This poem was yesterday's selection on the Writer's Almanac. I thought it was really funny and wanted to share it. It's the kind of poem that fools you because it seems all gloss on the surface. But if you really look at it, there's nothing particularly successful going on in this. In fact, the speaker is living a pretty normal life of cheap rent, friends, and decent socks. The success is the contented voice. It's very clever. And how can you not love the phrase "gorgeous air conditioner"? Enjoy.
Success Story, by Terence Winch
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Adventures in Re-Reading: Mrs. Dalloway
Book Re-Reviewed: Mrs. Dalloway, by Virginia Woolf
On Sunday, I mentioned it was the anniversary of The Great Gatsby's first publication. I've always thought of The Great Gatsby as being a "perfect" novel. I'm not talking about the story or my affinity for the book. I'm simply speaking of the construction of the book. It has nine evenly-spaced chapters full of prose that's been worked over and over again into a simple grace. It has a building series of events and emotions that lead to the ending, a beautiful little rumintion on the American dream. It's a book thats form is absolutely faultless, no matter how you feel about the actual story or its characters.
There is only one other book that I feel this confident about in its perfection of form: Mrs. Dalloway, by Virginia Woolf. Interestingly enough, this book was published only a month after Gatsby in 1925. But this is where the similaries end. If Gatsby is perfect because of its clean lines, then Mrs. Dalloway is the opposite. The first time I read Mrs. Dalloway a few years ago, I loved it; but it was a love that was hard-earned. This is a difficult book, where everything is taking place below surfaces and the voice shifts every couple of paragraphs. The last ten or so pages of the book take place in a cacophony of voice and language. Yet, this book's construction is perfection.
The novel is centered around the titular, middle-aged Clarissa Dalloway during a single June day in London as she plans a party for that evening. In the meantime, we also meet Septimus Warren Smith and his wife, Lucrezia. Septimus has suffered some major emotional trauma from World War I, and he manages to be both Clarissa's foil and her thematic twin. Throughout these two stories, we also hear from many of the people around Septimus and Clarissa. Peter Walsh, a man who loved Clarissa when they were young and has since sort of squandered away all his potential, has a fairly major voice throughout the book as well.
The whole thing is told in third person, but when we center in on a single character, we are hearing his or her internal voice. I'm not quite sure how it is that Woolf manages to pull this off so well. It's extremely complicated, but it's never messy. Instead, we get this gorgeous collage of people bumping into each other, affecting one another in ways they cannot understand. Woolf also relies a lot on memory, particularly in the summers Clarissa spent as a young woman in Bourton, where she met her husband, Richard, and shared a doomed relationship with Peter Walsh. Bourton remains the place where Clarissa was at her most happy, particularly in her deep friendship with Sally Seton, undoubtedly the love of her life. The book's final pages, when we see Sally in the present, are wonderful.
I love the hell out of this book. We had some amazing weather up her last weekend, full of warmth and sunshine. I think Mrs. Dalloway is an excellent book to read on a nice spring day. It features some of the best sentences in English, and it's very lush, even though it's less than 200 pages long. The way the book mixes the past and present gives everything a sort of hazy vive that feels as if you've spent too much time having long conversations under the sun, where you end up feeling slightly overwhelmed even while you enjoy it. It's a glorious experience. And while I do think it's a difficult book that definitely won't be everyone's forte, I also think it features some of the most memorable characters in all of literature. The depth of Clarissa, the tragedy of Septimus and Lucrezia, the boldness of Sally - all of it feels simultaneously familiar and original. And whenever I read this book, I cringe at the character of Peter Walsh. I have a theory that everyone knows a Peter Walsh - overly-intelligent, correcting and a bit off-puting, interesting but in the end ruined by his great passions. I really enjoyed reading this book again. It's a real treasure.
On Sunday, I mentioned it was the anniversary of The Great Gatsby's first publication. I've always thought of The Great Gatsby as being a "perfect" novel. I'm not talking about the story or my affinity for the book. I'm simply speaking of the construction of the book. It has nine evenly-spaced chapters full of prose that's been worked over and over again into a simple grace. It has a building series of events and emotions that lead to the ending, a beautiful little rumintion on the American dream. It's a book thats form is absolutely faultless, no matter how you feel about the actual story or its characters.
There is only one other book that I feel this confident about in its perfection of form: Mrs. Dalloway, by Virginia Woolf. Interestingly enough, this book was published only a month after Gatsby in 1925. But this is where the similaries end. If Gatsby is perfect because of its clean lines, then Mrs. Dalloway is the opposite. The first time I read Mrs. Dalloway a few years ago, I loved it; but it was a love that was hard-earned. This is a difficult book, where everything is taking place below surfaces and the voice shifts every couple of paragraphs. The last ten or so pages of the book take place in a cacophony of voice and language. Yet, this book's construction is perfection.
The novel is centered around the titular, middle-aged Clarissa Dalloway during a single June day in London as she plans a party for that evening. In the meantime, we also meet Septimus Warren Smith and his wife, Lucrezia. Septimus has suffered some major emotional trauma from World War I, and he manages to be both Clarissa's foil and her thematic twin. Throughout these two stories, we also hear from many of the people around Septimus and Clarissa. Peter Walsh, a man who loved Clarissa when they were young and has since sort of squandered away all his potential, has a fairly major voice throughout the book as well.
The whole thing is told in third person, but when we center in on a single character, we are hearing his or her internal voice. I'm not quite sure how it is that Woolf manages to pull this off so well. It's extremely complicated, but it's never messy. Instead, we get this gorgeous collage of people bumping into each other, affecting one another in ways they cannot understand. Woolf also relies a lot on memory, particularly in the summers Clarissa spent as a young woman in Bourton, where she met her husband, Richard, and shared a doomed relationship with Peter Walsh. Bourton remains the place where Clarissa was at her most happy, particularly in her deep friendship with Sally Seton, undoubtedly the love of her life. The book's final pages, when we see Sally in the present, are wonderful.
I love the hell out of this book. We had some amazing weather up her last weekend, full of warmth and sunshine. I think Mrs. Dalloway is an excellent book to read on a nice spring day. It features some of the best sentences in English, and it's very lush, even though it's less than 200 pages long. The way the book mixes the past and present gives everything a sort of hazy vive that feels as if you've spent too much time having long conversations under the sun, where you end up feeling slightly overwhelmed even while you enjoy it. It's a glorious experience. And while I do think it's a difficult book that definitely won't be everyone's forte, I also think it features some of the most memorable characters in all of literature. The depth of Clarissa, the tragedy of Septimus and Lucrezia, the boldness of Sally - all of it feels simultaneously familiar and original. And whenever I read this book, I cringe at the character of Peter Walsh. I have a theory that everyone knows a Peter Walsh - overly-intelligent, correcting and a bit off-puting, interesting but in the end ruined by his great passions. I really enjoyed reading this book again. It's a real treasure.
Monday, April 11, 2011
The Horror!
Book Reviewed: Heart-Shaped Box, by Joe Hill
Pity the book that is read immediately after finishing a book you love. I enjoyed Walker Percy's The Moviegoer so much that it colored my perception of the world for a little while. The lush descriptions, the turns of phrase, the utterly original protagonist; the novel was a feast. Unfortunately, there must come a time when another book is read, and usually, that book doesn't fair as well in your perception. It's a bit like an overly sweet desert eaten too soon after the meal.
I decided to do a 180-turn from The Moviegoer and picked up the debut "horror" novel by Joe Hill. You might remember that Hill is responsible for my #10 favorite book of 2010, 20th Century Ghosts. More importantly, he wrote "Pop Art," a favorite short story of mine and one of the most moving things I've ever read. I'd heard good things about Hill's two novels, so I decided it was a good time to try one out.
I liked Heart-Shaped Box well enough. It begins with aging rock star Judas Coyne buying a suit online, a suit that is supposed to be haunted. It ends up being more complicated than just a simple ghost, though, as the suit is haunted by the stepfather of one of Coyne's many ex-girlfriends, a fragile young woman who eventually killed herself. Coyne and his latest girlfriend, Marybeth (aka "Georgia") end up being tortured by the spirit until it affects every aspect of their lives. They end up on the road, trying to outrun the inevitable, deadly outcome headed their way. In the meantime, secrets are unearthed and feelings are realized.
This book is more than just a horror story, though. It's a tale of redemption. Judas Coyne is a man who's haunted by more than just physical ghosts. His rocky past includes a terrible childhood, several dead bandmates, and a long string of unhappy ex-girlfriends. Marybeth begins the story as just the latest lay in Coyne's life, but she eventually becomes something more, as the danger they find themselves in brings them closer together. Coyne is saved as a person by his ordeal.
Hill's a good writer, and his style is very similar to that of his famous father, Stephen King. He does a good job making the story satisfying on multiple fronts. Also, like King (and I don't mean to keep comparing him to his father), he is just as good at small details and moments as he is at plot points. Unfortunately, this book just didn't do it for me the way his story collection did. It was fun to read, a good way to pass the time. But it wasn't particularly nourishing. I'm not sure if it was Walker Percy's fault for being so awesome just days earlier, or if I was too harsh in comparing this book with Hill's fantastic short stories. Overall, a somewhat forgettable bit of literary entertainment.
Pity the book that is read immediately after finishing a book you love. I enjoyed Walker Percy's The Moviegoer so much that it colored my perception of the world for a little while. The lush descriptions, the turns of phrase, the utterly original protagonist; the novel was a feast. Unfortunately, there must come a time when another book is read, and usually, that book doesn't fair as well in your perception. It's a bit like an overly sweet desert eaten too soon after the meal.
I decided to do a 180-turn from The Moviegoer and picked up the debut "horror" novel by Joe Hill. You might remember that Hill is responsible for my #10 favorite book of 2010, 20th Century Ghosts. More importantly, he wrote "Pop Art," a favorite short story of mine and one of the most moving things I've ever read. I'd heard good things about Hill's two novels, so I decided it was a good time to try one out.
I liked Heart-Shaped Box well enough. It begins with aging rock star Judas Coyne buying a suit online, a suit that is supposed to be haunted. It ends up being more complicated than just a simple ghost, though, as the suit is haunted by the stepfather of one of Coyne's many ex-girlfriends, a fragile young woman who eventually killed herself. Coyne and his latest girlfriend, Marybeth (aka "Georgia") end up being tortured by the spirit until it affects every aspect of their lives. They end up on the road, trying to outrun the inevitable, deadly outcome headed their way. In the meantime, secrets are unearthed and feelings are realized.
This book is more than just a horror story, though. It's a tale of redemption. Judas Coyne is a man who's haunted by more than just physical ghosts. His rocky past includes a terrible childhood, several dead bandmates, and a long string of unhappy ex-girlfriends. Marybeth begins the story as just the latest lay in Coyne's life, but she eventually becomes something more, as the danger they find themselves in brings them closer together. Coyne is saved as a person by his ordeal.
Hill's a good writer, and his style is very similar to that of his famous father, Stephen King. He does a good job making the story satisfying on multiple fronts. Also, like King (and I don't mean to keep comparing him to his father), he is just as good at small details and moments as he is at plot points. Unfortunately, this book just didn't do it for me the way his story collection did. It was fun to read, a good way to pass the time. But it wasn't particularly nourishing. I'm not sure if it was Walker Percy's fault for being so awesome just days earlier, or if I was too harsh in comparing this book with Hill's fantastic short stories. Overall, a somewhat forgettable bit of literary entertainment.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Poem of the Week: "Camouflaging the Chimera," by Yusef Komunyakaa
I recently borrowed a copy of HBO's 2010 mini-series, The Pacific, from my library. I'm slowly making my way through the series, and it's really something. It's about the Pacific theater of World War II, a topic I'm ashamed to admit I know almost nothing about. The cast is really good, the camera work is lovely, and the story is super-interesting. But none of that takes away from how brutal the whole thing was at its most basic level. It reminds me of the work of my favorite war poet, Yusef Komunyakaa. I've name-checked Komunyakaa on here many times before, as he was one of the first poets with whom I fell in love. His work really gets at the horribleness of war, but the images are always very striking. Well, here he is again, with one of his poems about the Vietnam War.
Camouflaging the Chimera, by Yusef Komunyakaa
Note: Today is the 86th anniversary of the 1925 publishing of The Great Gatsby. So a very happy birthday to my favorite novel of all time!
Camouflaging the Chimera, by Yusef Komunyakaa
Note: Today is the 86th anniversary of the 1925 publishing of The Great Gatsby. So a very happy birthday to my favorite novel of all time!
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
With Prose Like This...
Book Reviewed: The Moveigoer, by Walker Percy
Have you ever read a book that you absolutely loved, but if you had to explain to someone what it was about, you would be at a complete loss? That reading the book was such a joy, but you can't totally figure out what the big themes were? I just had that experience.
Walker Percy's The Moviegoer is one of the best novels I've read in a long time. Percy's debut book, it won the 1962 National Book Award and won the adoration of just about every critic in the U.S. I've known about the book's existence for years, but I just finally got around to reading it. Man, am I glad I did.
Our narrator here is almost-thirty-year-old Jack "Binx" Bolling, a New Orleans stockbroker from a classic, genteel Southern family that's gone a bit to ruin. Bolling is a pretty passive guy. He's not a fan of real life, so he escapes it by having affairs with his secretaries and spending lots of time in dark movie theaters. Bolling knows himself quite well, but he's lost and wandering in his surroundings. He has a good relationship with his Aunt Emily and his troubled step-cousin, Kate, but he's not interested in the idea of being a respectable Bolling that his aunt has. For much of the book, he's just doing his thing, avoiding real entanglements with life. It's only when things come to a head in the book's final fifty pages that he ends up changing. And even then, I wasn't convinced it was a worthy change, as it didn't feel organic to his personality and rather seemed to be a result of social pressures.
There's a lot going on in this book - Catholicism, existentialism, all sorts of ideas floating about. By the time I hit the book's epilogue, I wasn't really sure what to make of all of it. I loved Bolling as a character and narrator, and I wasn't really ready to see him change too much too quickly. There's a lovely little interlude about two-thirds of the way through the book where Bolling visits his mother and much younger half-siblings. This section of the book does a fantastic job of presenting the type of man Bolling might really be, what he might be capable of if he removes himself from ironic distance and social expectations. That it comes back to play in the epilogue lends the book a fragility that shows the mastery of Percy's skills.
So maybe I can't completely describe my feelings toward the book's mysterious idea of the modern man. When I have this much fun reading a book, I'm willing to be a little unsure about the ending. I'm obsessed with the prose in this book. Percy somehow manages the trick of creating a style that's sumptuous, witty, and poetic while still remaining true to the narrator's voice. I knew I was going to love this book when I hit upon this passage on page four:
My uncle and aunt live in a gracious house in the Garden District and are very kind to me. But whenever I try to live there, I find myself first in a rage during which I develop strong opinions on a variety of subjects and write letters to editors, then in a depression during which I lie rigid as a stick for hours staring straight up at the plaster medallion on the ceiling of my bedroom.
I want to kiss that second sentence, I love it so much. Better yet, there are hundreds of sentences and descriptions in this book that I want to kiss as well. I can honestly say that this is the first novel I read this year (not including re-reads) that I right-out loved. My library copy was 241 pages, but I wish it could have gone on for another thousand.
Note: Often, this book reminded me of The Great Gatsby. I think it's the delicate but capable prose that did it for me. A lot of my favorite books are short, fragile things that explore the American spirit. Also see Marilynne Robinson's Gilead.
Have you ever read a book that you absolutely loved, but if you had to explain to someone what it was about, you would be at a complete loss? That reading the book was such a joy, but you can't totally figure out what the big themes were? I just had that experience.
Walker Percy's The Moviegoer is one of the best novels I've read in a long time. Percy's debut book, it won the 1962 National Book Award and won the adoration of just about every critic in the U.S. I've known about the book's existence for years, but I just finally got around to reading it. Man, am I glad I did.
Our narrator here is almost-thirty-year-old Jack "Binx" Bolling, a New Orleans stockbroker from a classic, genteel Southern family that's gone a bit to ruin. Bolling is a pretty passive guy. He's not a fan of real life, so he escapes it by having affairs with his secretaries and spending lots of time in dark movie theaters. Bolling knows himself quite well, but he's lost and wandering in his surroundings. He has a good relationship with his Aunt Emily and his troubled step-cousin, Kate, but he's not interested in the idea of being a respectable Bolling that his aunt has. For much of the book, he's just doing his thing, avoiding real entanglements with life. It's only when things come to a head in the book's final fifty pages that he ends up changing. And even then, I wasn't convinced it was a worthy change, as it didn't feel organic to his personality and rather seemed to be a result of social pressures.
There's a lot going on in this book - Catholicism, existentialism, all sorts of ideas floating about. By the time I hit the book's epilogue, I wasn't really sure what to make of all of it. I loved Bolling as a character and narrator, and I wasn't really ready to see him change too much too quickly. There's a lovely little interlude about two-thirds of the way through the book where Bolling visits his mother and much younger half-siblings. This section of the book does a fantastic job of presenting the type of man Bolling might really be, what he might be capable of if he removes himself from ironic distance and social expectations. That it comes back to play in the epilogue lends the book a fragility that shows the mastery of Percy's skills.
So maybe I can't completely describe my feelings toward the book's mysterious idea of the modern man. When I have this much fun reading a book, I'm willing to be a little unsure about the ending. I'm obsessed with the prose in this book. Percy somehow manages the trick of creating a style that's sumptuous, witty, and poetic while still remaining true to the narrator's voice. I knew I was going to love this book when I hit upon this passage on page four:
My uncle and aunt live in a gracious house in the Garden District and are very kind to me. But whenever I try to live there, I find myself first in a rage during which I develop strong opinions on a variety of subjects and write letters to editors, then in a depression during which I lie rigid as a stick for hours staring straight up at the plaster medallion on the ceiling of my bedroom.
I want to kiss that second sentence, I love it so much. Better yet, there are hundreds of sentences and descriptions in this book that I want to kiss as well. I can honestly say that this is the first novel I read this year (not including re-reads) that I right-out loved. My library copy was 241 pages, but I wish it could have gone on for another thousand.
Note: Often, this book reminded me of The Great Gatsby. I think it's the delicate but capable prose that did it for me. A lot of my favorite books are short, fragile things that explore the American spirit. Also see Marilynne Robinson's Gilead.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Poem of the Week: "In Response to a Rumor That the Oldest Whorehouse in Wheeling, West Virginia Has Been Condemned," by James Wright
Since it's National Poetry Month, I thought it would be nice to post Poems of the Week that ranked among my favorites. While looking for James Wright's incredible "Saint Judas," I came across this poem instead. How could I not be intrigued by that title? This poem is a lot of fun to read, humorous and sad at the same time. Enjoy!
In Response to a Rumor That the Oldest Whorehouse in Wheeling, West Virginia Had Been Condemned, by James Wright
P.S. I should mention that throughout the month of April, I'll be quoting my favorite lines of poetry at random on Twitter. Drop me an email if you want a link to my twitter page.
In Response to a Rumor That the Oldest Whorehouse in Wheeling, West Virginia Had Been Condemned, by James Wright
P.S. I should mention that throughout the month of April, I'll be quoting my favorite lines of poetry at random on Twitter. Drop me an email if you want a link to my twitter page.
Friday, April 1, 2011
March 2011 in Review
Total Pages Read in March: 1,808
I read a little over 400 more pages in March than I read in February. I read a couple of romances, including one by a new favorite, Julie James. I also attempted to read and understand Faulkner, which had mixed results. I didn't enjoy Light in August very much, but it did help me realize that Faulkner deserves his reputation as one of the all-time great American writers. He's just not hitting the right buttons for me personally.
I read two nonfiction books at the end of the month. Sarah Vowell's new book, Unfamiliar Fishes, was okay but not as good as her previous work. Meanwhile, Homer Hickam's memoir, Rocket Boys, was much better than I had anticipated. As is so often the case, I judged the book before I read it and then was surprised to find I actually liked it.
April is shaping up to be a great reading month, one I'm really excited about. I'm starting off the month with Walker Percy's 1961 classic, The Moviegoer. Already, I like it a great deal. There is a sentence on the fourth page that makes me want to dance with delight. Look for me to quote it in my official review next week. Since April is National Poetry Month, I hope to read at least two books of poetry. Of course, there will be some trashy romances mixed in, as well as at least one horror or fantasy novel.
Most importantly, I have decided to take part in the NPR Monkey See blog's I Will If You Will Book Club. I'm excited about this one, because Linda Holmes and Glen Weldon picked Dream Country, a volume of Neil Gaiman's Sandman graphic novel series. I already have the book in hand, ready to go! I'll let you know how this pursuit goes. I think it'll be fun, and I encourage you to participate also.
I read a little over 400 more pages in March than I read in February. I read a couple of romances, including one by a new favorite, Julie James. I also attempted to read and understand Faulkner, which had mixed results. I didn't enjoy Light in August very much, but it did help me realize that Faulkner deserves his reputation as one of the all-time great American writers. He's just not hitting the right buttons for me personally.
I read two nonfiction books at the end of the month. Sarah Vowell's new book, Unfamiliar Fishes, was okay but not as good as her previous work. Meanwhile, Homer Hickam's memoir, Rocket Boys, was much better than I had anticipated. As is so often the case, I judged the book before I read it and then was surprised to find I actually liked it.
April is shaping up to be a great reading month, one I'm really excited about. I'm starting off the month with Walker Percy's 1961 classic, The Moviegoer. Already, I like it a great deal. There is a sentence on the fourth page that makes me want to dance with delight. Look for me to quote it in my official review next week. Since April is National Poetry Month, I hope to read at least two books of poetry. Of course, there will be some trashy romances mixed in, as well as at least one horror or fantasy novel.
Most importantly, I have decided to take part in the NPR Monkey See blog's I Will If You Will Book Club. I'm excited about this one, because Linda Holmes and Glen Weldon picked Dream Country, a volume of Neil Gaiman's Sandman graphic novel series. I already have the book in hand, ready to go! I'll let you know how this pursuit goes. I think it'll be fun, and I encourage you to participate also.
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