books

Reading is a LOST Cause

June 1, 2010 By heather 5 Comments

It’s all the rage these days to lament the state of reading in our nation. I don’t buy it. I know too many readers to believe that all is lost.

All may not be lost, but LOST is a good place to start. (Cheesy rimshot, please.)

The end of an era may be gone with the final episode of LOST, but its legacy carries on. It may no longer be a Twitter trend, but I’d like to pay one last homage to it here. This one’s for you, dear readers.

It’s no secret that the writers and producers of LOST are readers. They spiced up dialogue and shots with the books of their lives, and reader-watchers picked up on it. It even spawned LOST book clubs.

Dear fellow readers, it’s our time down here.

Today, for anyone who would like to join me, let’s talk about the books of LOST–our favorites books quotes on LOST and those it inspires us to read.

Here are four of my favorites that I glimpsed on LOST (and proceeded to do the dance of joy in said glimpse):

1. The Chosen by Chaim Potock: Chaim Potock is one of my favorite authors. In Israel, I met a man named Asher–not a rare occurence as it’s one of the twelve sons of Jacob. When he introduced himself, I said, "My name is Asher Lev!" He looked at me strangely (Asher is a boy’s name). "Nice to meet you." "No," I said. "The book? By Chaim Potock?"

2. A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L’Engle: This is one of those books that revved up my imagination as a girl. And as an adult. Who doesn’t love Meg?

3. Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury: A world where books become meaningless. I group this with 1984, and Brave New World, partly because that’s how my English teacher grouped them, but because all 3 represent societies where books are lost. (My favorite is Brave New World, but I don’t think that one was referenced by the LOST writers and producers.) I applaud the readers of the world who find meaning in the novels, poems, essays, and other books they read to fight this idea.

4. Gilgamesh: Okay, this isn’t one of my favorite books, but I’m putting it on the list because (1) I think it influenced LOST more than just an answer on a crossword puzzle–there seems to be quite a bit of this myth in the story, and (2) studying this story helped me understand how story and myth worked in ancient times, and this affects how I understand how the writers of the Bible told God’s story.

There are so many other books I’d like to list here, but I’ll stop.

I will add a few books LOST inspired me to read. (Note: they mentioned several books on my reading list, but these books I added to my reading list specifically because of LOST.)

1. Evil Under the Sun by Agatha Christie: In high school, I devoured every Agatha Christie book in our house. (I have yet to discover the perpetrator who snuck all those books onto our bookshelves. They were ancient copies that probably belonged to either my grandparents or my parents when they were in high school.) I missed this one. Seeing Sawyer read it made me miss my Agatha Christie days.

2. Island by Aldous Huxley: As I mentioned, I loved Brave New World, and I’d like to read more Huxley. From some things I’ve read, this book influences the Others on LOST.

3. Watership Down by Richard Adams: Shocking that I’ve never read this classic, I know. Even more shocking that I’ve never had the desire to. (Who wants to read a story about bunnies? They plague my garden.) But if Sawyer read it, I can, too.

There you have it, folks. The inspired books of LOST. If you’d like to join me in this final homage, leave a comment with the link to your post, and I’ll link to it in this post.

Filed Under: books, LOST, reading, TV

Bits and Pieces

May 13, 2010 By heather 5 Comments

Sometimes a line from a book or story makes me laugh out loud. (This can be embarrassing if I’m running while listening to an audio book.)

I’ll show you what I mean.

There’s this one, from "The Cheapjack," a short story by Frank O’Connor:

"Now, Carmody was a conceited young man who thought that everything about himself was of such importance that it had to be recorded for the benefit of posterity."

What would Frank O’Connor say about our blogging, twittering world?

Or this one, from The Moonstone by Wilkie Collins:

"My daughter Penelope has just looked over my shoulder to see what I have done so far. She remarks that it is beautifully written, and every word of it true. But she points out one objection. She says what I have done so far isn’t in the least what I was wanted to do. I am asked to tell the story of the Diamond, and, instead of that, I have been telling the story of my own self. Curious, and quite beyond me to account for. I wonder whether the gentlemen who make a business and a living out of writing books ever find their own selves getting in the way of their subjects like me. If they do I can feel for them. In the mean time, here is another false start. What’s to be done now? Nothing that I know of, except for you to keep your temper and for me to begin it all over again for the third time.

"The question of how I am to start the story properly I have tried to settle in two ways. First, by scratching my head, which led to nothing. Second, by consulting my daughter Penelope, which has resulted in an entirely new idea."

What would an editor say to a beginning like that? Also, I’d like to answer the gentleman’s question: yes, we who make a living telling stories often find our own selves getting in the way of our subjects.

Then there’s this tidbit from the poem "Change" by Louis Jenkins:

"It’s more difficult nowadays to deal with
the speed of change, disturbing to suddenly find
yourself brushing your teeth with what appears
to be a flashlight."

That elicited a good belly laugh.

Filed Under: books, stories

"Careful or I'll put you in my novel."

February 4, 2010 By heather 2 Comments

Image via Wikipedia

I’ve picked up Dante’s Divine Comedy (Inferno, Purgatorio, and Paradise) to study for my WIP.

(Side note: thank you, Kindle, for making this selection available to me for free. We love you, Kindle, oh yes, we do.)

A couple of interesting observations from my study of the poem and the little I’ve read on it (mostly in order to understand the references):

The Roman Catholic concept of purgatory originated with this work, which is allegorical. Most likely, Dante intended Purgatorio to represent the Christian life. Some things never change when we take allegory too literally.
The arrangement of sins–which is worse, in other words–differs from how the evangelical church would today arrange sins. While Dante’s work isn’t divinely inspired (and therefore not the biblical standard for arrangement of sin), it provides an interesting anthropological study in how our cultures affect our view of sin. To clarify: this doesn’t imply that lust, for example, is a sin in one culture and not in another, or that the culture itself defines lust. It shows how we as human beings attempting to grapple with sin, its effects, and transformation from sin into life, do so differently in different ages. Dante’s culture, and the problems therein, affected which sins (while all worthy of punishment and separation from God) seem more harmful. It brought to light the sins we prefer to gloss over because of our situation.
Dante struggled with God’s justice and mercy. He reiterates that those in hell reside there because they denied Christ. And, above all, separation from God is a horrible thing. But you also see in Dante this hesitation to see good people in the hands of an angry God. So men like Virgil, Homer, Julius Caesar, Plato, and other great philosophers and thinkers, while apart from God (and quite upset to be so, to Dante’s credit) are not actively tortured as others are. These men reside in a meadow in hell, which wouldn’t seem so bad except for the complete lack of presence from God. Dante asks, "Is this eternal? Or will there be reprieve?"
This subject continues to bother us. What is hell? What is the gnashing of teeth? What about those who seemed so close to baptism?
Dante incorporated Greek and Roman mythology (popular during his day as mythology saw a resurgence in the Renaissance). He uses it almost sacramentally: everyday items infused with God’s grace to draw the unknowing to God.
Finally, an amusement: Dante had no quelms about putting real people in hell, men he admired, and men he blamed for the downfall of Florentine society. This is the writer’s ultimate retribution, is it not? Cross me, and I’ll put you in my novel. We may change the names (Dante didn’t bother to do even that!), but we carry out our ideas of justice and revenge in our own ways.

Fine print: Title quote from a T-shirt my sister gave me.

Filed Under: books, Dante, Divine Comedy, theology, writing

On Installations, Memoirs, and Reality TV

January 28, 2010 By heather 6 Comments

Recently I finished Unveiling by Suzanne Wolfe (an excellent read I highly recommend due to her poetic prose, complex characters, and willingness to enter into suffering and beauty). In it she comments that museums, with their metered environments, lose the contexts of churches and homes for art. This made me think about museum installations. Are they the artist’s desire to create context where none exists?

I suppose "no context" is impossible. How about sterile? Removed? Unfamiliar with the breathings of our daily lives?

***

Over the past several years, memoirs have invaded Barnes and Nobles. I recently read an article about this plethora of memoirs. The author (Daniel Mendelsohn) compared this to the phenomenon of reality TV. He remarked, "If you can watch a real lonely woman yearning after young hunks on a reality dating show, why bother with Emma Bovary?"*

In a global, transient, cyber world, are memoirs our attempts to grasp a lost context? The question, "Where are you from?" becomes more and more difficult to answer without giving an essay.

Mendelsohn also notes that this may stem from a misunderstanding of the type of truth presented by fiction, "’a truth’ about life," he says, "whereas memoirs and nonfiction accounts represent ‘the truth’ about specific things that have happened." While not wanting to dismiss all memoirs by any means, in a world where specifics shift faster than we change our shampoo bottles, perhaps we look for specifics rather than general truths in the books we read.

*quote from "But Enough About Me" in The New Yorker, Jan. 25, 2010, p. 73.

Filed Under: art, books, installations, memoirs, writing

Why Kindle Is Great in Bed

January 6, 2010 By heather 15 Comments

I could have said, "Why Niles* Is Great in Bed," but I do have scruples.

My husband, because he loves me and because he realized we could write it off (but mostly because he loves me), gave me a Kindle as my Christmas/birthday gift. I fell in love. And the other night, I discovered why a Kindle makes for great bedtime reading.

Since the Sony Reader, the Kindle, and other ebook readers, publishers and readers have discussed the plausibility of paper books disappearing (for example, Monica raised the discussion yesterday).

Yes, I love paper books. I love the smell. I love the sound of the binding giving way for the first time. I love walking into a bookstore, dizzy with opportunities for new friends. But more than that, I love stories and characters. I love whatever brings these stories and characters into my life.

Still, I don’t think the paper book will die. At least, not for a long time.

Here are some reasons why I love my Kindle:

When reading in bed, instead of trying to hold a heavy book open with one hand while hiding the other arm under the covers to keep it warm, I can hold the light Kindle one-handed easily. Also, there’s no awkward adjusting when I turn a page (this happens when I’m laying on my side).
You can get almost any classic book free on Kindle. Who doesn’t think free books are a plus? If you’re a classics lover, this is a dream come true.
Books are cheaper. (No, I haven’t done the math to see how long it would take to pay back the cost of the Kindle.)
Currently, if a bookstore overbuys a title, they can return these books to the publisher. They do so by ripping off the cover. These books cannot be reused. Not only that, but if they don’t sell, that’s a lot of wasted paper and money. With ebook technology, perhaps publishers can save some money and take more risks.
Though it costs a small fee to upload Word docs on a Kindle, I can. I have yet to do it (since my Kindle is still new), but this feature allows me to make editing notes in the doc. This gives my eyes a much-needed break from the computer screen.
Speaking of that break, I can read blogs on my Kindle.
All of my Kindle books and notes are backed up in my online Amazon account. (Yes, Amazon is taking over the world along with Apple.) This means if something ever does happen to my Kindle (God forbid), I don’t lose my work or my books. (You can’t say this if a fire ripped through your house.)
The Kindle has a built-in dictionary. If I need to know the meaning of a word, I scroll the cursor in front of that word, and voila! The dictionary’s definition appears in the footnotes. I could have used this feature while reading The Elegance of the Hedgehog.
Buying books (or downloading them for free) is easy-peasy. Literally one-touch. My husband would put this particular feature in the below list (things that I don’t love). But I’m the one writing this, so it stays here.

And here are the things that I don’t love about my Kindle:

I can’t borrow a book through Kindle. In this economy, I borrow most books from the library or from friends. Perhaps Kindle could work on some technology (like the technology that allows me to "borrow" audio books from my library) so that after a two- or three-week period, the book automatically deletes from your Kindle, or something like that.
I’m more nervous reading my Kindle while eating or cooking. Sauces splashes on a book are one thing, but I worry about corrupting an electronic device.
I enjoy the bookstore experience. I love flipping through books to decide which one I’ll buy next. Of course, I lose this whenever I shop at Amazon period. Their "Look Inside!" feature will never come close to a real bookstore experience.

Since I don’t own the new Nook (Barnes and Noble’s competitive ebook reader), I can’t do a fair comparison. My husband researched some of the differences here. If I remember correctly, he decided on the Kindle because the Nook does not offer Word doc support while the Kindle does. As a writer and editor, this is a key feature for me. It does seem that the Nook as some sort of technology for lending books, though I cannot confirm this, and I don’t know what this means exactly.

When I asked my husband if he researched the Sony reader, he replied, "Oh, Sony’s are out." He’s the gadget expert in the family.

*Niles is the name of my Kindle.

Filed Under: books, Kindle, reading

Book Thoughts: The Hour I First Believed by Wally Lamb

December 29, 2009 By heather 2 Comments

The Hour I First Believed: A Novel (P.S.) by Wally Lamb is the American novel of this decade. It grapples with the real events of Columbine, Katrina, 9/11, the war in the Middle East, and other personal tragedies such as alcoholism, drug addiction, divorce, affairs. In other words, it’s an epic novel of grief. It explores the sins of the father and mother and their effects on generations to come.

But it isn’t distant in its encompassing endeavor. All of these events come through the eyes of Caelum, a man who is victim, monster, and victor. He and his wife survived Columbine and attempt to put their lives back together in the aftermath. In the tragedies of our day, Caelum finds guidance in the myths of old.

Lamb explores questions such as: What do we do with grief? What is the difference between justice and vengeance and how does grace and redemption fit in? On what do we base/find hope? How do we heal when the contents of Pandora’s open box wreak havoc in our world? Where does the monster begin and the victim end?

This is a hard book to read, but it’s one I highly recommend.

Filed Under: books, The Hour I First Believed, Wally Lamb

Book Thoughts: The Elegance of the Hedgehog by Muriel Barbery

December 16, 2009 By heather Leave a Comment

From the perspective of two autodidacts and intellectuals, The Elegance of the Hedgehog exudes multi-syllabic sophistication. It embodies movement, beauty, and life itself.

A concierge and a twelve-year-old girl search for life’s meaning and beauty and to escape the stereotypes of their class and fate. As they do, they strike up an unusual friendship that in itself proves that the similarities between humans supercedes the limits of class and age. And what better way to show this than have the two connect over literature, beauty, and philosophy–topics unexpected in a concierge and twelve year old.

Often, the powers that be encourage writers to avoid big words. And often, this is good advice because the big words don’t contribute to–in fact, detract from–the overall voice. But here, all these magnificent, tasty words work–even in the voices of a concierge and a twelve year old–because Barbery makes it clear that these two women love words and beauty.

Toward the beginning of the book, Renee, our concierge, discusses phenomenology. Can we truly know things through our observations or are these things a construct of language, culture, and semantics? In other words, is the sky truly blue, or have we categorized it as blue? Renee affirms we can truly know things, the essence of things, more than our social constructs. Than Barbery uses Renee’s story to show how Renee is more than the social construct of a concierge. She is more than her stereotype, in other words, though she hides behind the stereotype. She is knowable if you’ll take the time to see her. And this is the key. The discussion of phenomenology asks the wrong questions. The question is: do we take the time to see and perceive? (Later, Renee also discusses Ockham’s question: are there universals or only specifics? In other words, is there a universal table or only tables. Renee affirms universals by virtue that we have a category tables but that the universal is only through specifics–again, a topic of perception and categories.) Renee says, "I am struck with incredible force by this proof that sight is like a hand that tries to seize flowing water. Yes, our eyes may perceive, yet they do not observe; they may believe, yet they do not question; they may receive yet they do not search: they are emptied of desire, with neither hunger nor passion" (p. 304).

But Renee herself must also overcome the stereotypes she perpetuates of the elite French culture, stereotypes she formed after a childhood tragedy. To do so, she must accept the overtures of friendship from a Japanese gentleman (the new tenant in the building) and a twelve-year-old girl, Paloma. Only in these friendships can Renee embrace the freedom and responsibility not of the elite, to whom she believed freedom and responsibility belonged, but of humanity. In other words, only in community can we discover human freedom and responsibility, and as we do so, we also find beauty.

Barbery connects beauty with responsibility. Those free to know beauty also have a responsibility to create beauty. Beauty is also connected with movement and the meaning of life. Paloma concludes, "Maybe that’s what life is about: there’s a lot of despair, but also the odd moment of beauty, where time is no longer the same. It’s as if those strains of music created a sort of interlude in time, something suspended, an elsewhere that had come to us, an always within never" (p. 325). This speaks to me about the beauty that sneaks in from the new earth. It’s the beauty of rebirth and resurrection. It’s the beauty of the kingdom of God, which dances in and around us–the always in today’s never–and will someday be fully realized.

And now, dear friends, if you have not read the book, I bid you adieu as the rest of the post contains spoilers. But, please, read this book. And when you do, come tell me what you think. If you have read this book, please continue reading because I crave your opinion as to the end. I waver as to my feelings about it.

First impression: Barbery chose an easy way out. Yes, in this case, death was the easy ending. Conversion does not bring ease. Quite the contrary! Those around us resist the change in us and the change that threatens their way of life. Renee’s death gives an escape to the difficulties and dreariness of everyday life following conversion.

Yet, second impression: Her sacrificial substitutionary death forces Paloma to experience real pain, and only in this experience can she make a real choice between embracing life (and its responsibilities and beauties) and her own escape.

Renee’s death also carries a theme Paloma raised toward the beginning: "The important thing, said Paloma one day, is not the fact of dying, it is what you are doing in the moment of your death." Renee’s death came about because she sought to save a fellow human being, something she perhaps would not have done if she hadn’t herself up to the love and community of humans.

So, fellow readers, what do you think?

Filed Under: books, Muriel Barbery, The Elegance of the Hedgehog

Book Thoughts: Her Fearful Symmetry by Audrey Niffenegger

October 12, 2009 By heather 2 Comments

If Edgar Allen Poe and Charlotte Bronte were to write a story set in contemporary London, the result would be Her Fearful Symmetry. In a Victorian gothic style befitting of its cemetery setting, Audrey Niffenegger unfolds a story of relationships, love, and secrets.

Mirror twins Valentina and Julia inherit their Aunt Elspeth’s estate after her death. The conditions: they must live in the London flat for a year before selling it, and they must disallow their parents, Edie (Elspeth’s estranged twin) and Jack, from setting foot in it. Once there, the twins meet Robert, Martin, and Elspeth herself.

Robert, Elspeth’s lover, spends his days working on his thesis, volunteering at the Highgate Cemetery (the subject of his thesis), and mourning Elspeth. Martin is their OCD neighbor who has papered his windows and refuses to leave his flat. Elspeth haunts her old flat, attempting to build some relationship with the twins and rebuild her relationship with Robert.

The book looks at the identity we receive from and lose in relationships, whether romantic, sibling, or parental. It also looks at how our desires for these relationships (and our insecurities in them) cause us to deceive those we love. With each character, I understand what motivates them, but I want to sit them down and talk some sense in them. The title is reminscent of (if not taken from, which I suspect), William Blake’s famous poem The Tyger, which looks at the complexities of creation–the symmetry and combination of wildness and danger with calm, peace, and goodness. In Blake’s poem, this symmetry exists both in creation (the peaceful Lamb v. the wild Tyger) and within the Tyger itself (majesty but a hint of danger and even evil). This is reflected in the characters of Her Fearful Symmetry, most obviously in Elspeth’s loving and drawing nature contrasted with her manipulative side and in Valentina and Julia as a set of twins who mirror each other physically and in personality. But is this not true of all of us? We are made up of beauty and corruptness?

Niffenegger’s delicate prose reflects a Victorian sensibility. The omnisicient voice makes the reader feel as if she haunts the characters. Her story is tightly woven, reflecting the same ability she displayed in Time Traveler’s Wife without repeating story or theme. Her sub-plots support the theme of boundaries and identity in relationship, giving us contrast and fulfillment. Ms. Niffenegger has been able to deliver a book with a fresh story differing not just from the plethora of stories hitting our shelves but from her own success. I look forward to what else Ms. Niffenegger has to offer us in the future.

Filed Under: Audrey Niffenegger, books, Her Fearful Symmetry

Book Thoughts: Return Policy by Michael Snyder

October 6, 2009 By heather 2 Comments

Willy, a hack writer who wants to be a serious writer, is sentenced to community service for running over a local high school’s mascot. There, he meets Father Joe, who’s searching for the daughter he lost while he was in jail, and Shaq, who’s searching for his missing memories (and finds them in everyone else’s pasts).

In his spare time,Willy works (and fails) at breaking his dead wife’s espresso maker–a gift from some guy named Sean. He enlists the help of Ozena, one of Javatek’s customer service representatives. Ozena spends her spare time playing board games with her mentally handicapped son.

I had high expectations after My Name Is Russell Fink, and Snyder’s sophomore novel exceeds them. He’s retained his quirky characters and style (I’m giving him honorary Yankee status with his Woody Allen-like neuroticism), but the story in Return Policy is more sophisticated and his characterization more mature. He doesn’t shy away from hard questions and is able to pull off an unpredictable and satisfying end. Readers can’t ignore the complications of the situation–what would I do in that situation? What’s the right thing? There are no easy answers, and they demand more consideration than simple proof-texting.

His characters are so real, I forgot they were characters. The other night, I picked up the book before remembering that I had finished it. I indulged in an evening of silence (aka no reading) because I wasn’t ready to let go. I have a feeling I’ll be hearing Willy’s voice in my head (joining the others) for a long time.

I highly recommend this book for fans of Coupland and Hornby.

Filed Under: books, Michael Snyder, Return Policy

Southern Charm v. East Coast Neurotics

September 29, 2009 By heather 9 Comments

I learned something new. It should be obvious. Realizing this feels like a Homer moment (meaning "Doh!", not epic poetry, though the Odyssey has some nice ah-ha moments).

Setting in books is more than the place where the story occurs. Setting is a mindset.

You’d think this would be more apparent, especially to someone who studied ethnomusicology in undergrad and cultural anthropology in grad school.

I came to the realization simply: I gravitate toward certain books and certain authors. And almost all of these certain books and certain authors are set in (and are from) north of D.C. (and on the east coast). Makes sense. I’m from New Jersey, and though I’ve lived in Texas for longer than I’d care to admit, my mind works like a Jersey girl’s mind.

(My sub-realization that my mind is that of a Jersey girl’s: when I visit Jersey every year, the people there, granted, mostly family, but not all, get me in a way that Texans never will. Andy Crouch said in Culture Making, "Most of us have experienced being in a context where our jokes were funny, our ideas provoked interest and excitement, and we felt light and quick on our feet, able to realize our vision with little sense of friction–and then being in another context where the same jokes and ideas fell completely flat and we found ourselves tongue-tied and embarrassed." I’m funnier in NJ than I am in Dallas.)

Recently, I’ve read several Southern fiction books. I admire these books. They’re well-written, but I don’t go gaga over them like other people do. I can’t relate to how these people think.

Let me quote a review of South of Broad by Pat Conroy. I have not read this book, but this line from a review captures why I feel estranged from Southern fiction.

It’s possible that the sobbing and sniveling occasionally felt
inauthentic to me because I am a priggish New Englander who is
uncomfortable with what may be a Southern penchant for drama. (From The Washington Post’s Book World/washingtonpost.com. Reviewed by Chris Bohjalian.)

In the end, Southern fiction veers on the sentimental. Odd coming from a drama-queen like myself. But as my dad always told me, "Walk it off." I’m drawn to the more subtle and no-nonsense like Russo or Tyler or Olive Kitteridge. I come from a world where sarcasm is a love language. On the east coast, we prefer neuroticism to wallowing. Think Woody Allen v. Rebecca Wells, When Harry Met Sally v. Steel Magnolias.

This explains why I can’t seem to set my stories in any place but New Jersey. I’ve tried, but the characters don’t work anywhere else. Call me a regionalist, but I’m just saying. I am what I am. When you say "the ocean," I think Atlantic (and, more specifically, picture my own Ocean City, NJ). When you ask for a Coke, I will give you the actual brand. When you call me "ma’am," I will be insulted.

So tell me: do you prefer Southern charm, west coast hang-ten, midwest helping hand, or east coast sarcasm?

Filed Under: books, setting, writing