaching, and this is a book about having a job. This young woman, just out of graduate school, who has studied English with passion and has been excited to share it with students arrives at her first teaching job to discover that it's not what she expected. This is exactly what I signed on for--excellent!
But what she found had nothing at all to do with students or connecting to people. It was about bureaucracy, bosses who micromanage trivial things, other bosses who are oblivious to reality, janitors who don't show up. There has been one scene that even involved students, and that was based entirely arounder there being too many directives from the office and a broken window that nobody would clean up. It was in no way about students.
The structure of the novel makes this feel inevitable. It's an assemblage of memos from the office, clippings from the school paper, notes written back and forth between teachers, and letters to the main character's friends. This leaves a lot of room for her to talk about the nitty gritty of her day-to-day, but not a lot for actual interaction with people.
It's too bad--I saw the play based on this book once, and it was quite good. Probably there's a story in here somewhere, but it's a long book, I'm not enjoying it, and I've got other things to do. I'm going to read Dangerous Minds, though, because I suspect that book will fulfill my need for a story about teachers reaching out to kids who aren't eager to learn.
Also, a note on my observation that books I read come in waves I can't necessarily predict: I'm currently reading three books about people with genetic abnormalities. Expecting Adam, about a woman who finds out her unborn son has Down's Syndrome, Middlesex, about a child who is born with ambiguous genetalia and is raised a girl, only to grow up and find out himself a man, and Fearless, a really TERRIBLE young adult book (by the Sweet Valley High author, if that tells you anything) about a girl "born without the fear gene." Ugh.
Monday, April 04, 2005
Slacker
March has been a wonderful and horrible month. Work has been draining and hideous, I've felt overcommitted and have not had enough rest or kept my personal life in the state I prefer it. On the wonderful side, Mike and I both got promoted and engaged. So I guess this month goes down in history, huh?
I hold out hope for April, in part by refreshing here. March doesn't actually end for me, work-wise, till next week (courses pub this Friday, next week devoted to troubleshooting, and then we're back in the land of the normals). So I will stop here long enough to say: more soon.
And also to make the point--where does the BPL order their books? The two books I want to read have been "On Order" for weeks now. If they would just use Amazon, they'd have them by now. I really wish I could work there part time, processing new books or something tedious and refreshing like that. But they won't hire you unless you live in the city of Boston. What kind of a deal is that?
Updates I owe: Why I didn't finish Up the Down Staircase. How Mr. Wilson's Cabinet of Wonders reminded me of college. And, long overdue, What I thought of my first Joyce Carol Oates novel.
I hold out hope for April, in part by refreshing here. March doesn't actually end for me, work-wise, till next week (courses pub this Friday, next week devoted to troubleshooting, and then we're back in the land of the normals). So I will stop here long enough to say: more soon.
And also to make the point--where does the BPL order their books? The two books I want to read have been "On Order" for weeks now. If they would just use Amazon, they'd have them by now. I really wish I could work there part time, processing new books or something tedious and refreshing like that. But they won't hire you unless you live in the city of Boston. What kind of a deal is that?
Updates I owe: Why I didn't finish Up the Down Staircase. How Mr. Wilson's Cabinet of Wonders reminded me of college. And, long overdue, What I thought of my first Joyce Carol Oates novel.
Sunday, March 13, 2005
Not a Busy Weekend
Tomorrow is Pi Day (3/14), and being a math-based business, we celebrate. There are actually very few math geeks in my office--many more grammar geeks--but there's no dessert-based quasi-holiday centering around grammar, so we get behind Pi. I made strawberry pie.
I finished two books this weekend--my first Ursula LeGuin, Gifts. I've read a novella of hers, called Solitude, which was excellent, and I liked Gifts as well. She has a deft touch at worldbuilding--she captures the depth of reality without giving you more than you need to know; she creates a place where you know and believe that people live these lives even after you, the reader, stop paying attention. The story itself is fairly standard and low-key, and it's much more about the experience of a certain life and its implications.
And Baggage, which was somewhere between drama and chick lit. It doesn't quite come together the way you'd expect it to. She's on the run, she's about to get found out...mostly it's about dealing with a media hubbub, but the first half is so much lead-up that you expect the end to be a little more pointed. It was definitely a fun read, though, with a lot of funny moments, especially about pregnancy and in-laws, and a lot of interesting characterization. A woman who changed herself to someone else, personality-wise, to escape, but who finds weird bits of the old person lying around. But she's not crazy, or evil, or anything. She just does thing in the most complicated way possible.
Anyway, I'm diving into the tough stuff now--Gilead and Black Water. The latter is short but, being Joyce Carol Oates, requires brain-power. Wish me luck.
I finished two books this weekend--my first Ursula LeGuin, Gifts. I've read a novella of hers, called Solitude, which was excellent, and I liked Gifts as well. She has a deft touch at worldbuilding--she captures the depth of reality without giving you more than you need to know; she creates a place where you know and believe that people live these lives even after you, the reader, stop paying attention. The story itself is fairly standard and low-key, and it's much more about the experience of a certain life and its implications.
And Baggage, which was somewhere between drama and chick lit. It doesn't quite come together the way you'd expect it to. She's on the run, she's about to get found out...mostly it's about dealing with a media hubbub, but the first half is so much lead-up that you expect the end to be a little more pointed. It was definitely a fun read, though, with a lot of funny moments, especially about pregnancy and in-laws, and a lot of interesting characterization. A woman who changed herself to someone else, personality-wise, to escape, but who finds weird bits of the old person lying around. But she's not crazy, or evil, or anything. She just does thing in the most complicated way possible.
Anyway, I'm diving into the tough stuff now--Gilead and Black Water. The latter is short but, being Joyce Carol Oates, requires brain-power. Wish me luck.
Monday, March 07, 2005
Too Busy
Work is such hard work! This weekend was great, in that I did almost nothing, but I find it frustrating when, after running myself ragged, I get bored and restless with just sitting around on the weekends. I want to sit around--I ache to sit around more. I read most of a book on Saturday, which is great. But still, a little antsy.
Anyway, I finished Protecting the Gift, which is about turning fear into a tool for detecting and preventing danger to your children, instead of letting it turn into worry or panic, or trying to ignore it as irrational. It was a pretty good book, entertaining and interesting in its assumptions about how the human mind works. I think he's far too dismissive of people's tendencies to worry too much or about the wrong thing. He acknowledges this, but then he seems to think his book's going to solve it. Giving someone the right things to worry about doesn't necessary squelch their concerns about the wrong things.
I'm too anxious and busy to write anymore. Hopefully I'll remember to bring my book to read on the T tomorrow.
Anyway, I finished Protecting the Gift, which is about turning fear into a tool for detecting and preventing danger to your children, instead of letting it turn into worry or panic, or trying to ignore it as irrational. It was a pretty good book, entertaining and interesting in its assumptions about how the human mind works. I think he's far too dismissive of people's tendencies to worry too much or about the wrong thing. He acknowledges this, but then he seems to think his book's going to solve it. Giving someone the right things to worry about doesn't necessary squelch their concerns about the wrong things.
I'm too anxious and busy to write anymore. Hopefully I'll remember to bring my book to read on the T tomorrow.
Friday, March 04, 2005
Sad Surrender
I have rarely been this busy or stressed. Last summer was a bad one, work-wise, and was pretty consistantly awful, but for most of the time, it was just a pervasive sense of grinding despair, and you slogged along through the mud, dragging your metaphorical pick-axe behind you. This is frenetic, rushing and jittering, working like a woman with a caffine addiction and possibly a cocaine addiction, when I never indulge in either. I am unable to concentrate on work because of other work that is distracting me.
And what this means is that I have a big sloggy pile of mush between my ears. And what that means is that I'm having terrible time concentrating on the beautiful, slow, thoughtful and spiritual book I'm trying to read. Gilead needs attention and thoughts. I just can't do it. I'm so sorry, Renegade folks. I'm sorry for myself, too, because I was so excited to read this book.
Instead I'm reading Baggage, which is definitely chick lit (picture of a woman's torso wearing jeans and a pink shirt that exposes her belly button on the cover. totally unrelated to the story, except possibly the focus on the belly relating to the fact that the main character is pregnant; seems like a stretch). That's on the T--at my bedside I'm reading Protecting the Gift, which is by the author of The Gift of Fear and is about raising children who trust their instincts and can protect themselves from danger. Really I just thought his first book was interesting, and this was the other one he wrote; I'm reading it to recapture the pleasure of the first one. He also wrote one about terrorism, but I'm skeptical about reading it.
Oh, and I just finished 84, Charing Cross Road, a charming little compilation of 20 years of letters between a funny lady in NewYork and the London bookshop where she orders all her books, starting right after WWII. It was just so funny and sweet and you wish you could meet all those people and be that clever. It is a perfect example of Lynne's whole person that she would know about this book, love it, and lend it to me.
And I borrowed Middlesex and Black Water (from Beth and Jo, respectively) last night. I'm excited to read both of those, too, though I hope work unwinds soon, because I could use more energy and attention for the things that are really important.
And what this means is that I have a big sloggy pile of mush between my ears. And what that means is that I'm having terrible time concentrating on the beautiful, slow, thoughtful and spiritual book I'm trying to read. Gilead needs attention and thoughts. I just can't do it. I'm so sorry, Renegade folks. I'm sorry for myself, too, because I was so excited to read this book.
Instead I'm reading Baggage, which is definitely chick lit (picture of a woman's torso wearing jeans and a pink shirt that exposes her belly button on the cover. totally unrelated to the story, except possibly the focus on the belly relating to the fact that the main character is pregnant; seems like a stretch). That's on the T--at my bedside I'm reading Protecting the Gift, which is by the author of The Gift of Fear and is about raising children who trust their instincts and can protect themselves from danger. Really I just thought his first book was interesting, and this was the other one he wrote; I'm reading it to recapture the pleasure of the first one. He also wrote one about terrorism, but I'm skeptical about reading it.
Oh, and I just finished 84, Charing Cross Road, a charming little compilation of 20 years of letters between a funny lady in NewYork and the London bookshop where she orders all her books, starting right after WWII. It was just so funny and sweet and you wish you could meet all those people and be that clever. It is a perfect example of Lynne's whole person that she would know about this book, love it, and lend it to me.
And I borrowed Middlesex and Black Water (from Beth and Jo, respectively) last night. I'm excited to read both of those, too, though I hope work unwinds soon, because I could use more energy and attention for the things that are really important.
Monday, February 28, 2005
Rich Weekend
So aside from being a lovely weekend of good food and wine, this was also a heck of a weekend for finishing things. After being failed by two personal copies and two libraries, the BPL came through with Einstein's Dreams for Standard Book Club, which I whipped through in a morning. It's not so much literature as prose poetry, with the idea of relativity, both in the human and the physical senses, being central.
Finished The Speed of Dark, which I liked very much by the end. It did a very interesting job in dissecting the main character's predicament (do I cure this condition--autism--that is such a core part of who I am?), of shedding light on the various aspects and relevancies. For a while I felt kind of annoyed, as though the book was intending to reveal how "normals" are going about things all wrong, but as the narrator grows on you, it becomes clear where the gap between him and the world is. And the subplots--he's stalked; his department at work is being threatened with closure--are really a little nail-biting, even when you can guess how they'll end.
Let's see, what else? Regarding My Antonia, which I thought was a very sweet tale of atmosphere. I think it's kind of funny that the book is about Antonia, because really it's entirely about the narrator, Jim. Antonia doesn't appear in large chunks of the book. She's that person you never forget, but she is the focal point for him as he tells his own story, and often other girls in her position stand in for her. It's a good story, though, and really the only way to tell it, I think. The beauty and lonliness of the prairie is the main character, the main theme. Growing up at that time and in that place--I've heard that story before, but Willa Cather can indeed make you feel how it wouldn't be boring to watch the prairie dogs all afternoon and eat then melons till dark.
I started Gilead, which is slow and ruminative. It's very much about the nature of leading a godly life, and though it's told through the view of the one character, and his definitions of godly and challenges to that goal, it's definitely a broader theme, and definitely the author dealing with it. It is more of a contemplation than a novel (though it is that, too) and I hope I have not steered my fellow Renegaders wrong.
Finished The Speed of Dark, which I liked very much by the end. It did a very interesting job in dissecting the main character's predicament (do I cure this condition--autism--that is such a core part of who I am?), of shedding light on the various aspects and relevancies. For a while I felt kind of annoyed, as though the book was intending to reveal how "normals" are going about things all wrong, but as the narrator grows on you, it becomes clear where the gap between him and the world is. And the subplots--he's stalked; his department at work is being threatened with closure--are really a little nail-biting, even when you can guess how they'll end.
Let's see, what else? Regarding My Antonia, which I thought was a very sweet tale of atmosphere. I think it's kind of funny that the book is about Antonia, because really it's entirely about the narrator, Jim. Antonia doesn't appear in large chunks of the book. She's that person you never forget, but she is the focal point for him as he tells his own story, and often other girls in her position stand in for her. It's a good story, though, and really the only way to tell it, I think. The beauty and lonliness of the prairie is the main character, the main theme. Growing up at that time and in that place--I've heard that story before, but Willa Cather can indeed make you feel how it wouldn't be boring to watch the prairie dogs all afternoon and eat then melons till dark.
I started Gilead, which is slow and ruminative. It's very much about the nature of leading a godly life, and though it's told through the view of the one character, and his definitions of godly and challenges to that goal, it's definitely a broader theme, and definitely the author dealing with it. It is more of a contemplation than a novel (though it is that, too) and I hope I have not steered my fellow Renegaders wrong.
Friday, February 25, 2005
Slacking Off
Not that I haven't been reading. Far from it. But when I read many books at the same time, I don't finish them as quickly (laws of physics, nature of time, etc. being what they are). Today, however, I proudly finished My Antonia, by Willa Cather. Lynne loves this as one of her favorite books, and a number of other people remember it as one of the most boring books they ever read. I can explain that: this is a book for people who like Little House on the Prairie, and not for people who don't. Rarely can the world be divided so clearly along those lines, but this book's audience is quite clearly Those Who Revel in the Pioneer Spirit and Enjoy Small Heartwarming Farm Life Anecdotes. Including moi.
I also grabbed Einstein's Dreams at the library. I was many times thwarted in my quest for this book; I own a copy, somewhere, which I can't locate. My sister owns a copy, somewhere, which neither of us can find. The Somerville West Branch Library claims to have a copy, which neither the librarian nor I could find on the shelf. The Somerville Main Branch has a copy, but because of the holiday weekend and some bizarre scheduling decision to generally be closed on Tuesdays, it was "in transit" when I went to pick it up. So now, here, I finally have it in hand. I will read it, and all book club will revel in my insight.
I also went a little nuts when I went to the library, ostensibly to pick up the book that WASN'T THERE. So I got three others. Protecting the Gift, which is Gavin de Becker's follow-up to The Gift of Fear, which was a pretty cool if overly unnerving story of how if we trust our instincts we're less likely to be mugged. I don't think that's wrong, exactly, but my instincts tell me to be afraid an awful lot, and they're almost always wrong so far.
I also got something called Baggage which is about someone on the run from the law, but looks like chick lit, which seemed like a good combination at the time. And I got an Ursula LeGuin book that practically jumped out and bit me, called Gifts. It was on display, and I should read Ursula LeGuin, right?
Double extra plus, I just got an email from Adrian, who got the book I wanted in England (it's not out here), and will be bringing it home soon. It's called George and Sam and is about a mother with two autistic sons. Nick Hornby loved it. Thank you Adrian! Hooray for you!
I am feeling pretty darned sated.
I also grabbed Einstein's Dreams at the library. I was many times thwarted in my quest for this book; I own a copy, somewhere, which I can't locate. My sister owns a copy, somewhere, which neither of us can find. The Somerville West Branch Library claims to have a copy, which neither the librarian nor I could find on the shelf. The Somerville Main Branch has a copy, but because of the holiday weekend and some bizarre scheduling decision to generally be closed on Tuesdays, it was "in transit" when I went to pick it up. So now, here, I finally have it in hand. I will read it, and all book club will revel in my insight.
I also went a little nuts when I went to the library, ostensibly to pick up the book that WASN'T THERE. So I got three others. Protecting the Gift, which is Gavin de Becker's follow-up to The Gift of Fear, which was a pretty cool if overly unnerving story of how if we trust our instincts we're less likely to be mugged. I don't think that's wrong, exactly, but my instincts tell me to be afraid an awful lot, and they're almost always wrong so far.
I also got something called Baggage which is about someone on the run from the law, but looks like chick lit, which seemed like a good combination at the time. And I got an Ursula LeGuin book that practically jumped out and bit me, called Gifts. It was on display, and I should read Ursula LeGuin, right?
Double extra plus, I just got an email from Adrian, who got the book I wanted in England (it's not out here), and will be bringing it home soon. It's called George and Sam and is about a mother with two autistic sons. Nick Hornby loved it. Thank you Adrian! Hooray for you!
I am feeling pretty darned sated.
Wednesday, February 16, 2005
That Old Feeling
Sheepish aside: the Bloggies make me jealous. I was reading some of the blogs that are up for awards, and they're wonderful, and I wish I could be them. But I'm not 1) funny, 2) poignant, or 3) topical. Or really 4) well-researched or 5) interesting to others, for that matter.
Okay, back on topic. I'm almost done The Firebrand, and the end is definitely the best part of the book. The whole book--tone and style as well as plot--conveys the sense of impending doom. I think the rest of it was a little too long, and also a little too simplistic in character development.
I finished The Song at the Scaffold, which was much better than I had expected. It was an old book about nuns in the French Revolution, and I thought it would be light. But it wasn't--it was very internal, very much about the nature of grace and faith, and also a very grim portrait of the Revolution. It made me think a lot, actually, about something that was very peripheral in the book--how violent revolution becomes inevitable after a certain point, because situations become so polarized that there's no way to start the process of backing down to a sensible medium. Looking at France, for example--who could have instigated a change in how lavishly the rich lived? How could they have done that. I can't think of an example--this is the reason that a happy medium--specifically the middle class--is such a useful thing.
And--here's the part that's so exciting! I think I'm going to the bookstore tonight! I've decided what to do with my gift certificate, and I think the time has come. The funny part is that I'm buying two books I've already read, so I'm not adding to my pile of things I need to read. But they're to lend and reread.
Actually--I've been buzzed about this all day, and now that the time is closer, I don't really feel as excited any more. I think I might hold off. The point would be to go into the store with this same thrill. Get the most for my money.
Okay, back on topic. I'm almost done The Firebrand, and the end is definitely the best part of the book. The whole book--tone and style as well as plot--conveys the sense of impending doom. I think the rest of it was a little too long, and also a little too simplistic in character development.
I finished The Song at the Scaffold, which was much better than I had expected. It was an old book about nuns in the French Revolution, and I thought it would be light. But it wasn't--it was very internal, very much about the nature of grace and faith, and also a very grim portrait of the Revolution. It made me think a lot, actually, about something that was very peripheral in the book--how violent revolution becomes inevitable after a certain point, because situations become so polarized that there's no way to start the process of backing down to a sensible medium. Looking at France, for example--who could have instigated a change in how lavishly the rich lived? How could they have done that. I can't think of an example--this is the reason that a happy medium--specifically the middle class--is such a useful thing.
And--here's the part that's so exciting! I think I'm going to the bookstore tonight! I've decided what to do with my gift certificate, and I think the time has come. The funny part is that I'm buying two books I've already read, so I'm not adding to my pile of things I need to read. But they're to lend and reread.
Actually--I've been buzzed about this all day, and now that the time is closer, I don't really feel as excited any more. I think I might hold off. The point would be to go into the store with this same thrill. Get the most for my money.
Wednesday, February 09, 2005
Suggestions out of Context
Linden recommends The Brothers K, though not to me. I probably won't even read it, actually, since it sounds, as she says, like a very masculine book. This is quite far from my style. Also, it's about baseball, at least in part, which is not so much up my alley. But it sounds like a good family drama, and I'm willing to plug it, in case (unlikely as it may be) I have a reader who prefers masculine books. (I'd say "Greg, I'm talking to you," except I don't think he reads this.)
Also, if you like this sort of thing, or are 5, there's The Color Kittens. I actually bought a copy for my cousin when she had twins and then couldn't bear to part with it and now it's mine. "Pink as a pig, pink as toes,/pink as a rose or a baby's nose." The kittens are named Brush and Hush. I think the very word "hush" evokes something for me, something still and special.
So, off the beaten track, some options.
And hey Linden, you got blogged again.
Also, if you like this sort of thing, or are 5, there's The Color Kittens. I actually bought a copy for my cousin when she had twins and then couldn't bear to part with it and now it's mine. "Pink as a pig, pink as toes,/pink as a rose or a baby's nose." The kittens are named Brush and Hush. I think the very word "hush" evokes something for me, something still and special.
So, off the beaten track, some options.
And hey Linden, you got blogged again.
Sunday, February 06, 2005
Wandering Thoughts
I'm about to finish Howl's Moving Castle, which is a most excellent kids' fantasy book. It does, in fact, feature a moving castle, but I don't blame that for my wandering thoughts. I don't know why I've been thinking of Alias Grace lately, but for some reason it keeps crossing my mind.
It's a Margaret Atwood book that I listened to as a book-on-tape a few years ago. It was good--I liked it better than I've liked most of her other books. It's the story of a murder in the early 1900s, and of the servant girl who is accused of it. The book is divided into chapters that are told from the servant's point of view, and those that are told third person from the point of view of an investigating doctor who's trying to figure out if she's crazy. I think there's a strong possibility that the reader really made a difference in my enjoyment of this book--she was an actress who did a lovely Irish accent for Grace, and it was an auditory pleasure. I don't know if I feel like rereading it, especially now when I've got a lot of new stuff that I'm excited about, but it's been in my mind. Maybe I'll buy the book, to have on hand and reread at leisure.
I've also been thinking about She's Not There, which I think I just will buy. I want to lend that out--it's such an amazing story, and such a great telling of a true life in which there's no right answer, no way to make everything okay, but people manage to do their best. It reminds me of the This American Life episode that I caught part of on NPR yesterday, which had a long story about transsexual men--men who were born women.
I was listening to NPR (she segued casually) on the way home from Louisa May Alcott's house, where I learned a great deal--much from the tour guide, and some from the precocious little girl who had read the biography, knew a lot, and was very excited. That was pretty cool. Louisa May made $100,000 from Little Women over the course of her lifetime, and $250,000 total from her writing, while her father was earning $100 per year as the superintendant of schools. Also she wrote a book called Moods in which a character based on her was wood by characters based on Thoreau and Emerson (two of her neighbors and her father's friends). The character, according to the back of the book, "marries the wrong one." A few things occur to me here, among them what a great time that would have been to live in Concord, MA, and which of those two gentlemen was "the wrong one?"
I hope Lynne and Adrian had as much fun as I did yesterday. It was a gorgeous day and a great trip.
It's a Margaret Atwood book that I listened to as a book-on-tape a few years ago. It was good--I liked it better than I've liked most of her other books. It's the story of a murder in the early 1900s, and of the servant girl who is accused of it. The book is divided into chapters that are told from the servant's point of view, and those that are told third person from the point of view of an investigating doctor who's trying to figure out if she's crazy. I think there's a strong possibility that the reader really made a difference in my enjoyment of this book--she was an actress who did a lovely Irish accent for Grace, and it was an auditory pleasure. I don't know if I feel like rereading it, especially now when I've got a lot of new stuff that I'm excited about, but it's been in my mind. Maybe I'll buy the book, to have on hand and reread at leisure.
I've also been thinking about She's Not There, which I think I just will buy. I want to lend that out--it's such an amazing story, and such a great telling of a true life in which there's no right answer, no way to make everything okay, but people manage to do their best. It reminds me of the This American Life episode that I caught part of on NPR yesterday, which had a long story about transsexual men--men who were born women.
I was listening to NPR (she segued casually) on the way home from Louisa May Alcott's house, where I learned a great deal--much from the tour guide, and some from the precocious little girl who had read the biography, knew a lot, and was very excited. That was pretty cool. Louisa May made $100,000 from Little Women over the course of her lifetime, and $250,000 total from her writing, while her father was earning $100 per year as the superintendant of schools. Also she wrote a book called Moods in which a character based on her was wood by characters based on Thoreau and Emerson (two of her neighbors and her father's friends). The character, according to the back of the book, "marries the wrong one." A few things occur to me here, among them what a great time that would have been to live in Concord, MA, and which of those two gentlemen was "the wrong one?"
I hope Lynne and Adrian had as much fun as I did yesterday. It was a gorgeous day and a great trip.
Tuesday, February 01, 2005
He Said, She Said
So Mike and I both read The End of the Affair, by Graham Greene, with surprising results. It was my idea, because I so admired The Comedians when we read it for book club, and I wanted Mike to try him. The result of this experiment was, I feel, unexpected.
We had completely different ideas of the book. I think we even had different experiences of it. He hated all the characters, wondered where it was going, and found it, at best, interesting toward the end. (I apologize, Mike, if this is an unfair description of your opinion.) And while I wouldn't say I loved it, I liked it very much, found it interesting, and found most of the characters, if not sympathetic, at least believable and intriguing. Even when they were being total bastards.
Without giving too much away, I have theories on why our opinions differed.
1) There is a plot twist and I knew what it was. I actually didn't know it was a twist--really more of a mystery. I read the back of the video box long ago, and the blurb they use to describe the plot gives away something the reader and narrator spend the first half of the book trying to figure out. This is why our experience was different.
2) I think having read The Comedians made a difference. The main character, despite having a very different life, has a very similar personality in many ways. He behaves much the same toward his lover. Heck, he has a married lover in the first place. The love affair is less promient in that book, but the echo of that other, somewhat nobler--or at least less horrible--narrator influenced my opinion of him, I think. Another strike on the side of different experiences.
3) A lot of the book is about struggling with God. Although Mike found this to be the most intersting part of the story, we had very different opinions about what was happening. What I took to be a real, if perhaps misdirected and hysterical, search for truth and meaning, he took as a nervous breakdown. I can see how one could read it his way, but because some of the emotional and intellectual places the character goes on that search are familiar to me, I cut her a lot more slack for the outrageous or nonsensical turns her search takes. A lot of what she went through looked familiar to me, while to Mike, it looked crazy. And the parts he sees as crazy are crazy--but in a direction I can imagine going.
4) Related to #3, I liked Sarah a lot more because I felt like she was being foolish but not nuts. I can see all the arguments for not liking her, and it's more than possible that I'm just completely missing the "unreliable narrator" component of this book, but that was my feeling. So there was that.
And that's that. We had a great conversation about it, though, I think. The kind of conversation I love and that never seems to come along often enough, mostly because I can't hold my own very long. Those are the conversations at a good book club, and always when we all get together in Atlanta, and that Mike and I have been having a lot lately. Ones where I feel like I've thought well, and expressed it well, and heard ideas I wouldn't have thought of and internalized them. Heady stuff.
We had completely different ideas of the book. I think we even had different experiences of it. He hated all the characters, wondered where it was going, and found it, at best, interesting toward the end. (I apologize, Mike, if this is an unfair description of your opinion.) And while I wouldn't say I loved it, I liked it very much, found it interesting, and found most of the characters, if not sympathetic, at least believable and intriguing. Even when they were being total bastards.
Without giving too much away, I have theories on why our opinions differed.
1) There is a plot twist and I knew what it was. I actually didn't know it was a twist--really more of a mystery. I read the back of the video box long ago, and the blurb they use to describe the plot gives away something the reader and narrator spend the first half of the book trying to figure out. This is why our experience was different.
2) I think having read The Comedians made a difference. The main character, despite having a very different life, has a very similar personality in many ways. He behaves much the same toward his lover. Heck, he has a married lover in the first place. The love affair is less promient in that book, but the echo of that other, somewhat nobler--or at least less horrible--narrator influenced my opinion of him, I think. Another strike on the side of different experiences.
3) A lot of the book is about struggling with God. Although Mike found this to be the most intersting part of the story, we had very different opinions about what was happening. What I took to be a real, if perhaps misdirected and hysterical, search for truth and meaning, he took as a nervous breakdown. I can see how one could read it his way, but because some of the emotional and intellectual places the character goes on that search are familiar to me, I cut her a lot more slack for the outrageous or nonsensical turns her search takes. A lot of what she went through looked familiar to me, while to Mike, it looked crazy. And the parts he sees as crazy are crazy--but in a direction I can imagine going.
4) Related to #3, I liked Sarah a lot more because I felt like she was being foolish but not nuts. I can see all the arguments for not liking her, and it's more than possible that I'm just completely missing the "unreliable narrator" component of this book, but that was my feeling. So there was that.
And that's that. We had a great conversation about it, though, I think. The kind of conversation I love and that never seems to come along often enough, mostly because I can't hold my own very long. Those are the conversations at a good book club, and always when we all get together in Atlanta, and that Mike and I have been having a lot lately. Ones where I feel like I've thought well, and expressed it well, and heard ideas I wouldn't have thought of and internalized them. Heady stuff.
Monday, January 24, 2005
Feminist Fantasy
So, The Firebrand, by Marion Zimmer Bradley. I think that the best way to explain what's been troubling me about this book is by comparing it to The Mists of Avalon. Most people would consider the latter her masterpiece, and I can't disagree. The thing these have in common is depicting a matriarchal society, a world in which women are powerful, equal to men or better, possessed of the truest power and beloved of their own goddesses. Druids, in Mists, and Amazons, in Firebrand. I think the Amazons are less convincing.
First, there's less history behind them. Not that I require historical accuracy in my fantasy, but when you have history, you get a certain verisimilitude, just because you're telling the truth. The main problem, though, is that in her Arthurian story, the society seems to fit. There is a place for men, beside the women and intertwined with them, and they don't seem extraneous or pointless. In this book, however, it's hard to believe that anyone has babies, the men and women hate each other so. They visit a city, for example, where all the guards are women, a city ruled by a Queen who has no consort (there is no such thing as a King). And yet the Queen's daughter is a little chit who thinks that being a warrior would make her "manly." Only women can be blacksmiths, for various spiritual reasons. Okay...but the question remains: what are the men doing? Are they allowed to use their physical strength in any way at all? I mean, I'm not a very intense feminist, but is it still considered very wrong to admit that men often have stronger bodies than women? And I have trouble really believing in a world in which every character who isn't an idiot believes that staying indoors, pursuing intelligence, not being a warrior is just stupid and useless.
I bet at some point we get a wise man, though. But for some reason, it seems like it would be bad form to have an intelligent, respectable woman who doesn't kill people for a living.
First, there's less history behind them. Not that I require historical accuracy in my fantasy, but when you have history, you get a certain verisimilitude, just because you're telling the truth. The main problem, though, is that in her Arthurian story, the society seems to fit. There is a place for men, beside the women and intertwined with them, and they don't seem extraneous or pointless. In this book, however, it's hard to believe that anyone has babies, the men and women hate each other so. They visit a city, for example, where all the guards are women, a city ruled by a Queen who has no consort (there is no such thing as a King). And yet the Queen's daughter is a little chit who thinks that being a warrior would make her "manly." Only women can be blacksmiths, for various spiritual reasons. Okay...but the question remains: what are the men doing? Are they allowed to use their physical strength in any way at all? I mean, I'm not a very intense feminist, but is it still considered very wrong to admit that men often have stronger bodies than women? And I have trouble really believing in a world in which every character who isn't an idiot believes that staying indoors, pursuing intelligence, not being a warrior is just stupid and useless.
I bet at some point we get a wise man, though. But for some reason, it seems like it would be bad form to have an intelligent, respectable woman who doesn't kill people for a living.
Sunday, January 23, 2005
Deep Sorrow
Richard Yates wrote Revolutionary Road, which we read for book club a while ago. It was very good, but also both sad and tragic. And I just finished The Easter Parade, a later book by Yates. Sad, too, and with a stunning tragedy that sort of comes from behind. It was really so good--the main character was just perfectly rendered. You could sort of see the author's own life echoing, though the main character is a woman. But based on some interviews I read, the alcoholism and lack of meaningful relationships was something he knew about.
But the tragedy that both follows inevitably from the whole story and also creeps up on you at the end, really hit me for some reason. Partly it's because the book spans 40 years in a short storytelling space, and you're still feeling for a five- and twelve- and twenty-year-old girl, while you're watching her life age, get stale, dissolve. And the emptiness that you can clearly perceive throughout the book becomes solid and real so quickly and brutally at the end--I think it hits home with me for some reason. I have no reason to really fear dying alone as much as I do, since I have a big close family and a lot of great friends. But I guess it's a neurosis--or maybe you can just blame Yates. Maybe anyone would have felt this insidious discomfort. He does write squirmers.
Despite this, I really, really recommend this book. Emily is an amazing character, running out of time.
But the tragedy that both follows inevitably from the whole story and also creeps up on you at the end, really hit me for some reason. Partly it's because the book spans 40 years in a short storytelling space, and you're still feeling for a five- and twelve- and twenty-year-old girl, while you're watching her life age, get stale, dissolve. And the emptiness that you can clearly perceive throughout the book becomes solid and real so quickly and brutally at the end--I think it hits home with me for some reason. I have no reason to really fear dying alone as much as I do, since I have a big close family and a lot of great friends. But I guess it's a neurosis--or maybe you can just blame Yates. Maybe anyone would have felt this insidious discomfort. He does write squirmers.
Despite this, I really, really recommend this book. Emily is an amazing character, running out of time.
Wednesday, January 19, 2005
Neverwhere
I blame Charles DeLint for my opinion of Neverwhere. I have heard criticisms that I can agree with--the bad guys and grossness are a little over the top, to the point where you feel like maybe Neil Gaiman is enjoying Mr. Croup and Mr. Vandemar a little too much. And there are a lot of things he does in his fantasy world that are fun but don't hold up past the moment of delightful cleverness that they deliver. You can't picture all these creatures he created continuing on their underground ways after we've moved out of their scene.
But still, I think Charles DeLint is to blame for my reaction to this book, because he filled me up with "invisible people who have slipped through the cracks of society and now live in a world that goes on side by side with the world we know, but in the shadows." (That probably didn't deserve scare quotes, but still.) Now that I think about it, though, there's something neat about the confluence of psychology (what's the difference between invisible and ignored?), quantum physics (worlds existing beside each other, but slightly skewed) and pure fantasy (the Marquis, the Hunter, the Beast). And at least Door, unlike every single DeLint heroine does not have a short bushy haircut, a fitted tank top, baggy jeans and combat boots. She's got a leather jacket.
Gaiman is better than DeLint is (than DeLint is most of the time; I've only read a few of his, and I really liked Jack of Kinrowan). He's great with clever, and he understands the difference between things that are inherently important, things that can be considered unimportant, and things that must be considered important. Dignity, responsibility, loyalty.
This all sounds kind of fishy when I tell it. I'm trying to take a loftier look at what is basically a good story, with a traditional English fellow (I kept thinking of him as Arthur Dent) in the middle of it. I enjoyed it very much as such, but I'm not sure how book club will take it.
But still, I think Charles DeLint is to blame for my reaction to this book, because he filled me up with "invisible people who have slipped through the cracks of society and now live in a world that goes on side by side with the world we know, but in the shadows." (That probably didn't deserve scare quotes, but still.) Now that I think about it, though, there's something neat about the confluence of psychology (what's the difference between invisible and ignored?), quantum physics (worlds existing beside each other, but slightly skewed) and pure fantasy (the Marquis, the Hunter, the Beast). And at least Door, unlike every single DeLint heroine does not have a short bushy haircut, a fitted tank top, baggy jeans and combat boots. She's got a leather jacket.
Gaiman is better than DeLint is (than DeLint is most of the time; I've only read a few of his, and I really liked Jack of Kinrowan). He's great with clever, and he understands the difference between things that are inherently important, things that can be considered unimportant, and things that must be considered important. Dignity, responsibility, loyalty.
This all sounds kind of fishy when I tell it. I'm trying to take a loftier look at what is basically a good story, with a traditional English fellow (I kept thinking of him as Arthur Dent) in the middle of it. I enjoyed it very much as such, but I'm not sure how book club will take it.
Monday, January 17, 2005
Package Day!
Ah, Martin Luther King Jr. Day. Aside from celebrating a great American and getting the day off from work, we get UPS deliveries today (UPS lists this as a holiday "recognized but not observed," whatever that means). And Barnes and Noble, after failing us at so many turns, finally delivers.
We got the new Alton Brown cookbook, Quicksilver, by Neal Stephenson, and Locas, which is a Love and Rockets collection and weighs about eight pounds (thank heaven for free shipping). The things that excite me, though, are The End of the Affair, which I'm excited to read now that I've learned that I like Graham Greene (I'd like to see the movie, too, eventually, though I can't imagine that Hollywood could do with a romance-based plot what I suspect Greene is going to do). I'd also like to read The Quiet American, and see that movie, I think. Though a book written about an American in Vietnam in the 60s can't be anything like a movie made out of the same plot in the 90s.
And Gilead. I haven't been so excited about a book I barely know anything about by an author I've never read in I don't know how long. And I will make this statement, for the public record (such as it were): if I don't get the book club pick in time to bring this to the table, I'm going to call a Renegade Book Club. I will bring together those who will rally to my banner, and together we will begin a new tradition, firm and bold in our faith that change can be good, and new beginnings are always possible.
Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose.
We got the new Alton Brown cookbook, Quicksilver, by Neal Stephenson, and Locas, which is a Love and Rockets collection and weighs about eight pounds (thank heaven for free shipping). The things that excite me, though, are The End of the Affair, which I'm excited to read now that I've learned that I like Graham Greene (I'd like to see the movie, too, eventually, though I can't imagine that Hollywood could do with a romance-based plot what I suspect Greene is going to do). I'd also like to read The Quiet American, and see that movie, I think. Though a book written about an American in Vietnam in the 60s can't be anything like a movie made out of the same plot in the 90s.
And Gilead. I haven't been so excited about a book I barely know anything about by an author I've never read in I don't know how long. And I will make this statement, for the public record (such as it were): if I don't get the book club pick in time to bring this to the table, I'm going to call a Renegade Book Club. I will bring together those who will rally to my banner, and together we will begin a new tradition, firm and bold in our faith that change can be good, and new beginnings are always possible.
Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose.
Friday, January 14, 2005
Oh, Thank Heaven It's Over
For the record, I finished Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea. And I bow my head in a moment of silence for all those who have suffered this book, as I have.
The last bit was okay, though. It really hustled toward the end.
Also, more incidentally, I think I'd be enjoying Neil Gaiman's Neverwhere very much except for the fact that I'm reading it for book club. I think it will be tough to talk about, particularly in the context of this book club. But it's a good fantasy book, I think.
The last bit was okay, though. It really hustled toward the end.
Also, more incidentally, I think I'd be enjoying Neil Gaiman's Neverwhere very much except for the fact that I'm reading it for book club. I think it will be tough to talk about, particularly in the context of this book club. But it's a good fantasy book, I think.
Thursday, January 13, 2005
Self-Control
So I've been thinking lately about self-control. For a few reasons, but mostly because of a couple of things I read recently. One was Mosaic, by Soheir Khashoggi, and the other an article from the New York Times about a month ago. The article was about autistic people who are denouncing the idea of curing autism or treating it as a disease, instead of as a complex series of personality traits, like shyness. It was an interesting article, but I find the position to be somewhat frustrating. (If you want to read it: http://www.nytimes.com/2004/12/20/health/20autism.html?oref=login) For people with Asperger's, or similarly functioning people with autistic traits, I agree that the public could be a lot more tolerant, and that this kind of tolerance would solve a lot of problems. But the adovcates mentioned in the article specifically refer to violent outbursts. I'm sorry, but the point where you become a danger to others, or to yourself, is the point where a personality trait becomes a pathology.
I feel like it's a huge part of being an adult member of society to practice self-control. We grown-ups have to do things we don't like, deal with people we don't like, behave in ways that are not always exactly what we want to be doing. It's part of what makes us adult human beings. Only one part, but a big one, and that's a large part of why society works. We can debate the ends toward which this self-control is put, but I think not having violent outbursts is at the top of my list.
The other thing I read that fits with this theme was Mosaic. First, though I haven't read it in a long time, I think I'd still recommend the author's other book, Mirage. This one had an all-right plot, though nothing to write home about. The amount of time given to the best friends of the main character seemed out of proportion--if the book is about these three women of different races living and loving in New York, they should have had more time. If it was about Dina, the main character, trying to get her children back, they should have had less. But the characters were just terrible. They were wooden--solid, beautifully carved of oak and mahogany, but unjointed and immobile.
When Dina's children are taken by her husband--out of the blue, while she's at work; she didn't even suspect that there were problems in their marriage--many words, mostly cliched, are given to her inner turmoil. But the author does little more than state that she is angry. If you picture the movie of this book, it involves Dina sitting and thinking a lot. And calm, deliberate thinking--some depressed, some productive, some angry, but not impassioned, not ridiculous. Only once does she hurl something across the room in anger, and never does she scream or yell, never while talking to her husband does she shout at him. When either of them even begins to speak rudely to the other, they stop themselves immediately and say things like, "Is this what we've come to?" She doesn't interrupt when he's explaining his behavior, or try to claw his eyes out, or even claim to want to.
And I'd think it was a character trait, but everyone is like this. Mothers don't snap at their children, they are unendingly patient and often concede to the children, not because they're right, but because they're confident. The teenagers seem like the most realistic characters in this book, and mostly because we never get inside their heads--they just act out, and we're left to assume why. As though adults never do that. As though the self-control required to be a member of society is, once attained, inevitable, and runs bone deep.
I don't know. I think of myself as an adult. I take care of myself financially and physically, I function in the world, socially and professionally. I do things I don't like because they need doing or they're good for me. I don't have a great deal of self control, personally, but even those who do have something more complicated going on under the skin. I think that's what makes it such an appealing trait--knowing that beneath the calm and pleasing surface, there's someone just as messy and complicated as I am.
I feel like it's a huge part of being an adult member of society to practice self-control. We grown-ups have to do things we don't like, deal with people we don't like, behave in ways that are not always exactly what we want to be doing. It's part of what makes us adult human beings. Only one part, but a big one, and that's a large part of why society works. We can debate the ends toward which this self-control is put, but I think not having violent outbursts is at the top of my list.
The other thing I read that fits with this theme was Mosaic. First, though I haven't read it in a long time, I think I'd still recommend the author's other book, Mirage. This one had an all-right plot, though nothing to write home about. The amount of time given to the best friends of the main character seemed out of proportion--if the book is about these three women of different races living and loving in New York, they should have had more time. If it was about Dina, the main character, trying to get her children back, they should have had less. But the characters were just terrible. They were wooden--solid, beautifully carved of oak and mahogany, but unjointed and immobile.
When Dina's children are taken by her husband--out of the blue, while she's at work; she didn't even suspect that there were problems in their marriage--many words, mostly cliched, are given to her inner turmoil. But the author does little more than state that she is angry. If you picture the movie of this book, it involves Dina sitting and thinking a lot. And calm, deliberate thinking--some depressed, some productive, some angry, but not impassioned, not ridiculous. Only once does she hurl something across the room in anger, and never does she scream or yell, never while talking to her husband does she shout at him. When either of them even begins to speak rudely to the other, they stop themselves immediately and say things like, "Is this what we've come to?" She doesn't interrupt when he's explaining his behavior, or try to claw his eyes out, or even claim to want to.
And I'd think it was a character trait, but everyone is like this. Mothers don't snap at their children, they are unendingly patient and often concede to the children, not because they're right, but because they're confident. The teenagers seem like the most realistic characters in this book, and mostly because we never get inside their heads--they just act out, and we're left to assume why. As though adults never do that. As though the self-control required to be a member of society is, once attained, inevitable, and runs bone deep.
I don't know. I think of myself as an adult. I take care of myself financially and physically, I function in the world, socially and professionally. I do things I don't like because they need doing or they're good for me. I don't have a great deal of self control, personally, but even those who do have something more complicated going on under the skin. I think that's what makes it such an appealing trait--knowing that beneath the calm and pleasing surface, there's someone just as messy and complicated as I am.
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