Book #45: The Buddha in the Attic

Book #45: The Buddha in the Attic by Julie Otsuka

August 29, 2013


This book was quite unexpected. I was drawn in to it by the synopsis on my local library's ebook site; one thing that I've been trying to do with this reading challenge is to read works that present multicultural perspectives. I've always had some interest in the Japanese internment camps during World War II, and the treatment of Japanese-American people during that time period, but I'll admit that I haven't really sought out much literature or information about it. Here's a fact: the Holocaust is much more widely taught in U.S. schools than those events, happening during that same time period in our own country, might briefly be touched on, if discussed at all.

Certainly, the Japanese-Americans weren't killed. But they were still treated quite shabbily, and the last couple of chapters of this short book show things from their perspective. The writing style of this book is almost poetic, and probably couldn't be described as a "novel." It begins in the early part of the 20th century, as many young Japanese women (and some young girls) are brought from their home country (where their families were sometimes starving and desperate, and sometimes well off) to marry Japanese men already living in America. Many of them are lured to their matches on false pretenses, and are put to work as farm hands, or helping their husbands run laundry businesses or restaurants in California towns.

I feel like the story would have been intriguing if it had been told from one woman's perspective. Instead, on this poetic narrative, the story is told in the "plural first person": "we," referring to all of these Japanese women as they arrive in America, meet (and are usually disappointed by) their husbands, and live their lives in their new country. They have diverse experiences, yet the story continues to follow them all, and while their differences are pointed out, they have many things in common throughout the years: dealing with racism and being treated as second class citizens, their children assimilating into American culture and growing ashamed of their immigrant parents, and of course, their eventual evacuation from their California rural communities and cities, to destinations unknown (or, at least, not explained in the text).

About the middle of the book, I started to get a little tired of the writing style. But as the story came into the 1940's, into World War II, I was drawn in again. Otsuka is telling so many stories in this book, and is also telling the story of the experience of a race of people in a hostile country. This book made me feel ashamed of American's racist history, all over again. Then again, as expressed in the text, the Japanese characters had stereotypes and prejudices of their own (especially among other Asian communities, like the Chinese of Filipinos). I appreciated the book all the more for not only making that shameful time in our country so vivid, and also for putting actual faces (such real faces; though the descriptions of the individuals are minute, they are such real and raw details that you feel like you know so much about them).

I couldn't help, as I read the final chapter (which switches to a collective "we" of white Americans, living in the communities in California where the Japanese people have disappeared), comparing this situation once again with the Holocaust. This time, I thought of the people in Germany, or in Poland, watching their Jewish neighbors disappearing. Some comparisons could be made; the book describes how people lined up and watched the Japanese people being herded out of their cities (not at gunpoint, though many very distressed about being forced away from their homes and the lives that they'd built with such care). The final chapter expresses that the people were, on the whole, concerned (though there were still many Americans who were suspicious of their Japanese neighbors, suspecting them of being spies or traitors)...at least at first. They weren't afraid to ask questions; certainly people under the Nazi regime would not be so bold in questioning their leaders, though the Americans still received no definitive answers about the whereabouts of their Japanese neighbors. They were advised to move on...and so they did.

Was it human nature that caused these people to write off their Japanese neighbors as gone for good? After all, human beings are highly adaptable, and with the war going on and so many concerns for their own welfare, isn't it only natural that they would forget and move on? Was it callousness? After all, besides the people who patronized the Japanese businesses, or had them as servants in their homes, most white Americans treated the Japanese-Americans just as poorly as they treated other minority races and peoples. The book ends with the people of California forgetting, moving on, with vague ideas about how their former neighbors, forced inland, are doing the same.

Some people may make the assertion that Asian people in the United States haven't had it "as bad" as other minorities, like Hispanics or black people. I think it's more a matter of culture. The text describes how the Japanese people, harassed by racists, would calmly turn the other cheek. It wouldn't have been acceptable for them to defend themselves, or to stop working as hard as possible. But just because they were not as outspoken about the atrocities that they faced as much as some of the brave black people during that same time, and later during the Civil Rights movement, doesn't mean that the racism didn't hurt them, or that their history in America shouldn't be honored, either.

Though I am an English teacher, part of my unique teaching assignment involves teaching a section of U.S. History. We will eventually get to World War II, a topic that the class has shown some interest in already (we just started school a couple of days ago). I will make a point to delve into this subject, perhaps allowing the students to make their own comparisons with the Holocaust. I firmly believe that my responsibility as a teacher, regardless of the subject, is to introduce students to these all-important topics, like the treatment of Japanese-Americans during World War II, or the prevalence of Jim Crow laws in Southern states prior to the Civil Rights movement. Those important topics were not enough a part of my own public school education. Yes, it's difficult to learn about such a shameful time in our history, but it's important, too. We need to boldly look those facts in the face, and reflect on them, and use our knowledge to shape our world into a better place.

I feel pretty certain that this picture was taken after the bombing of Pearl Harbor. But as the text clearly shows, racist attitudes towards Japanese-Americans was nothing new.

A statue of the laughing Buddha, which is probably the most well-known Buddhist symbol in the West. I have had a fascination with Buddhism since visiting countless Buddhist temples during my trip to Tibet a few years back. The "buddha in the attic" referred to in the title has a double-meaning. On the one hand, there is a literal Buddha, a small laughing Buddha, left in the corner of the attic in an abandoned house. On the other hand, it represents the fact that these Japanese-American women had to hide their true identities, their ethnicities, from their racist neighbors and even from their own children.

Book #44: The Picture of Dorian Gray

Book #44: The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde

August 26, 2013


The Importance of Being Earnest is one of my absolute favorite plays. I especially love the character Algernon, how flippant he is, always spouting off these ridiculous truisms, never taking anything too seriously. That's exactly like Sir Henry (aka Harry), one of the main characters in this novel, one of Wilde's most famous works along with the aforementioned. Though the book is full of his quotable lines (I highlighted many of them on my Kindle; here's one that I especially liked from early on in the book, and kind of expresses some feelings that I've had today: "I can't help detesting my relations. I suppose it comes from the fact that none of us can stand other people having the same faults as ourselves"). However, Dorian Gray is actually quite a dark story, not at all light and carefree like Earnest. 

The picture in question is a portrait, done by an artist named Basil Hallward. Basil serves as a foil for the ridiculous Harry (and later Dorian, who emulates him); he is much more practical, much more heartfelt and sincere. He is enamored with the young Dorian, a handsome young man. One might even speculate that his feelings for Dorian were romantic; after all, wasn't Wilde a homosexual himself? Basil is friends with Harry, but is afraid that the cynical gentleman will have a negative influence on his friend. He does, at the beginning...but Dorian goes really bad on his own.

On the day that the portrait is completed, Dorian and Harry meet for the first time, to Basil's chagrin. Harry, in his offhand way, comments that Dorian should value his youth and beauty while he still has them, because once they fade away, it's basically all downhill from there. Dorian has been warned that Harry is insincere, not someone to be taken seriously, but he does completely the opposite. He looks to Harry as a wise mentor, and he laments that he will grow old and ugly. Dorian is shallow from the beginning, but getting his wish (to stay young in appearance, while the picture bears his aging and the marks of his sins for him) makes him truly evil.

Dorian sells his soul to the devil to get his wish for lifelong beauty and youth. When he realizes what has happened, he is first in disbelief, then horrified. He notices a change in the picture after he viciously breaks the heart of a very young actress. He fell in love with Sibyl for shallow reasons: because she was such a good actress. One bad performance, and he disavows his love for her, and cancels their hasty engagement. When he learns that she committed suicide, he feels guilty...though Harry comforts him with his remarks that she died a noble, dramatic death, very becoming of an actress, much like the Shakespearean heroines she had portrayed in life. After this, Dorian notices that his portrait seems to be sneering. Shocked, he hides it away in a locked, abandoned room.

But he goes to the picture often, fascinated. I saw some parallels to Jekyll and Hyde in this; Dorian is able to live a life of debauchery, and never have it show in his appearance. To the world, he continues to look like an innocent youth, so who would believe the rumors that begin to circulate about him? The reader is only given a glimpse of the true nature of Dorian's dark activities, when he goes to an opium den to drug himself into a stupor. This is after he kills Basil, years after the painting is complete and after it has undergone some radical changes. It shows the deterioration of his morality, and his soul, as well as the aging he would have naturally undergone. Dorian was, at first, fascinated in watching the changes, in seeing how his dark deeds reflected in the painting, rather than on his own face. But went Basil confronts him on the rumors, and on the fact that Dorian's influence brought many people to ruin (including one young man, who became a very serious heroin addict); that's when Dorian shows him the painting, and kills him.

The novel is quickly paced for the most part. There's really only one chapter that bored me, one that explains some of Dorian's activities during the eighteen years since the painting was made. Not the evil things; that all comes out later. But it goes into these obsessions that he had with outward beauty: art and jewels and things like that. He read about the glorious riches of kings, and he gathered up his own store of wealth. But as I read it, I found myself thinking, this shit is so shallow. Yeah, the part about the different instruments was kind of interesting, since music (and art) are beautiful in a soulful way (when they're done right). But Dorian was only interested in the novelty of these things. And I later found that this section was in contrast to a quote near the end of the novel. Harry is telling Dorian about a preacher that he heard on the streets, who asked, "What does it profit a man if he gain the whole world and lose his own soul?" Harry himself does not realize how serious such a question is, but Dorian is too fully aware, and it touches a chord with him, for that's exactly what happened to him.

By the end of the book, Harry's little quips become tiresome...but I think that that was Wilde's intention, in this case. Sure, his clever comments were fun to start with, and the scenes in which he is teasing and scandalizing others with his offhand remarks were the most entertaining. But in contrast to such a serious story, it seems to me that Harry, in his disregard for true beauty, and real love, is the most evil one of all. I found myself hoping that Dorian would kill him, too...but alas, Harry was the sole survivor of the trio in the end.

I find myself more fascinated with Wilde than I was when I started the book. He was, on the one hand, very humorous. His humor is very British...I found myself thinking at one point that he may be the father of British humor himself. Then, the text made a reference to Moliere; I've studied Tartuffe and it's clear that Wilde was inspired in part by that playwright. On the other hand, the story has a serious moral. Shallow love, possessions, and beauty...none of those things mean anything, and the pursuit for those things only, and pleasure, only leads to an empty life. Dorian had what he wanted in the end, and he was terribly miserable. When he attempted to destroy the painting, he instead killed himself, and was transformed into the hideous old man, while the painting went back to its original form. Kind of saw that one coming...

This was an excellent book, with timeless themes. I could see this being one classic that could be masterfully modernized, because even though it was published over a century ago, the characters are so dreadfully real that they could be found in the world today. Is society more shallow today than it was in Wilde's time? I don't really think so, I just think that it's shallow in a different way. The shallowness of the society, the lack of depth, leaves me feeling depressed and empty at times. I take some comfort in Wilde's real wisdom...not in his witticisms, but in the real and very powerful message of this work.

There are many pictures to be found depicting Dorian Gray and his infamous portrait. I thought this ink print was pretty cool.

The personification of the shallowness of popular culture today. If you've ever watched an episode of this show, you see clearly how ridiculous these people are, completely lacking in any sort of depth. The pursuit of money and fame, at the expense of all else (like privacy, or sincerity) will lead to a bad end for this family. Maybe that's why so many people watch? Like a train wreck or something? I won't be surprised when the empire that Kris Jenner built on greed crumbles. But these people aren't the first, and they, unfortunately, won't be the last, to sell out their lives and their souls for fame.

Book #43: Abraham Lincoln, Vampire Hunter

Book #43: Abraham Lincoln, Vampire Hunter by Seth Grahame-Smith

August 24, 2013


I can see why some people might be taken aback, even offended, by this book. Grahame-Smith, in the spirit of his most famous novel Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, takes something famous and beloved (this time, rather than a literary work, the life of a beloved former president) and mixes the original (in this case, the facts about Lincoln's life and presidency) and mixes them with supernatural elements (in this case, vampires). I found the premise of the novel, and that of its predecessor, to be fascinating, so I was excited to read it. So in my criticism of it, I'm still able to take it for what it's worth: a fun story.

I felt like the novel held up for the first part. It was extremely well-written, and Grahame-Smith turns young Lincoln into a realistic character, who doesn't seem so far removed from the real thing, even as he's swearing to hunt down vampires to avenge the death of his mother. The scenes of him cutting down vampires were certainly made to be filmed (and the movie version of this came out last year), and I found myself wondering how the story would continue, how the author would mix in these elements with the more well-known details of Lincoln's life, with his rising political career and presidency.

That's where the story started to fall apart a bit, unfortunately. Now, the story maintains that Lincoln entered local politics on his own volition, to address the needs of men, not of vampires. But then, as he becomes a rising star in Illinois on his own, he is recruited by his vampire ally, Henry, to run for president, since he understands the truth about vampires and knows how they're involved with slavery in the south.

The book maintains that Lincoln always felt that slavery was a sin, but in the book, it's the idea that vampires are using slaves to quench their thirst (and manipulating slave owners into serving them), and his witnessing of a slaughter of helpless slaves by a brood of vampires that stirs his passion. Like, what, the institution of slavery wasn't bad enough on its own without throwing in that element? Still, that part of it was actually pretty clever. In fact, the idea of vampires being so prominent in the south (like in New Orleans) tied in well with Anne Rice's famous vampire stories. Still, I felt like the premise got a little shaky at that point, and it felt like the fiction of Lincoln-as-vampire-hunter and Lincoln-as-president were too split, not as well intertwined as the first part of the book. One critic, when the novel first debuted, said that it was "too neat" or "too tidy." I feel just the opposite, that the second half of the book was slopped together in comparison to the first.

Making John Wilkes Booth a vampire was unnecessary. I mean, if he were a vampire, then him shooting the president, rather than, I don't know, attacking him in bed (with no vampire bodyguards around anymore after Lincoln banished them following his son Willy's death, wouldn't that have been really easy?) and drinking his blood just seems weird. What I think Grahame-Smith should have done was made Booth a slave to the vampires...like, they'd threatened him to kill the president or else, or had brainwashed him or something. It just didn't hold up at all. At times I felt like Grahame-Smith had to contradict some of the points that he'd made just in keeping with history, because if he'd been true to his descriptions of vampires and their powers, Lincoln would have died many times over. In some cases, luck was on his side...but that was too often the case.

I saw the ending coming from a mile away. Henry, after the death of Lincoln's first love, then of two of his sons, made an offer to turn them into vampires, so it was pretty obvious what was going to happen after Lincoln was put into his coffin. But now, this ending does not hold up with the introduction to the novel. Grahame-Smith, like Jonathan Safron-Foer, inserted himself as a character into the story, but only briefly. He'd been commissioned by Henry to write out Lincoln's "real" life story, with Lincoln's private journals to aid him. The question of why is never answered; if he'd been keeping the story a secret for so long, then why bring it to light now? Also, where's Lincoln at the beginning of the book, when Henry was getting the author to write the story? And what is their connection to Martin Luther King, Jr? Is the reader supposed to believe that he, too, was turned into a vampire, to continue fighting the forces of true evil for all time?

Lincoln's allowing himself to be a vampire didn't stay true to his character, not even the way Grahame-Smith wrote him. So, I don't know, I was feeling pretty annoyed with the ending. Overall, I did feel like this was a fun book to read, not one to be taken seriously in the least. While the pictures were a fun addition, I didn't feel like they added much to the story. Grahame-Smith includes these, as well as frequent footnotes of fact and fiction, to give the impression that this work was written as a biography, not as a work of fiction. That's kind of cool, I guess, but at the same time, the author, because of his access to the journals, has access to (fictional) Lincoln's most intimate thoughts and feelings. So it kind of has two different tones to it...again, not mixed very well.

I would be curious to see the film...in fact, if it's available to stream on Netflix, I may just kick back and watch it tonight. Grahame-Smith is definitely more of an entertainment writer than a literary author, and as I thought as I was reading the scenes with Lincoln chopping up vampires, this book was made to be a film, so maybe it translates better into that medium. I'll probably read another work by Grahame-Smith at some point...Pride and Prejudice and Zombies has fascinated me since I first heard about it a few years ago. I wonder if we'll see many more novels from Grahame-Smith...he published another history-fantasy mash-up with Unholy Night, a book about a Wise Men and Jesus as, I don't know, vampire hunters or zombie killers or something to that effect. But it seems to me like Grahame-Smith has found his place in Hollywood, and I would guess that that was his intention all along.

Oh, and one last thing. No mention of Frederick Douglass? Not one? He could have been an interesting addition to the book, as like a witness of the horrors of vampires in the South or something. I wonder why the author would choose to omit this particular historical figure. Douglass's relationship with the president is one that I've always found fascinating, so I was disappointed that the author couldn't work it in somehow...again, that leads me to view the novel as being lazily put together.

Abraham Lincoln was a complex man, our greatest president, and one ugly ass motherfucker. But he was no vampire hunter.

According to good old Wikipedia, Grahame-Smith is currently penning a sequel to the classic film Beetlejuice. I'd love to see that one; that movie is one of my all-time favorites.

Book #42: The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

Book #42: The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson

August 20, 2013


Yup, it's another double-entry day! In my defense, reading this book was somewhat a part of my curriculum planning. See, it's one of the thirty or so "public domain classics" that I downloaded for free on my Kindle (the only book I've paid for at this point is Atlas Shrugged...and why pay for ebooks if you can get them or rent them for free?), so eventually I was planning to get to it. Well, it's also a book that I saw in my new classroom. When I saw how thin it was, I at first assumed it was some condensed version, and would have never considered it for use if that were the case. I could have read Atlas Shrugged, for example, as a condensed text, rather than the huge original...but that wouldn't have felt right. If you're going to read a book, might as well read the real thing.

Well, when I examined the book, I saw that it was an "unabridged" text. I verified the short length with the version on my Kindle. So it was a very quick read, took me something like two hours, so I figured I might as well just knock it out. I didn't really sit and take any notes for my lesson planning...with a unit for Into Thin Air completed planned out, I've got my first month and a half of that class complete for the time being, so I will have time to go back and make notes on my ebook for this text. I just sat and enjoyed the story.

So again, this is a classic with a well-known basic premise: Dr. Jekyll, a chemist, creates this potion or drug or what have you that turns him into someone else, Mr. Hyde, who is an asshole. So anyone reading this book today would experience a sense of dramatic irony; like, as Utterson, the attorney who is a good friend of Dr. Jekyll, is trying to sort the whole situation out, the reader already knows what's up. So it's interesting to see how it all unfolds.

This snappy read is appropriately paced. It follows over a course of a few months. Utterson, an upstanding and well-regarded man, reminded me at the beginning of Nick Carraway from The Great Gatsby. Utterson is described as being someone who doesn't judge others; as a result of this, he often stays in contact with people even as they've started to drift into bad habits, and as their reputations around London start to suffer. This is meant to explain Utterson's involvement in the whole story, the same way that Fitzgerald justifies Carraway's access to intimate information to such a character trait. In contrast to Utterson, who seems to be a very together sort of person, there is Dr. Jekyll.

He explains, in what basically amounts as a suicide letter to Utterson, that he'd always felt this sort of split in his personality. On the one hand, he succumbed to society pressure, or the necessity of his profession as a doctor and professor, to live a pious and respectable life. On the other hand, he sometimes found pleasure into dabbling in taboo activities: drinking, it would seem, maybe gambling, things that would hurt his conscience. Nowadays, people would say, hey, you gotta have your fun sometimes, right? They'd probably advise Jekyll to spend a weekend in Vegas. Well, he kind of does what he would consider to be the equivalent in his time and situation. He figures out a way to make a drug that actually causes his personality to split, and he becomes the personification of his dark temptations to vice. That would be Mr. Hyde, of course.

As Mr. Hyde, he explains, he can indulge in those forbidden pleasures without feeling any guilt afterward...because it's not really him, right? Jekyll doesn't take responsibility for Hyde's actions, not even when he knocks down some little girl on the streets and hits or tramples on her. So he's not just an outlet for enjoying himself in a way that society would be frowned upon, but also a way for him to indulge in just being "bad." Hyde is smaller in statue than Jekyll, which would imply that Jekyll's "good" side outweighed his "bad" side. Ah, but as the story goes, as Jekyll uses more and more of the drug to become his other persona, Hyde becomes stronger...and becomes the dominant one.

The rest of the story is familiar, I guess. Jekyll realizes that he can't live his life as Hyde, who is wanted for murder (he kind of turns out to be 'pure evil,' as Jekyll calls him), and has such a rage that he fears Hyde will continue to physically harm and kill others. So he commits suicide; or maybe at that point, Hyde had taken over and decided to do it himself.

I wonder if the message that I get from the story is different than what Stevenson intended. I think that having a happy medium, indulging oneself in moderation, is not a bad thing in the least. I have not read up much on Stevenson, nor have I read any of his other works, so I don't know where he would lean on that issue. But I think (and it would be practical for today's world) that allowing yourself to be "bad" sometimes is a good thing, a healthy thing...I mean, obviously Dr. Jekyll was not happy when he felt he had to be "good" ALL the time, because he set out on this experiment in the first place, and enjoyed it so much (initially) when he was successfully in becoming Hyde. Dr. Jekyll had a lot of friends, when he was "normal," and was highly regarded...what happened to make him so unhappy? Maybe the 'evil' part of him was really stronger than he wanted to believe...

I would venture to say that this story has had about as many remakes/modernizations done to it as A Christmas Carol, probably the most prominent one being those terrible Nutty Professor movies with Eddie Murphy. Man, there's an actor whose career has taken a serious nosedive in recent years. He seems to have stepped back, and I think that's for the best. Apparently, the novel Mary Reilly by Valerie Martin is a different take on the story, told from a new character's perspective and I suppose adding some more depth to the situation. After all, we don't really SEE the things that Hyde does (besides the murder, and assaulting a young girl, and later a woman). It looks interesting, and that may be another book to add to my ever-growing list.

The concept of having "dual personalities," or a "good and evil side" is certainly nothing new. I guess I can relate to that aspect of it; we all have our secrets, things that we definitely don't go around telling everyone. It was shame, guilt, and an oppressive society, not his temptations, that doomed Dr. Jekyll.

Eddie Murphy, in better days.

Book #41: Salvage the Bones

Book #41: Salvage the Bones by Jesmyn Ward

August 20, 2013


When looking for contemporary reads on my local library's ebook catalog, this particular book immediately stuck out to me. It was published a couple of years ago, and Ward's second novel has received much acclaim, and a couple of awards. It is the story of a dirt-poor family living in the Mississippi bayou, and how they deal with the arrival of Hurricane Katrina. I was a senior in high school when the disaster hit, and there was a lot of news coverage. One thing that I remember was all of the criticism about the government's lack of assistance to the poor, who didn't have the means to make it out of the path of the storm, and were left stranded and starving for days. The Batistes, the family around which the story is centered, is one such family.

The life that Esch and her brothers live seems miserable, even before the storm. Their widower father is an alcoholic, frequently out of work, and if he doesn't downright abuse his children, he is a merciless bully. In contrast, his two eldest sons, Randall and Skeetah, are soft-hearted. Randall, since the death of his mother, has been basically the primary caregiver for the youngest Junior (along with Esch, his sister and the narrator of the story, to help); Skeetah is sensitive, and the love that he has for his pit bull China is almost unnatural, but nonetheless heart-wrenching.

The Batistes live in the Pit, a property owned by Esch's parents (who died before their daughter). After Rose's death, the children really only had each other, and even as teenagers (with Junior, far younger at seven) they were very close. Esch reflects at one point that she doesn't have any girl friends; she mostly hangs out with her brothers and their friends (and fucks each and every one of those guys at one point). She is in love with Manny, who is gorgeous (in spite of...or in Esch's view, because of...a large scar on his face from a car accident), but he is an asshole. When she realizes she is pregnant, just days before Katrina hits, and she tells him the truth, he denies that the child could be his (though she's only been with him for the past few months). She beats him up; she is definitely a "tomboy," not afraid to hit or run fast, and it seems that the boys who hang around would probably accept her, even if she didn't put out. Her explanation is that "it was just easier" to let them do it then to say no; this would be the effect of not having a mother around to tell her any better, I suppose.

China has puppies at the beginning of the book. Unfortunately, one of the puppies falls ill and Skeetah has to snap her neck; another is torn apart by China herself; the other three drown and are lost when the hurricane hits. Skeetah had a lot of hope for those puppies. He had plans to sell them for a high profit, money that the family desperately needed. He even offered to use the money to send Randall, a star athlete, to basketball camp, where he would be exposed to college recruiters. China is a fighting dog; Skeetah makes money from having her fight against other dogs, no necessarily fights to the death, but one chapter describes one such dog fight, with the blood flying. Now, I certainly do not condone that sort of activity, and I could see why some readers would be turned off by this, or the descriptions of Esch, a young teenager, having sex with Manny...but their world is very different than the one I know, and I was able, for the most part, to withhold judgement. But he's not just the proud owner of a fierce dog; he is in love with China, devoted to her, and I couldn't help but feel at one point that he wished he were the father of the puppies, rather than another pit bull.

Skeetah's passion for his dog is in stark contrast to the way that Manny treats Esch, even though she is fiercely in love with him. He has no remorse for getting so young a girl pregnant...he's in love with someone else, a live-in girlfriend, but he doesn't even show Esch any kind of sympathy or support when he learns her condition. He even pushes her to the ground when she starts to fight him, a little pregnant girl. Esch is very close to her brother Skeetah, and I think she is drawn to him because she sees the love that he has for that dog, and she wants a man (or more specifically, Manny) to love her that way. That she could envy the treatment of a dog...

Big Henry is another friend, one who has never slept with Esch, but he is clearly in love with her. She comes to realize his worth at the end of the book, when he and his mother take the Batiste family in when their home is flooded. At the end of the book, Skeetah has lost China. When the family fled from their rapidly flooding house, climbing across a tree to their grandparents' old abandoned house on higher land, the truth about Esch's pregnancy came out. Claude, her father, in his shock, pushes her into the floodwaters. Skeetah sacrifices China to dive in after his sister, but as soon as the flood waters clear away, he is out on the Pit, awaiting his dog to return. He feels certain that she will come back, and Esch seems to feel it, too, although China's fate, and the fate of the impoverished and now homeless Batiste family, is unknown.

I also felt for Esch's brother Junior, whose birth resulted in their Mama's death. He never had a parent to love him, and he clings to Randall, who shows him affection but is no substitute for their mother. Skeetah shows both a mother's love and a lover's affection for China, and by the end of the book, Esch thinks that she will have the capacity to love her child, come what may. She draws strength from the strong female characters of mythology, and a motif of the story is Esch comparing her situation with the story of Medea, who was betrayed by her lover Jason after she had killed her brother and betrayed her father for him. I'm familiar with the story because of a text on Greek mythology that my dad got for me years ago. I loved that book, but unfortunately, my younger brother ripped it apart when he was a toddler. Oops! But Esch is able to stay with her family, and turn away from selfish Manny. Big Henry reassures her that she has her brothers, and him, to help take care of her.

Are the Batistes much worse off after the hurricane? It's unclear. It almost seems like they're drawn closer together. Claude seems like he might change in a positive way, be there for his children (and his coming grandchild) more; he feels guilty for pushing Esch into the floodwaters, and sincerely apologizes. I wouldn't exactly say that the story had a "happy" ending, but there is a bit of hope, and that's enough to satisfy me. At the very least, as the characters in the book reflect as they stand among their damaged possessions, they are alive. As long as they're living, there's always a chance.

I imagine that China looks much like this, proud and grinning. There's a lot of negative press about pit bulls. Certainly they can be raised to be vicious, but I've come across pit bulls at, say, the dog park, and they never act aggressively towards me or little Rory. I know several people who champion for pit bulls, who try to do their part to quash the negative press.

This is an example of a shotgun house, as described in the text. I imagine that many of the poor in Bois Sauvage and St. Catherine's live in houses such as these. The Batiste house is bigger than this, though the yard is in much the same condition.

Book #40: Into Thin Air

Book #40: Into Thin Air by Jon Krakauer

August 18, 2013


Like Maus, I read this book while considering how to incorporate it into my curriculum. When I visited my new classroom last week, I saw this text among the class sets of books at my disposal. I've heard about this book, of course, and good things, too, but I was never that interested in reading it for myself. I have read Krakauer's Into the Wild, the true story of Chris McCandless, a young man who, for reasons that can be inferred but only truly speculated, wandered into the Alaska wilderness, where he died alone. I'd seen the movie, starring Emile Hirsch (hot and underrated), and found myself feeling angry about the senselessness of the tragedy. In the text, Krakauer points out that, had McCandless had a map and been prepared for his solo excursion into the harsh wilderness, not only would he not have had to starve to death, but he would have known that a highway was within walking distance.

Into Thin Air, the true story of a disaster on Mount Everest that resulted in the deaths of several climbers in 1996 (Krakauer was there among them, and very nearly was a victim of tragedy himself), may excite the same kind of outrage in readers. It seems that it has; Krakauer had originally written the story for the magazine Outside (in fact, the assignment was the whole reason why he was on the expedition to climb the tallest mountain in the world in the first place), and he writes of the negative backlash that he received as a result of that. The other survivors had to deal with their share of criticism as well.

I didn't know much about climbing Mount Everest before I read this book. I had in my mind the lone climber, well-equipped and very experienced. I didn't know that climbing Mount Everest meant big business, and it seems to be the case today as much as it was in 1996. See, these experienced climbers from Western countries come to Nepal (Tibet being not easily accessible to foreigners...although I have actually been there myself, and have seen the Himalayan Mountains) and start up these big-money businesses. They employ other climbers as guides, as well as Sherpas, mountain-dwellers who are experienced in the mountains and are adapted to higher altitudes. Because you see, it isn't so much the climb that's tricky with Everest (at least, not for an experienced mountain climber), but the effects of the high altitudes. I've experienced some of this myself. I went to school in Flagstaff, Arizona, which is a mile above sea level. I never had a difficult time adjusting to the high altitudes after I'd been away, but I remember at the beginning of one semester, after Christmas, one of my roommates fell down the stairs in our apartment. She'd passed out, at random, while carrying a basket of laundry; being in LA for the holidays, she hadn't adjusted to the altitude yet, had blacked out one morning, and ended up with a busted ankle.

When visiting Tibet, my tour group from the university had been advised to take high-altitude medication, as Lhasa is at an altitude of some 12,000 feet or so. Myself and one other woman did not get the medication; I personally have a strong distrust of pharmaceutical companies, and haven't taken anything but ibuprophen (and some over-the-counter stuff when I threw my back out earlier this summer) in many years. I drank plenty of water, and while I felt a big sluggish, I wasn't any more so than the others on the trip, who did take the medicine. A couple of women fared worse; even on this stuff, one woman felt so lousy that she spent a day or two of our trip in the hotel room; another woman got nosebleeds. Hell, I'm a smoker (I really ought to quit...) and I felt okay. That's not to say that I underestimate the effects of high altitudes.

So, if perfectly healthy people can take medication and still get sick at 12,000-14,000 feet, imagine what it would be like for people at 26,000...or 29,000, since Everest is just over that at its summit. Krakauer did a good job of describing the harrowing effects of altitude. The man who was running his expedition, Rob Hall, had a plan for rapidly acclimating his clients, cycling between higher and higher camps and the lower Base Camp, getting them acclimated just enough to give them one shot at the high peak. Just one shot...and if it's blown, it's over, because just the one go takes everything out of the climber. Even with the aid of supplemental oxygen (a controversial issue itself, which isn't surprising, based on what I read), climbers become dangerously oxygen-deprived. As Krakauer points out, the challenge of Everest isn't making it to the top...which many people have done at this point, thanks to Sherpas and well-paid climbing guides, but getting back down alive.

Krakauer presents as many different sides of the story as possible. It was sometimes difficult to keep track of all of the people; I think for my students, I should give them a list of names, and we can keep notes on them as they read. But Krakauer spent a lot of time interviewing survivors, and he presented his own as well. There were many factors that led to the deaths of several people on the peaks after Krakauer and some people on his expedition and a group with another tour company reached the summit. I was jarred at how little celebration there was about reaching the apex of the entire planet. It really is an incredible feat. But Krakauer, at that point, was physically and emotionally drained, and knew that he needed all of his little amount of strength to make it safely back down in the oxygen-deprived environment. Rescue of victims that high by helicopter is not possible, and people who die as usually left to lie there, their bodies frozen and passed by the climbers who come after them.

I waver when it comes to the issue at hand: should regulations be put on climbing Mount Everest? On the one hand, I sympathize with the perspective of the Sherpa orphan, a young man living in a Western nation whose parents had died on Himalayan expeditions. He believes that his people are exploiting the mountain, and their own lives, for profit. I also feel that those who want to climb Everest should be allowed to do so (I was surprised, but really shouldn't have been, at the extravagant costs imposed by the Nepali and Chinese governments to obtain permits to begin climbing from their respective territories); if somebody's got the money, and they know the risks involved (after all, many people have died on Everest...as Krakauer points out, 1996 was unusual in the number of deaths, but not so much in the ratio of deaths to number of climbers), then it's their own business if they want to give it a shot. Krakauer writes about the issue of these experienced guides who are oftentimes coping with mediocre climbers, high-paying clients, and how pressure in those situations could lead to taking dangerous chances. But in the end, so many factors went into play here...is there really any point in playing the blame game?

I would be curious to know how Krakauer feels now, nearly two decades after the fact. At the time that the book was published, he felt a sense of guilt, not knowing if he could have done more. I don't think he could have. I shuddered to think of being in that situation, physically exhausted beyond comprehension, freezing, not able to breathe, and being helpless, knowing that people you know, and have come to care about, are in terrible danger. This is a very emotional story, moreso even than Into the Wild, because Krakauer was there, and he knew these people.

I am very excited to use this book with my students. I think it will present many opportunities for rhetorical analysis, and will spark some interesting discussions. I am working with an interesting demographic of students, so I don't really know what to expect. But this is a strong enough book to start off the year with. For now, I'm going to try to squeeze in a couple of books that I've been wanting to read for myself, because I have a feeling that much of my reading for the next few months will be either for my job, or for my classes this semester.

What the hell do you think this is?

Emile Hirsch depicting Chris McCandless. He had that dirty-hot vibe going on for much of the movie, like a hippie, but then he got all skinny and...you know.

Book #39: Dead Souls

Book #39: Dead Souls by Nikolai V. Gogol (translated by D.J. Hogarth)

August 14, 2013


It is difficult for me to judge this book, simply for the fact that it was never completed. I think I'd heard that once, that Gogol had died before he could finish Dead Souls, but I had forgotten that going in. I was sucked into the first part of the story, especially with my theories about what Chichikov was planning to do with the "dead souls." I had imagined, at first, that Chichikov was the devil himself. He didn't seem fully human in the first part of the book; he got along with everyone he met, he always gave "vague" details about himself and always did things just to please others, and he of course didn't tell anyone his actual reasons for wanting the dead souls. Then, as his past (very human) life was revealed, it just seemed to me like he was a very greedy person. I still wonder if Gogol would go on to have Chichikov sell those "souls" to the devil, but there's no way of knowing this; when we last see Chichikov, he has been driven out of yet another town, with a little more money in his pocket and the papers for the dead souls still in his possession.

Gogol actually explains, at one point, what Chichikov's plan is to get money off of these "dead souls," who were purchased as though they were living souls (here I'll point out that I'm talking about Russian serfs, essentially slaves...Gogol came a few decades before Tolstoy, and died before the serfs were legally freed), but the whole thing about mortgaging them and having falsified papers for the government didn't really make much sense to me. Serfdom didn't really work quite the same way as slavery in the United States; for instance, it seems like serfs belong to the land, not to the landowner himself, though that person does have the right to rent them out or sell them at will, I guess? Even that I wasn't clear about. But to extent, that's not really important here.

The tone of this book shifts quite dramatically between social satire and preachiness. When it was satirical, it was Gogol at his best. Some of the people whom Chichikov encounters in his schemes are very silly, and through them, he does not display Russian society in a very flattering light. On the other hand, at places Gogol preaches outright to the reader about hard work and morality in the government. These two tones, though they were sending the same message, clashed. It seemed to me that, with this incomplete work, Gogol knew what he wanted it to say, but he hadn't worked out yet what he wanted it to be.

Most of the first part maintains the sillier social commentary; it's especially absurd when Gogol inserts himself into the text (addressing himself as "the author"). He makes some pretty sexist comments, and though at one point he praises women for having certain strengths that men lack, overall he seems to take a very negative view of the female gender. At the same time, though, I wonder if these comments themselves were supposed to be satirical. Maybe if he'd maintained the tone throughout the story, it would have been less confusing.

Part two of the text is incomplete. There were whole scenes of the story skipped, and the ending cuts off as the Governor-General is giving a (preachy) speech to some government officials, many of whom have been involved in scandals that he is seeking to sniff out. This Governor-General, and a couple of characters whom Chichikov encounters, seem to represent morality, in Gogol's view. The landowner with whom Chichikov becomes friendly (who also loans him money to purchase a run-down estate...unknown what happens there, as it skips over much of this) is a hard-worker, who is constantly working and trying to find ways to make the best use of what he has (like taking polluted water from his river and making glue, or turning the leaves from his timber into fertilizer). He is in contrast to Chichikov, who swindles people to make a living, and always leeches off of the generosity of others. Chichikov is not meant to be a likable character. He commits some sort of fraudulent crime involving a wealthy woman's will and estate, but the details of this are unclear because, again, a huge chunk of it is missing.

When reflecting on the morals of these "good" characters, especially the industrious farmer, I was reminded of Levin from Anna Karenina. He seems to be modeled after this particular character, though he is at the beginning stages; he takes a hand in his work, he makes sure to pay his workers (no longer serfs/slaves) in a way that seems reasonable, and he does not allow himself to be distracted by vice. Tolstoy was rather preachy, in the same way, in that text, but he was consistently so. I don't disagree with Gogol's overall message (at least, what I THINK his overall message is!): that crime doesn't pay, that rewards come with hard work, blah blah blah. I believe it. And I think that the message is still relevant today. I've written here before about how too many Americans have gotten themselves into trouble by trying to live beyond their means. There are others who make excuses for why they can't get out from under their debt. The characters in Dead Souls reminded me of people that I know, and the scenes with these characters are the most entertaining of the text.

I will note here that I was hoping for (though, having researched Gogol in the past, wasn't really expecting) that this book would have an anti-serfdom message. After all, it was pretty messed up that Chichikov "rejoiced" whenever he heard of estates where many serfs had died out, due to harsh conditions or lack of food. Gogol does touch on the absurdity, at one point, of landowners (wealthy or in terrible debt) living it up while their serfs starve to death, and the most admirable characters had well-clothed, well-fed serfs, but he didn't seem to have a problem with the institution of slavery itself. He definitely supported the idea that serfs should not be educated, that indeed, education for them would be a dangerous thing! Definitely a conservative in his views, and in that, I certainly could not agree with him.

This incomplete book has been widely read (this version that I read was the first translation in English; I would be interested to read Pevear and Volokhonsky's take on it sometime) and studied, and apparently there are many different takes on it. I feel fairly confident about my analysis of it, though I would maybe need to read that other version to get a deeper feel for it. But this book is definitely not an easy one to pin down. I would be curious to see the fate of Chichikov. Had Gogol figured it out himself? What kind of changes would he have made to the story, if he had lived long enough to finish it? WOULD the devil have come into play here? After all, Hogarth translated many ejaculations and interjections made by the characters into "the devil only knows" or "to the devil with...". I do not know if his translation was accurate, as I know absolutely no Russian whatsoever, so maybe his personal take on the text led him to put it that way. Or, maybe it was Gogol's intention. "The devil only knows," indeed.

I wanted to find a picture that would represent the vehicle in which Chichikov traveled about with his servants, Petrushka and Selifan. But searches for "britchka" or "koliaska" came to nothing. This is a "troika." It is drawn by three horses, it seems, and would be large enough to fit Chichikov and his crew, but I'm not sure...

One old man whom Chichikov encounters on his travels is a hoarder. According to good old Wikipedia, today in Russian people with hoarding tendencies are maybe called "Plushkin" in reference to this character.

Book #38: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince

Book #38: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince by J.K. Rowling

August 11, 2013


As I've written in a previous post, I have not picked up a Harry Potter book in 10 years, because I was so upset about the death of Sirius Black. Okay, and there were other factors involved. The text that I just finished with released the summer before my senior year. I had a lot more on my mind during that time than what was going on at Hogwarts. It was easy (too easy) for me to put the series aside, and to scoff at my classmates who were so worked up over Dumbledore's death (plus, I've seen the movie, with my parents, so I already knew it was coming). So I was pleasantly surprised to find that I'm still as impressed with Rowling's superb writing as I was when I was so into the series. I have been, dare I say, enchanted once again.

I'd even venture so far as to say that this one is the best of the series (of course, I still have not read the final one). This book really tied together a lot of loose ends, so to speak, really drew together the plot from previous books. See, I used to feel this sort of disconnect between the adventures in the earlier books. Like, Voldemort didn't seem like a serious threat until, maybe, the end of the third book, when Pettigrew escaped and was determined to find his "master" again. Up to that point, though Harry's adventures had involved Voldemort in some way or another, it just hadn't all come together yet. This book made those connections, even while presenting some new questions (though it seems clear how they will all come into play in the final book). I wonder if Rowling had this all planned out in advance, or if she spent a lot of time rereading and reflecting on her previous work, really considering how to tidy it all up...

Regardless, this was a satisfying read for me, and I know I'll be waiting much less than 10 years to read the last one. I mean, even if it hadn't already been out for a few years already, I'd be able to guess at the ending: Harry kills Voldemort. Since the stories and movies (I haven't seen either part of the seventh film) have been such a prevalent part of popular culture, I know a little bit more than that. But again, even going into this book with so many "spoilers," it did not take anything away from my enjoyment.

Here is just a rundown of the legitimately unanswered questions that I have at this point:

-Who is R.A.B.? Along with that, what happened to Slythrin's locket, for real?
-Will Harry and his friends ever return to Hogwarts? Will Hogwarts even open back up for their seventh and final year?
-Snape is obviously on the right side, but he got caught up in a tangled situation...Dumbledore knew that Snape had to kill him, insisted that he do it, and played at his pleading very well. But what, exactly, is Snape's role in this whole thing? I know that he will ultimately redeem himself...how will he do it?
-Poor Malfoy. What is going to happen to poor Malfoy in the seventh book? I've heard enough to know that he turns to the right side as well, eventually. Just goes to show that even a dick can be a good person. Rowling shows it in this book with Fleur's reaction to her fiance Bill's maiming, how she insists that she will stand by him and marry him regardless. She's a haughty brat, but obviously true of heart.
-Is Harry a Horcrux? In other words, does he himself contain a bit of Voldemort's soul? Some "spoilers" I'd previously heard may indicate this...

I don't know why I waited so long to read this book. I guess that at the time that it came out, and the following year, I'd grown disgusted with anything that draws hype. For instance, the Twilight series and Fifty Shades of Grey...these, along with Harry Potter or, say, the Diary of a Wimpy Kid series, have been literary sensations quite recently, all in their own right. But I feel a strong aversion to the Twilight series, which in turn puts me off from Fifty Shades..., as its origins can be traced back to the mega-popular vampire-romance series. I've read bits and pieces of each, samples on the Internet or whatever, and always find the writing to be hackneyed, the dialogue to be laughably disingenuous. Maybe these bits were selected for those properties, I don't know. But enough people out there, people who seem to have much better grammar and speaking (or writing, if online) skills than those who are drawn to these series, and it just seems so...shallow.

Some might say, so what? "You don't read Fifty Shades for the plot," I've heard/read many times. Fair enough. But I don't know...I feel like if I'm taking the time to read something, it ought to have some substance. In other words, I do not allow myself to indulge in "guilty" reads. I wouldn't consider Rowling, or, say, Stephen King to be "guilty reads," because the quality of writing is so good. There's writing stories (that may be fun, though they contain stereotypical, one-dimensional characters), and then there's creating literature, inventing these vivid worlds and realistic, complicated characters. Harry Potter is among the best written works to come out this (young) century. You care about the characters. The subtle humor makes you laugh out loud, and the death of characters makes you cry (yes, some tears fell for Dumbledore). I think it's tragic that any school, library, or community would consider banning the series, but I guess it's happened many times. What a shame, when its overall themes and messages are so positive, and the characters are timeless.

Rowling has come out with two books in the last couple of years, not at all written in the vein of Harry Potter. Some would say, she's achieved as much as any contemporary writer can, she's rich as shit, so why not retire and enjoy herself? Well, I can answer that, without having ever made more than $5 from anything I've written: because she's a writer. She's an artist...she's not like big-name authors of our time (James Patterson comes to mind here) who come out with so many books (basically, slapping their name on products). She took her time with her first series, and while that was agonizing for me as a kid, I can appreciate the care that she took in her work, how much pride she must have in it now. Because from my perspective, it's flawless.

That being said, some might also say that she could never dream of recreating the success of her first series. I'd agree with them there, but that doesn't mean she shouldn't write and publish, because she's a damn talented author. So before I read the last Harry Potter book, I think I should read one of Rowling's new, adult fiction texts. Let's see if the magic carries over into other genres...I have quite a lot of faith that reading anything by J.K. Rowling (or any pseudonym under which she may publish) would never be a waste of time.

*Spoiler alert*

She is brilliant, and her personal story never fails to inspire. She wrote the first Harry Potter book when she was down-and-out, she had almost literally nothing, and was a struggling single mom. It only seems right that she has so much now. After all, look at what she's given to the world.

Book #37: Persuasion

Book #37: Persuasion by Jane Austen

August 8, 2013


This is the third Jane Austen text that I have read. I have, of course, read Pride and Prejudice (twice, in fact), both times in college (once as part of my student teaching). The first Austen text I ever read was Emma. I read it (and didn't really understand it very well) in the 7th grade. See, at the time, I had this "frenemy," I guess you could say. who was bragging about how she was reading it, and talking about how the film Clueless (which is still a hilarious movie, I like to watch it every once in a blue moon for a good laugh) had been a modern day adaptation of it, yada yada. Kind of to show her up, I borrowed the book from her when she was finished. I could keep track of which scenes resembled those from the familiar movie, but otherwise, I was kind of lost in the writing style. One thing that I've noticed about Austen's writing, with a more sophisticated eye as a grad student than when I was in middle school, is that the conventions of English grammar observed in her time are different enough from our time that it would be confusing.

Here's an example of something that tripped me up as I read Persuasion. Anne (the main character, and just as likable as Elizabeth Bennett) would recount some conversation that she had with another character. The character's speech would be in quotations, but the pronouns would be in the third person. See, if the quotations weren't there, the reader would just assume that the narrator (or in Anne's mind) was simply summarizing what the character had said. Anyway, that got confusing, the use of "he" or "she" rather than "I" in some instances, and I would be like "who the hell are they talking about?", but I soon figured it out. I don't become easily frustrated with challenging writing styles, and often find myself able to immerse myself in the language (as I described being able to do when I read Pygmy, or as I read a work by Shakespeare). Anyone who has read Austen's works can tell you that she was a fine writer. But...

The themes of Persuasion had many similarities to Pride and Prejudice. So many, in fact, that I found myself becoming a little annoyed...like, come on Austen, you're kind of retelling the same story here. Not quite, but there are the themes or circumstances that reminded me so much of the early (and even more highly regarded) work.

Anne's father and sisters remind me of Mrs. Bennett and her youngest daughters. Sir Walter Elliot is a very vain man, not very smart with his money, yet a very stuck-up snob. His eldest daughter Elizabeth is the same way. Though she is lovely, she has never married; she has only found one man who she feels worthy of marrying her, and that would be Mr. Elliot, her cousin and the heir to the family estate and title. Mary Musgrove, Anne's younger married sister, is much like Lydia Bennett, and she can be described with a single word: brat. Anne is the only voice of reason in her family...not that they ever listen to or appreciate her. The difference here is that, unlike in the Bennett family, where Elizabeth has Jane and her father to help balance out the family, Anne is the only voice of reason...besides Lady Russell, a widowed neighbor who somewhat stands in the place of the late Lady Elliot as a mother-figure for the girls, but most of all for Anne.

I found, in Anne's conversations with her silly family, that there was the same humor as in the conversations between Mrs. Bennett and her sometimes-tolerating husband. So in that similarity, I can't really complain, as I found those scenes to be my favorites in Pride and Prejudice. I think that these sort of scenes are where Austen really showed her wit and brilliance as a writer. She was successfully lampooning the society people of her day with these outlandish characters, yet she gave them enough personality and emotion to keep them from being one-dimensional characters, for the most part. I found Mary Musgrove to be especially silly; she lived among her relations, a large and good-humored family who put up with her bratty demands. Her children, unfortunately, were starting to become out of hand...fortunately, Anne was able to exercise some influence over them.

Like in that other book, the plot of Persuasion is driven by mistaken intentions, lies and deception, and the ultimate goal of marriage. Anne, though she seems to be a perfectly lovely person, has been single for eight years as of the start of the book. Though she is popular among her neighbors (moreso than her haughty sister and braggart father), it seems that she's pretty lonely, spending much of her time with her neighbor Lady Russell. This lady has good sense, and she loves Anne dearly and hates that she's treated like Meg Griffin in her own family. But eight years ago, she gave Anne some bad advice. She told her not to marry the love of her life.

Since breaking Captain Wentworth heart, I guess, she's thought of him. It's shown that she had other suitors, including her now brother-in-law. The Musgroves much preferred kind and sensible Anne to her bratty younger sister, but Anne refused him...assumably, because she always had feelings for Captain Wentworth. At the beginning of the book, she learns that her father will be 'letting' (renting) the estate to Captain Wentworth's sister and brother-in-law (being in financial dire straits after irresponsible spending), and mostly she fears running into her ex-boyfriend again. She'd broken things off with him pretty abruptly, and she's afraid for him to see her as she is at twenty-seven, not quite so young or pretty as before.

Well, they do run into each other eventually. Anne opts to stay with her sister Mary instead of going immediately with her father and older sister to the fashionable city of Bath. Among the Musgroves, she meets Captain Wentworth, who becomes an object of infatuation for both of the Musgrove sisters. That's Austen's schtick, make it seem like the other guy is involved with someone else, though all along he really is pining after the girl he's "supposed" to be with. It happened with Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennett, and (spoiler alert), it happens for Anne Elliot and Captain Wentworth. But I was happy to see them together in the end,

But, unlike Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth, Captain Wentworth and Anne actually did pine for each other all along. Like, even during those years of their separation, Wentworth never loved another woman. I thought that was sweet! Even if it was bullshit, it was a sweet thing for him to say. And of course, there was a logical and completely understandable reason for his involvement with Louisa Musgrove. Now, that whole thing with her getting hurt during the visit to Lyme kind of confused me. Did Wentworth fail to catch her? Did she land so hard on her feet that it sent those waves of shock into her head (it being the early 19th century, I don't imagine that her shoes were very supportive)? Anyway, she somehow got a concussion, and was laid up in Lyme for, like, two months? Same sort of thing happened to Jane Bennett, when she was laid up with a cold for what seemed like a ridiculous amount of time at a neighbor's house. Or in Wuthering Heights, when Catherine was laid up at the Earnshaws' with a hurt ankle or a cold or something for like a whole season? But then, I remind myself that this was well before the days of modern medicine, of course. Life was even more fragile then than it is now, and (for the very wealthy, at least), if something was wrong, you better drop everything and lay up up awhile, and not take any chances. For someone who is poor, I would imagine that this may not be possible, and so...

Anyway, Austen's works do deal with social class (and the hypocrisies of their practices), but it doesn't get as political as all that. Basically, Lady Russell felt like Wentworth wasn't good enough for Anne. But then he goes off and makes his fortune. Now, though Austen is not afraid to point the finger at hypocrites, the ending here seems almost hypocritical in itself. See, I had thought that from the title, Anne would show growth in not allowing people to persuade her, and would act in her own way. This kind of happened, but really, even though she was finally doing what she'd wanted to do all along, it was "okay" in Austen's world for her to finally marry Wentworth because he had money and success in the navy. If he hadn't been successful, what then? It was all tied up in a 19th-century appropriate ending, with Anne better off both emotionally and financially for the marriage, her social standing only growing with this union. Though she did reject the marriage that would have meant maintaining the family title (for Mr. Elliot had set his sights on her, instead of Elizabeth), this was ultimately because Mr. Elliot was a dick who bad-mouthed her family, had a large hand in bringing her friend Mrs. Smith to financial ruin, and was only looking out for his own interests. His parallel in that other story would be Wickham, of course. If Mr. Elliot had been the upstanding guy that he initially appeared to be, wouldn't her choice have been more respectable, or more romantic? Maybe not in Austen's time...maybe it would have just been considered stupid to not marry the perfectly nice, wealthy guy who is going to have guaranteed title and property.

So it is important to read Austen's work with the time period in mind, because while it may not unfold in a way that would be satisfying in a 21st century sense, it does work for her time. I cannot say why Pride and Prejudice would be more lauded than Persuasion, because I found the main characters to be just as likable (Anne and Elizabeth Bennett have their flaws, but mostly are easy to root for), and the conclusions to be just as satisfying (all things considered). I don't see why Captain Wentworth would not be as idolized as Mr. Darcy. He's a freaking Navy captain, he's kind but forceful, he has a strong sense of morals...that's oftentimes more than can be said about the ever-loved Mr. Darcy, a character that I've never been so smitten with. Works of fiction based on Austen's most famous work are practically a subgenre in and of themselves (such as Bridget Jones's Diary, Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, and Mr. Darcy Broke my Heart, to name just a very few). I guess the only logical explanation is that Pride and Prejudice came first, and became famous while Austen was still alive, while the very similar Persuasion was published just a few months after her death. But for any readers whose only exposure to Austen has been her most famous text, I would highly recommend Persuasion as being a logical next read. I intend to read more Jane Austen (eventually, I want to read all of her works), but before I do that, I will probably read one of those books that is inspired by her work. I have loved Bridget Jones's Diary for years, I've probably read it more times than I've read any other book, in fact. It's impressive that a woman, from a time when women had so little power and so few rights, could not only make a name for herself while she was still living, but still be so widely read and so well loved two hundred years later.

In the scenes where Anne is being bossed around or ignored by her family, I couldn't help but think of poor Meg.  This ill treatment didn't stop Anne from being upset when she learned that Mr. Elliot had been talking smack about her father and older sister.

Rupert Penry-Jones playing Captain Wentworth is a 2007 TV film version of Persuasion. He is hot, and I love the sideburns, but the tossled-n-gelled hair looks a little too modern for the early 19th century...

Book #36: In Cold Blood

Book #36: In Cold Blood by Truman Capote

August 7, 2013


I'm simply going to note here that I was offered the job that I had interviewed for last week, and have accepted it. There, no more bitching about that particular subject, so on to the book review.

I pushed up my reading of In Cold Blood because of those goodreads.com forums that I mentioned in my last post. I had responded to a topic under To Kill a Mockingbird regarding allegations that Capote (who was infamously a close lifelong friend of Harper Lee) had written some of the book, had more than "helped" the author. Several people on the discussion board concluded that Capote had made these claims at the end of his life, when he was a drunk mess. It has been acknowledged, however, that the character Dill was based on Capote as a child, something that I've always found interesting.

Anyway, Truman Capote was a pretty interesting guy. So interesting that in the last decade, at least two films about his life have been produced. Philip Seymour Hoffman won an Oscar for portraying Truman Capote (I'd been rooting for Heath Ledger to win for Brokeback Mountain that year, though I'll admit, I had never seen any of the Capote biopics). As far as I know, his two most famous works are Breakfast at Tiffany's and this particular text. I've seen the film version of Breakfast at Tiffany's, of course (Audrey Hepburn had some charm, to be sure, but she makes me think of Zooey Deschanel, another "woman-child" cutesy type), and I can safely say that these two works are very, very different from one another (though I can't speak of the writing style of Breakfast...).

I thought that In Cold Blood was structured and paced almost perfectly. This is a great book; Capote clearly did his research, and spent a lot of time with the subjects (and not just the killers, Perry and Dick, but also with the people of Holcomb and Garden City, and the investigators working the case). He presents the killers as human beings, not as monsters, but at the same time does not try to make them seem sympathetic (well, Perry definitely is easy to sympathize with at times, especially since even the leading investigator, Dewey, felt some pity for him). He also honors the victims, the Clutter family, by presenting them in an honest way. Herb Clutter was a prominent farmer, a hard-working, with very rigid moral values. His wife Bonnie suffered from an unidentified mental illness (there is much on mental illness in this text, from a criminal standpoint but also when Capote described what he knew about Bonnie, and actually presented some of the story from her perspective; it seems to me like these would be innovative ideas at the time, the early-to-mid '60's); she was in and out of hospitals for years, seemed to suffer from what we today would call Postpartum Depression and some sort of anxiety disorder, and would isolate herself from her family and friends. Nancy Clutter was the town sweetheart, everyone's friend, who was talented and bright and had a shining future ahead of her. Her younger brother Kenyon, a quiet boy, wanted to be an engineer.

Why did Perry and Dick kill this family, who were highly regarded in their little Kansas community, who seemed to have no enemies (even as the townspeople speculated as to who may have "had it in" for Herb), who indeed went out of their way to be helpful to others? Well, as the story is unfolding, it would seem that they didn't really have a reason for it. Dick's original plan had always involved killing them, "leaving no witnesses." Simple as that: take the money and run. But there was no money to take. As the details unfold from various perspectives, told before and after the crime took place (it is only later, when Perry and Dick have been caught and are making their confessions, that the reader finally sees what happened on the infamous night), it looks like things were not as simple as they originally seemed.

Capote's text presents many interesting questions with regards to our criminal justice system. This is especially so in regards to Perry. Throughout the book, the reader becomes acquainted with his difficult life. His story is harrowing, to be sure, and it's easy to sympathize with Perry; moreso than Dick. In fact, Dick, the spoiled son of poor farmers, who was always indulged by his parents, who had a tendency to do what he wanted to do without regard to morals or consequences...he reminded me of someone that I know very well. Other characters (like Dewey, or the deputy's wife Mrs. Meier) point out that they didn't take to Dick, but they formed some kind of bond or attachment to Perry. I would speculate the same for Capote, who infamously became close to the killers as he interviewed them. But he still attempts to show Dick in an accurate, fair light. The fact that he reminded me so much of a particular individual made me resent him; perhaps we all know someone like Dick.

However, Perry is not always easy to sympathize with. He seeks out praise from others; his often-described relationship with Willie-Jay, a man with whom he'd been incarcerated in the past, seems to stem from the fact that he liked Willie-Jay stroking his ego, helping Perry to justify his feelings and actions with intellectual-sounding language. But then again, knowing his terrible childhood, it would be no wonder that a guy like him, so physically and emotionally damaged, would seek out such companionship.

This leads to some very essential questions. Nature vs. nurture; but also, who was really responsible for the crime committed? Who is to "blame" for Dick (certainly not his parents, it would seem, as they were depicted as loving, supportive, humble folks); who is to "blame" for Perry (the abusive nuns, his alcoholic mother, his negligent father)? It's clear that Perry is a product of his environment...was Dick just born as a sociopath? And even if Perry's behavior could be attributed to trauma from his past...does that mean anything? He was a grown man (well, not quite fully grown, with his misshapen legs), and as some characters argued, he knew right from wrong.

I had somewhat expected that the story would be more told from the killers' point-of-view, since I had already heard about Capote's time interviewing them. So I was impressed at how vividly he painted the other people in the story, including the Clutters, whom he never could have possibly met, of course. He couldn't have shown them more clearly if he'd created them himself, if this were a work of fiction. The fact that it's all true makes the story even more poignant. Considering the setting (rural Kansas, late fifties), this was on the cusp of a time of great change in America. Those changes had not yet hit this little farming community...but the murder changed everything. Yet when Perry and Dick were brought into Garden City to stand trial, the crowd of people there did not heckle them, but only watched them go by. Fear had not turned them into animals; they wanted justice, certainly, but they were not out to rip the killers apart (can't help but wonder, though, how the people would have reacted if the killers had been black, especially knowing that Dick had wanted to rape Nancy Clutter before killing her...).

In the last section of the book, after the killers have been tried and sentenced to hang, brings up questions about the justice system itself. Capote points out that some killers on death row can prolong their lives by hiring lawyers to keep appealing to the courts; they can go at this for years, and as far as I can tell, this process has not changed. While I have wavered on my opinion of the death penalty, and still do not hold a firm opinion, I do think that the questions raised in this book are important. Especially so with whether or not the trial that the killers received was lawfully fair. Now, I would naturally be inclined to brush off these ideas; after all, Perry and Dick had clearly done it, they had confessed to it, and they deserved to be punished, so what do all of the nuances matter? But at one point, a lawyer who chooses to defend Dick in an appeals case points out that while the deaths of these killers really wouldn't be an affront to justice, allowing them to die with any doubts that the system had given them what they had the right to would be a bad thing. Because what could stop the courts from treating you unfairly, if you were accused of a crime, and it was "certain" that you had done it, so let's just get it over with and get you to Death Row. I felt that this was a good point; it's important to keep that in mind when asking the question, "what is justice?".

This text is regarded as being innovative in the genre of "crime nonfiction" or whatever, with the way that it took the reader through the investigation process, while at the same time showing the perspective of the killers. Many nonfiction crime shows are structured in this way now. Capote was the first one to do it, or to do it with prominence, I guess. It makes me sad to think that this talent writer's life ended so horribly, with alcoholism, but then I think to what the postmistress of Holcomb, Mrs. Clare, would say about that. She had been annoyed at the gossip surrounding the murders of the Clutter family, and had said something to the effect that life is life, shit happens, and it doesn't really matter in the end how you go, because in the end, we all go. Perry had a thought similar to this, when he thinks about a saying that a man's life is brief, a speck in the universe, a nothing in the big scheme of things. This made him feel better, knowing that, even though he'd done something really horrible, it didn't really matter in the long run. But does it? It wasn't just lives that he and Dick took that night, but the innocence and security of a small community. They died horribly, by hanging, but they left a terrible legacy behind as well. Capote's death was not enviable, but he left a legacy, his written works. Is it possible to die without regret, without having made that kind of positive contribution? And, for the person who has done so, or has made even more of an influence in the world...do they die with regrets? And in the end, does it even matter?

Truman Capote. There are many pictures of him looking serious and dreamy like this. What a ham. I can definitely see a full-grown Dill when I look at him. If I have the chance to teach To Kill a Mockingbird this year, I'd love to pair it with In Cold Blood (the text is dedicated to Harper Lee, for one, and she is known to have aided Capote in his research).

The Clutter House outside of Holcomb, Kansas, looking pretty much how it did at the time of the murders. Looks like an ordinary country house to me, nice but not over-the-top, but back in the late 1950s, this was considered an impressive spread.