Book #146: Welcome to the Monkey House

Book #146: Welcome to the Monkey House by Kurt Vonnegut

December 28, 2014

Here's an example of an author who doesn't stick to the same themes time and again. This famous collection of Vonnegut stories are some of his earliest works, spanning from the very early 1950s to the early '60s. That's about the only common theme between them. Some are sci-fi dystopian, like my old favorite "Harrison Bergeron" or the title story. Some have political themes, some family themes, some are psychological. Not all of the stories were stellar, but they were all good. I'll give an overview of the stand-outs, though I highly recommend the whole collection.

"Who am I This Time?" and "Long Walk to Forever" are both sweet love stories, and compared to some of the more bitter stories, really show Vonnegut's versatility. "The Foster Portfolio" was an interesting story about a working class man who has found a perfect balance in his life, and his inheritance of hundreds of thousands of dollars threatens that. It's told from the perspective of his flabbergasted investment consultant, who only "gets" it after seeing what his client's interesting side job involves. That's a story I'd possibly use with students, and I wouldn't necessarily say that about all of them (though only because I work in a restrictive environment; the title story, for instance, would be entirely inappropriate). 

I loved "New Dictionary," because I feel that Vonnegut expresses the views of what I call a "progressive linguist": someone who understands that language will and should evolve, and scoffs at language snobs. I wonder what Vonnegut would say about the way language is used online, or about sites like Urban Dictionary (prescriptive, I'd say).

"Next Door" was a brief psychological thriller. My favorite story of the whole collection was "More Stately Mansions." A woman obsessed with interior decorating swoops in on a new neighbor, hounding her to redo her own place. When they finally see this woman's house, it's a shithole...but she has filing cabinets full of ideas of what she'll do when they finally have the money. When her husband is able to surprise her with the home makeover of her dreams, her reaction is fascinating.

"The Euphio Question" was a sci-fi story about the discovery of a free source for synthetic happiness: radio waves from space. Question is, is there any good in it? The effects of it are compared to taking drugs. 

"The Lie" is another teachable story, about a kid from a prestigious family who isn't academically smart enough to get into his father's alma mater, a prep school that his family practically founded. "D.P." is about a German orphan whose father was probably an American soldier, since the boy is mixed race. He meets a platoon of African American soldiers, convinced that the sergeant is his father. He probably isn't, but the boy steals the hearts of the men, and the sergeant promises to come back and adopt the little German boy. 

As I said, all the stories are worth reading, but "Adam" tore me up. A young couple, both Holocaust survivors (the sole survivors of their families, I think), have a baby in a hospital in Chicago. Of course it's a momentous occasion, the first real chance to carry on the family name. And even though the people around him just see it as another thing that happened, this couple knows how big it is for them. So much pain and callousness in this world, and yet such a victory for these survivors.

I've only recently looked into the extent of Vonnegut's published works. Based on the quality of what little I've read so far., I'd almost think I couldn't go wrong reading anything by him. Vonnegut is one author I wish I'd picked up a long time ago. 

Book #145: Blockade Billy

Book #145: Blockade Billy by Stephen King

December 27, 2014

I had to remind myself, upon waking just a couple of hours ago, that today is Saturday and that I have many days off still ahead of me. So I've kicked back, and read a recent novella by one of my favorite authors in one sitting. Blockade Billy is very brief, and because of the engaging narrative voice (King's biggest strength as an author), it was very entertaining.

It's a baseball story for sure, but also a thriller. The narrator is a former baseball coach called "Granny." He's in a retirement home. King skillfully includes himself as a silent character who is listening to Granny tell the story of "Billy Blakely." This young man was sent up from the minor leagues in Iowa to fill the catcher spot on the Titans, a team out of Newark. He seems "slow" but good-natured, and turns out to be a hell of a ball player. He becomes good friends with the successful but narcisstic pitcher, known as the Doo. Everybody on the team likes him. But something's off here.

For one, "Billy" pulled some shit in his first game, injuring a player who was headed for home using a small razor on a ring on his finger, hidden from coaches and officials by a Band Aid. And, while Billy has good personal stats, his team doesn't have a stellar season. It's observed more than once that young Billy may be bad luck.

I won't give away what happens at the end. This is a great short read, whether you're a baseball fan or not. I have no love for the game, but the reverence in the tone of the narrator seemed genuine. King grew up on the east coast and is a man of a certain age, so undoubtedly he loves baseball himself. But I didn't find the references difficult to follow. Trust me, this novella is much more than a baseball story. 

Book #144: The Kitchen God's Wife

Book #144: The Kitchen God's Wife by Amy Tan

December 26, 2014

When I first saw the title for this book, I imagined that it was about a youngish American woman of Chinese descent in an unhappy marriage to a master chef. I was somewhat off the mark, but not too much. The Kitchen God, so it goes, had been a mortal, an unfaithful husband to a good wife. After running her off, his life fell apart, and when he unwittingly received her aid in her new home, he burned himself to death for shame. For admitting that he was an asshole, he got to be a minor god, one that judged the behavior of mortals. Meanwhile, his good wife got diddily squat. It's understandable that Winnie would feel a connection to a wife who suffered but eventually found a happy situation. 

I enjoyed most of this book. I wasn't really drawn into the first two chapters, told from Pearl's perspective. When Winnie started narrating, I thought, welp, same idea as The Joy Luck Club, I guess. Fortunately, this is not the case. The bulk of the story is Winnie speaking to Pearl directly, telling her about her childhood, then her horrible marriage to Wen Fu. Most interesting of all was Winnie's life-long relationship with Helen. Their's is a love-hate relationship, and I almost felt like that was really the heart of the story. Winnie often criticizes Helen's perspective, claiming that she remembers certain things wrong. Maybe, maybe not; we are only getting Winnie's perspective here, after all. She admits herself that she had a bit of a "butt monkey" complex in regards to her childhood in Taiwan being raised by relatives. Plus, Helen ultimately proves herself to be a smarter cookie than Winnie gives her credit for.

Though there's no doubt that Winnie's first husband Wen Fu is a monster. He would force Winnie to humiliate herself behind closed doors from the start of their marriage, a total dominance sort of thing that she was not at all into. But there wasn't much she could do, as a woman in China. 

I appreciated that this book gave a Chinese perspective on World War II. The Rape of Nanking is mentioned, and there's a bit on how Americans were involved in China. Winnie's second husband, the saintly Jimmy Louie, is an American of Chinese descent, I think in the Air Force. She eventually ends up in San Francisco with him, but only after more years of abuse from her husband (his mental issues worsened after a terrible car accident), the death of her son (she'd already lost two infant daughters), and over a year in prison thanks to her bitter husband. Oh yeah, and getting raped by Wen Fu one more time before she escaped to America, making him probably Pearl's father.

I didn't get at first why the first two chapters were necessary. Yeah, it sucks that Pearl has MS and that she and her mother have both kept such big secrets from each other. And it was necessary to set up why Winnie was telling her daughter her life story. But I thought, why not just get right to it, who needs a reason? But then, I liked the reveal at the end (back briefly in Pearl's perspective) about what Helen did. She's a great character. That wouldn't have been possible without the first two chapters, I guess. These chapters also revealed just how much these two women had kept hidden from their families, and just how much Winnie was revealing.

Tan is best known for The Joy Luck Club, of course, but I thought this book was better. Similar themes, obviously. I'd be curious to read some other of Tan's works and see if she sticks to the same concepts (mother-daughter relationships, starting over, bad marriages and very bad men), or if she moves away from that in her other novels. She does it well in this one, more quality historical fiction than anything else, but I hate it when authors rehash the same ideas time and again. 

Book #143: A Christmas Story

Book #143: A Christmas Story by Jean Shepherd

December 23, 2014

It wasn't until nearly twenty years after the release of the film A Christmas Story that the stories that inspired it were compiled into a single collection. Shepherd was kind of the David Sedaris of his time. He wrote these stories, and many others, based on his life, especially his childhood, and they (like the favored holiday film) are funny. Shepherd wrote the screenplay for the film, narrated it, and made a cameo appearance as the guy who directs Ralphie to the back of the line to see Santa. I doubt the movie would be so perfect if Shepherd hadn't been such a huge part of its creation.

So the only story that actually takes place at Christmas is the story of the Red Ryder: how Ralphie tries to get the teacher, then Santa, on his side, then is surprised by his old man on Christmas. Aunt Clara only sends bunny slippers, not a full suit, and Santa doesn't kick Ralphie in the face, but otherwise it's mostly the same, even some particularly clever turns of phrase. The story of the Little Orphan Annie decoder thingie is a separate story, but pretty much told the same in the movie. The story of the leg lamp and its demise is here, and the story of the Bumpus hounds is actually an Easter story. 

An interesting thing I noticed. Scut Farkas is mentioned as a feared bully, but Grover Dill is also a bully, not a toady, in the story...and the distinction between bullies and toadies is made as it is in the movie. Dill is the one that Ralphie beats up in the story, not Farkas. I wonder if Shepherd wanted to include Farkas instead, as, when I was looking up some information on Shepherd's short stories, Farkus is featured in other works. Just thought that that change was interesting on the author's part.

I liked the story about the Bumpuses because you don't actually see these people in the movie. As depicted in the movie, these people are hillbillies in the extreme. Ralphie makes an enemy of the youngest Bumpus kid, and the hounds' attack on the Easter ham (to put it in perspective, it cost half of the old man's paycheck during the Depression) was his revenge. Of course, that's not quite an element in the movie...

These stories (or maybe all but one) were originally published in Playboy. That would be back when reading Playboy "for the articles" was almost a legitimate excuse. These would be the Playboys that Margaret Simon would read in her parents' bathroom. Shepherd published a lot of stories in magazines, and published a couple of short story collections. He left a fine legacy, as most would of course know him for the movie, but I'd like to check out at least one of his collections.

Book #142: The Grapes of Wrath

Book #142: The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck

December 22, 2014

I only have a half day of work tomorrow, then a 12 day break! I'm looking forward to it, even though we just had a whole week off last month. I'm feeling a bit worn out, and my goal is to get energized and revamp my curriculum with the time I have to plan and reflect. And of course to read; I've already more than met my Goodreads goal for the year, but more is more when it comes to quality literature.

A colleague of mine at my last job loved this book, and was determined to use it with one of her high school classes. At the time I thought it was ill-advised: it's pretty lengthy, and may not be fully accessible to the struggling readers. But she persisted, and unfortunately, even her most avid readers were unimpressed. Now, I can understand her enthusiasm, as I loved this book, too. I'd say now that Of Mice and Men would have been a much better choice. The length wouldn't psych the kids out, and there are similar themes. Plus, my appreciation for the shorter work led me to pick this one up, and I'm definitely not sorry.

I couldn't help comparing this book to Upton Sinclair's The Jungle. Both show the problems of a huge, underrepresented population and the injustices they face through the story of a single family. Unlike The Jungle, the story of the Joad family isn't so lugubrious, though lots of shit happens to them.

Now, there are many fictional works about the experiences of farmers during the Depression, especially those in the Dust Bowl. But Steinbeck wrote and published about the plight of the migrant worker while it was going on. It's definitely a political work; Steinbeck shows how migrant workers are subject to harassment by corrupt police officers and how they're ripped off by corporate farms, who lured all these people out to California in the first place! They wanted as cheap of labor as they could get, and fuck the rest. "Okies" are kept from forming unions or speaking out by police brutality. And thousands of families are nickeled and dimed literally to death. 

The story of the Joads lacks in hope from the beginning. In much shorter chapters between the ones following the Joads, Steinbeck describes the bleak situations that displaced "Oakies" faced: crooked used car salesmen, judgemental store owners, cynical money-grubbing landowners, few job opportunities, less and less means for food. The Joad family, kicked off their dusty farmland, head to California with some hopes, but really because they didn't know what else to do. For several months, they lost family members (Granpa, Granma, dead; Noah and Connie, both off on their own; Casy, their ex-preacher friend who started a union but was killed; Tom, who ran off after killing Casy's killer), they lived out of one-room shacks or boxcars or tents; they worked hard for pennies when they could actually get a job; they lived like animals and were just glad when they had enough for food. Things look bleak for the Joads at the end: out of money, heavy rains and no work, car flooded out. Will they die? Will they find a way to...somewhere? Shit, where? They have no where, nothing.

And yet, on the last page, they still give what little they have to a dying man. Rose of Sharon (awesome name) had a stillborn child, but she still had milk, and she gives it to a starving man in a barn. That's heartbreaking, yet described so matter-of-factly. Because the Joads (especially Ma) are strong people, and are determined to move forward. But are they stronger than others who have died or been defeated before them? The reader doesn't know for sure.

It's no wonder that this is Steinbeck's most celebrated work. I think high schoolers should be exposed to Steinbeck, but maybe The Grapes of Wrath would work best with an advanced class. Of Mice and Men could get some younger readers moving in the right direction. I think that both of these are essential classics, and I'm glad they're part of the many books I've been able to read this year. 

Book #141: The Cardturner

Book #141: The Cardturner by Louis Sachar

December 16, 2014

Many sports fans are guilty of "coaching from the stands" (or their couches). They see an unsuccessful play, and they know exactly what should have been done, or who should be sent in. It's ludicrous, of course, that some fatass who only made JV back in high school would think he knows more about football than an experienced coach. Parents of young athletes can be very bad about this, too, but there's a lot of bias going on there.

Anyway, I've noticed that I have a tendency to "write from the bleachers" when I am dissatisfied with a book. I consider what might have been done differently to make the story more effective. Now, I'm not saying that I know better than published, sometimes award-winning authors, but in my defense it's a bit different from coaching from the couch. Coaches have to make snap judgements in the heat of the moment; authors are supposed to reflect on and edit their work. So when I find myself picking apart a book, it makes me think that it wasn't written with care.

The book had its good points, of course. All the explanations for bridge (the card game) were really fucking confusing, and I still have very little idea how to play it. But I have a better idea of it then, say, the dumb-dumbs on How I Met Your Mother. It's a very complex game! I actually want to get a better grasp on how to play it,  so I bought a deck of cards and am gonna walk myself through some basic instructions I found on the Internet. Bridge is typically viewed as an "old people game," but it must be the smart old people who are playing it. If Sachar's goal was to get younger people interested in bridge, he may have one convert right here.

I liked that Alton, the teenage narrator, got into the excitement of bridge while assisting his blind great uncle as his cardturner. I like card games, too. I swear to God, I'm 27 going on 88. But Alton's not the only younger person who gets into it; he describes playing against hipsters around my age at a tournament. I'm curious to see the extent that bridge is catching on with my generation. 

Other than his earnest interest in bridge, and his descriptions of his horrible parents, Alton is such an Everyman...or Everyboy, rather. His character doesn't have much of a personality, and his other conflicts don't even seem like such. He doesn't have any real problems. The girl troubles seem minor...in fact, whatever happened to Katie, Alton's ex who was dating his best friend Cliff but got brushed aside when Cliff met Toni? That had started out as a secondary plot, but never really got resolved. Even when Alton himself began dating Toni (of course), his half-hearted falling out with Cliff was like...nothing. They just weren't as close any more, the end. 

I have a problem with Toni's "mental illness." See, she's diagnosed as schizophrenic because she hears her grandmother (dead long before her birth) talking to her. It's highly probable that Toni would have a mental illness; her grandfather, Senator King, was definitely batshit. See, his little wife Annabel was a great bridge player, and her partner was Trapp, Alton's great uncle (not blind at the time). Trapp loved Annabel, but of course they were only bridge partners. Still, King was insanely jealous, and had his wife committed after she snuck off to Chicago to play in a tournament with Trapp. She was kept isolated for a few years before killing herself.

Trapp's story, and his later relationship with Sophie and Toni, Annabel's daughter and granddaughter, was interesting. He's a great character. I wish so much that the story were from his perspective, but that would go against the conventions of YA literature. Anyway, he dies right before he's set to go with Alton and his current partner to another tournament.

I was mostly enjoying the story up to this point. But that's when it went downhill. Toni reveals that she actually does hear her grandmother's ghost, and Alton believes her because he starts to hear Trapp, too. Oh, brother. Why was this necessary? Sachar's works often include fantastic elements. In, say, Holes, this works because that story is full of fantastic elements. It just fits. Here, in a story otherwise so realistic, it felt sloppy and out of place. Why couldn't Alton and Toni play in Chicago in honor of their relatives? Maybe Teodora could have put the idea into Alton's head and given him the tickets that Trapp already printed. They didn't have to win or anything. Because the sad truth is, people don't get a chance to be ghosts and fulfill what they regretted not doing or whatever. 

Obviously I wasn't super impressed with this book. But at the very least, it got me to consider a new hobby.

Book #140: The Time Machine

Book #140: The Time Machine by H.G. Wells

December 15, 2014

Just as Wells was an early author of science fiction, he's also a founder of the time travel genre. Time travel is, of course, a common theme in sci-fi today. Dr. Who, Futurama, The Time Traveller's Wife, the Back to the Future series, and countless themed episodes of TV shows (like The Simpsons or Sabrina the Teenage Witch)...need I go on? What I loved about Wells's novel (over a century old) is that it stands up to the test of time (LOL!).

The main character is only called the Time Traveller. The narrator is an unnamed friend, recalling the Time Traveller's first go on his time machine. Now, Wells doesn't address the Novikov Self-Consistency Principle or the Predesination Paradox (the time travel theory that I personally like; I thought it was plausible that Fry was his own grandfather), or any early ideas of those theories, mainly because his character travels forward. Like, hundreds of thousands (then millions) of years forward, while never far from his geographic location. 

The idea that humankind could eventually spliter off into two separate species holds up to my understandings of evolution, and Wells obviously knew his astronomy as he describes the decaying of the Sun and the reshaping of the solar system over eons of time. Good science fiction has to be plausible; if we're dealing with time travel, the path from here to there needs to make sense. Wells's story is both fantastic and plausible, and as I've already pointed out, this work has been influential.

I was curious to see what works may have influenced Wells himself. He is truly credited with bringing time travel to popular culture, but not long before him, other Western writers included such themes in their works. It seems that it was only in more recent time travel fiction that the theories of traveling back in time became prevalent, I think. Maybe in Wells's time, people couldn't fathom going back; go forward, see how civilization continues to improve! But the final message of the book reveals Wells's pessimism about "improvement," and that, like the weak little Eloi, to become complacent is to lose one's humanity and to become a lamb for slaughter. The Eloi and the Morlocks represent a bad side to evolution, as they've adapted to the conditions created by or forced on them, respectively. I think Wells was on to something. Two books in a row with negative views of the fate of humanity, and I can't say that I disagree.

Book #139: No Country for Old Men

Book #139: No Country for Old Men by Cormac McCarthy

December 14, 2014

Way back when I vowed to read 1000 books, I considered checking out this very one from the temporary library that had been set up in the west side mall (the permanent library has been up and running for over a year now, and that old mall is almost completely torn down, besides a couple of anchor stores), but I hesitated. At the time I had a weird prejudice against books that had been made into movies. I've obviously gotten over that.

What's funny is that on my search for this book in the elibrary, another book about how it was translated into film was also available. And after reading this, I think a whole book explaining it would be unnecessary. It seemed like, the way McCarthy wrote it, that it would very easily translate to film. I've only seen snippets of the movie but intend to watch it in full rather soon.

McCarthy doesn't delve a lot into the backgrounds or feelings of his characters. A lot must be inferred by the dialogue and their actions. I loved it; I felt like the characters reveal so much, and yet the writing wasn't overly complex. I haven't read a lot of Hemingway, but I couldn't help but consider him; so much being said in not too many words.

I've mentioned before that my own writing style tends to be overly explanatory. This book reminded me that often, less is more, and I will challenge myself to apply this to my own writing. 

The plot made me think of a sort of modern day Western. In a Texas border town, a guy named Llewelyn Moss, out hunting, comes across the grisley site of a massacre. It was a trade-off, drugs for money, that went wrong...or so it seems. 

I still have no clue what happened to the drugs. Moss himself found the money, and when he goes back to the scene, to help the sole survivor, he finds that guy dead and has psychotic Anton Chigurh on his tail.

Moss and Chigurh's adventures are exciting enough, but the heart of the story is Sheriff Ed Tom Bell. Bell has been sheriff, off and on, for a long time. He's always done his best, considering the increase in drug-related crimes and violence in his jurisdiction. But by the late '70s early '80s, things had gotten bad. And the whole situation with Chigurh is unlike anything he's ever encountered.

There are some interesting conversations in this book between various characters. The story is, for the most part, exciting. Having been published within the last decade, I think that the conditions that Bell reflects on have gotten better and worse in some ways, as far as social issues. I know drug smuggling and violence haven't gotten better, and the cartel are infamous. Bell says that things really have gone downhill, that there really had been good days but they were gone. Maybe he's right, but who knows? He gave up on trying to fix the problems that he had too much goodness to understand.

Bell was a pretty sharp investigator, I think. He was never too far behind Moss or Chigurh, but he never caught up to them in time. In the end, Chigurh, evil, gets away. Bell retires not long after the case wraps up.

This is the first McCarthy that I read. A number of his novels are acclaimed. He's definitely a "masculine" author, but I believe that I'll read more of his work. I'm curious about Blood Meridian; I heard a fellow English teacher say that this was a "hard" book for high schoolers. I wouldn't consider No Country for Old Men to be a "hard" book, but it definitely requires a lot of reading between the lines.

Book #138: So Much For That

Book #138: So Much For That by Lionel Shriver

December 13, 2014

Hmmmm. This book started off with a lot of promise, but was ultimately unsatisfying. Shriver tackles a lot of timely issues, setting the novel (published in 2010) during the time of Terri Shiavo and Hurricane Katrina. I remember the hullabaloo over Shiavo, especially since I was taking an ethics class at that same time as a high school junior. Then, as now, my opinion was pragmatic but not heartless: it was both undignified and wasteful to keep Shiavo alive for so long in that condition. The fact that she kinda put herself into that position, with her eating disorder, was an idea I could never ignore. Jackson, one protagonist of this book, pretty much shared my views, and was not afraid to make them loudly known when it was still a hot button topic.

See, I started off liking the two main protagonists. The novel mainly switched following Jackson and Shep, with a single chapter for Glynis. Shep used to own a modestly successful "handyman" service business, but had sold out to a spoiled trust fund kid who made the business bigger, though not better. Shep, and Jackson, stayed on as managers or something. Why did Shep give away his company so soon?

Because he wanted the money for the Afterlife, his vision of becoming an expatriot in a third world country, where he can live it up on a modest fortune for the rest of his days. Shep's vision and his worldview (hating the rat race, wanting time to relax and take life in, smell a fucking rose) really spoke to me. I don't think he sounds crazy at all. I'd do it if I could, in a heartbeat. 

But Shep is a schmuck. His ridiculously selfish sister Beryl reminds me of my oldest brother, to a T. I stopped allowing him to take advantage of me years ago, but unfortunately my father (essentially Shep with less money) has been sucked in many a time. Beryl sucks. I honestly wanted her to die. And in the end, Shep implies that he may allow Beryl to join him in Africa! Fuck that! I live in the same city as my brother and I see him as little as possible.

I think this book would have been a lot better if Glynis had been as vindictive as she sometimes wanted to be. If she'd been torturing herself with a year of cancer treatments to fight the impossible battle with mesothelioma, just to deplete her husband's funds, would have been twisted. I wasn't sure what to make of  Glynis, who was such a perfectionist about her metalworking that she barely ever made anything. There's such a tone of bitterness in the first part of the book that the upswing was startling, and made the whole story unbalanced.

Because Glynis is actually delusional enough to think that she can beat her illness. And her doctors let her keep going, even though they ultimately only gave her a few extra (agonizing) months. The insurance is lame, so Shep's funds for Africa (he's decided on the tiny island of Pemba) are dipped into to cover expenses. That, and paying to care for his sick father and lazy sister, has Shep going broke at the end of the year.

What do they do then? Glynis had insisted on suing the manufacturers of metalworking products she'd used years ago containing asbestos, though it is revealed that she knew the risks when she stole the stuff. But Shep has her give a deposition in which she lies, and boom, the funds are restored. What sucks is that, if Glynis had been fully aware of the severity of her illness, they could have just gone to Pemba in the first place and she could have had a happier last few months than she did. And Shep, too.

The way it all turned out nags at me. It's almost like Shriver is saying, see, it really doesn't do you any good being a "Mug." You have to be dishonest to get ahead. Shep and Glynis both could have been saved a lot of grief, and could have escaped a lot of bitterness, if she hadn't gone through with the impossible treatments. I'm highly skeptical of cancer "treatment" myself, and if I ever get a type where the use of poisons is needed to test it, I'd opt out. Cash in my retirement and head to Pemba, or something. The insurance companies are meant to be the villains here, but I think the doctors were worse. For money or pride, they just wouldn't level with Glynis.

I did appreciate that this story told the financial side of health problems. The story reflects that it's supposed to be a secondary issue at a time like this, but Shep doesn't see it that way and neither do I. I get Shep's pragmatism about money. See, in college, I supported myself, which had its good and bad points. On the plus side, I'm extremely independent, but the downside is that I perhaps worry about money a little too much. Having a good paying job has greatly relieved the stress I felt for years, when I was living hand to mouth and sometimes struggling to do that much. So the continued decline of Shep's bank balance made me feel anxious for him.

Shep was a good person and got his happy ending, but it seemed like a huge cop-out. Then there was Jackson, a hugely disappointing character. I liked him, too...at first. I feel like I, too, would find amusement but some sense in his rantings about taxes and the greed of the government and the pointlessness of bureaucracy. Jackson had a good job (even if his boss was a dick), and a hot wife, but two challenging kids. Teenage Flicka, acidic in a way that appealed to both Jackson and Glynis, has a rare physiological disorder unique to people who are Ashkenazi Jews, and doesn't live to see 18. Her extensive medical care is seen to by her mother Carol, though Jackson does his part. There's also Heather, a tubby brat who is given placebos so that she can fit in with her tubby, drugged-up friends. Jackson's family issues and mounting debt (and a gambling problem) should have been enough to drive him over the edge; I even sense that Jackson struggles with some mental illness. But then he does something really fucking stupid, and almost contradictory to what I thought I understood of the character.

I don't get why Jackson never considered a malpractice suit for the botched surgery on his dick. I mean, if the guy who did it wasn't licensed, then Jackson was unbelievably stupid. But if he could have sued, why didn't he at least think of it? He would have been more than justify, and if it didn't fix his dick, at least it'd fix his debts. Jackson unexpectedly turns into a kind of modern day Willie Loman, though his suicide is much more cruel and gruesome. He was a really big piece of shit to do it the way that he did.

In spite of the title, Shep achieves his dream of the Afterlife, taking his father and Jackson's family along with his own. It seemed like the happy ending was hugely forced. Everything automatically gets better in Africa: Glynis and Flicka both enjoy the time they have left, Shep's father's health is restored, Heather thins out, and Zach, Glynis and Shep's geeky son, puts down the laptop and takes up snorkeling. Tra la la. I should have been happy for Shep, after all he'd been through, but I wasn't.

Book #137: Midnight's Children

Book #137: Midnight's Children by Salman Rushdie

December 7, 2014

I've been meaning to read something by Rushdie for a while now. He's one of the most acclaimed authors of our time, and this is probably his best known work. It not only won the Booker, but has been declared to be one of the (maybe even the) best novel it's ever been given to. And yet...I don't quite know what to make of it.

The story of Saleem Sinai and the family that raised him is bloated with symbolism, mixing the fantastical with the human and tragic. Throughout the text, Saleem's reliability as a narrator is questioned. He, who at 31 believes that he is cracking beneath his skin and that his bones are on the verge of disintegration, is writing his version of his life story. He acknowledges many times that while certain elements (his ability to read minds as a child, and to smell emotions and danger as a young adult) seem unbelievable, but over and over he defends his story as being, uh, almost totally true. As he writes, his girlfriend Padma listens as he reads the work aloud to her, expressing her opinions and disbelief at intervals. 

Saleem went through a lot in his relatively short life. He (and his counterpart and nemesis Shiva) were both born on midnight  exactly on August 15, 1947: the very moment that the Indian Subcontinent became free of British rule. This auspicious time of birth led to Saleem, Shiva, and hundreds of others throughout India proper to gain fantastic powers. Saleem is able to unite them all with his psychic abilities, until the snot is drained out of his giant nose. At that point, his psychic sense of smell kicks in. You see, when Mac and Charlie wanted to write their movie, they were inspired by more than one India-born cultural icon. 

Here's my thinking about Saleem's life story: there's a lot that's true and a lot that's fabricated, but he believes in it all. Perhaps he almost says this very thing at some point. See, he became famous for being born at midnight on Independence, because he was born at the stroke of midnight to wealthy parents, while Shiva was poor. Saleem and Shiva were switched at birth by Mary Pereira...maybe. Because Saleem acknowledges that that could be untrue, to justify his later love for his "sister" Jamilla. Anyway, baby Saleem's face is seen in newspapers all over the country, and he gets a letter from the Prime Minister. Great things are expected of him, simply because of when he was born. So, I feel that Saleem gave significance to the time of his birth, and in his traumatized mind (the details of the story that are "true" would traumatize anyone) he believes it. 

This novel is very complex, and as I sit here attempting to judge it and dissect it, the more I can appreciate what Rushdie put together here. The truth is that, even with the powers that Saleem gave himself, his life never really fulfilled any purpose. Rather than having a hand in deciding the fate of his country, his "twin sister," the turmoil of the new nations on the Subcontinent decided his. In an "autobiography" of questionable truthfulness, that's the most true part of it. Saleem wants to be important...who doesn't? He wants his life to have significance, and he was built up with more expectations for it than most other kids. In the end, he acknowledges his truth: you really can't be what-all you want.

This book gave yet another perspective of life in India (also Pakistan) after Independence. Damn, people really did not like Indira Gandhi, and this book and others that I've read this year have given me some good reasons for why that would be the case. And there was a lot of warring going on; between the new nations on the Subcontinent (and of course, Western nations throwing in support for their favs), plus China threatening. Bombings in Pakistan killed most of Saleem's family, and his famous sister is eventually bumped off by the Pakistani government. It was interesting to get some further perspective on the forming and growing pains of these nations. I briefly taught a course on Asian history last year to my middle school students, but the course materials only briefly touched on Independence and its aftermath in India. Just one valuable thing about this book is its perspective on this time. 

While this is a unique, well-written, and well-constructed story, I do have to agree with one Goodreads reviewer who described Saleem as being alienating. I think I know what this person meant. Saleem, if viewed in the context of being traumatized and mentally ill, is pitiable, but his desperation to find meaning in his life, while very human and relatable, is maybe...too desperate? Plus, an unreliable narrator in such a long story can be frustrating. Overall I would say that this is an important novel, and I'd recommend it to others, but I certainly wouldn't call it the very best book of our time. I do, however, fully intend to read more Rushdie, and soon.

Book #136: American Psycho

Book #136: American Psycho by Bret Easton Ellis

November 29, 2014

Not long ago, my nephew was fascinated to see that a display case in the children's section was covered in CAUTION tape. "Did someone break it?" he asked me. I explained that it was their display of frequently banned children's books; innocent classics like the works of Roald Dahl, the Harry Potter series, A Wrinkle in Time, you know. They also posted the ridiculous reasons why these books were banned in various places. It was to raise awareness for Banned Books Week; I concluded by asking my nephew, "It's not cool to tell people what they can or can't read, is it?" He agreed.

I was disappointed to see no such display in General Fiction for teens and adults, but then again, it might have made me remember that my local library network, for all of their celebrating of reading the censored and banned classics, do ban books to this very day. There is at least one author who is banned from my local libraries:Bret Easton Ellis.

So when I noticed copies of his books at Half-Priced Books, I couldn't resist getting this oh-so controversial author's best known novel. I've seen snippets of the movie; Christian Bale does have the right creeper vibe to pull off Bateman, but as I read the book, I found myself picturing someone more fresh-faced, barely out of business school, truly the boy-next-door (he is constantly referred to as such by members of his clueless social circle). You wouldn't necessarily look at him and think "killer"; more like "douchebag" or "trust fund baby." Christian Bale almost looks too psychotic to play this psycho.

This book was certainly a cure for my longing for a character-driven story, even if the character is horrifying. Yet the world he lives in is almost as horrifying. The thing is, as you read, you really understand Bateman. He comes from a vapid, pointless culture; too much money, too much shit to buy, too many distractions, nothing real. I mean, people fucking mix each other up all the time in Bateman's world, which allows the murder of another Wall Street guy to go unnoticed for months and months...because people swear they keep seeing the guy in London. Bateman isn't exactly cold and calculating; he's out of his fucking mind, but his slip-ups and confessions go unnoticed because nobody fucking knows who anybody else is in his world!

And such a world (which I don't get) is the perfect place for Bateman to hide. His obsessive nature works to his advantage; it's considered a good thing that he spends hours a day exercising, that he's very careful of what he eats (except when he has a craving for human flesh), that he obsesses over fashion. The roll call of designers for every piece of clothing that he and his crowd wore in every scene were appropriately tedious. The whole fucking culture that Bateman worships of labels and appearances and going to the trendiest, hippest places is disgusting, and yet it's all that's keeping him from really going off the deep end...in fact, that's not even enough anymore, as he's really losing his shit throughout the book, getting worse, and you hope (pray!) that getting caught is inevitable. But he did call his lawyer with a lengthy confession, but the lawyer thought it was a joke and didn't even recognize Bateman when he next saw him!

Since this book takes you into the mind of a really psychotic man, shit gets graphic. The sex/rape scenes were really detailed, more so than anything I've ever read that hasn't been specifically designated as fictional porn. The scenes with two women together wouldn't have bothered me (like at all) if not for two things: one, that Bateman wasn't considering these things as "degrading" (and they wouldn't have been if he weren't there), and two, if I couldn't have guessed what could happen next to those poor girls.

The murder scenes...whoa. There was a lot of cringing, gasping, cries of "oh my God" on my part as I read (or rather skimmed) these. Look, Bateman doesn't just kill people; he tortures them, mutilates them, makes liberal use of power tools. He's like a particularly destructive child with a toy, disturbingly imaginative. Bateman loves to kill, and he loves to cause any kind of pain possible. He's disappointed after discreetly stabbing a child in the neck at a crowded penguin exhibit; he mistakenly believed that the grief for a child will be less than the grief for a grown person, thereby inflicting less pain. He doesn't just inflict physical pain; a girlfriend of his (therefore, safer from his bloodlust than most other people) is forced to get an abortion, and the same day he buys and sends her items for a baby to mock her. He also implies that he, uh, performed two abortions in former girlfriends himself, which I don't even want to picture (best case scenario: stairs). He wants to cause pain: to tiny animals, to other people, anything and anyone.

He's obviously very mentally ill, and his diet of steroids, cocaine, and pills pills pills doesn't help at all. It seems to run in his family; his mother is in some sort of hospital/institution for reasons that can only be inferred, and the only thing we know about his father is that he's rich as shit...other things may be inferred. Bateman has a cousin who raped a girl and bit off her earlobes. The man clearly needs serious, serious help. He even saw a psychiatrist for a while...undoubtedly it was no more than a drug connection. 

Okay, I can clearly see why this book would be an easy target for censors and the morality police. But I felt like the graphic details have their merit. The shallowness, the dullness, of Bateman's outer life, in stark contrast to his very dark and dusturbing private life...it's all brought together to show two years in the life of a very twisted man and his very twisted world. Did his yuppie culture that he loves so much create him, or does it simply enable his horrific lifestyle? That's unclear, but what is clear is that a world like that, uncaring and disgustingly blah, is the perfect place for monsters. I consider the right way to live to be completely the opposite of what Bateman and his crowd value, and this book only reinforces my own values. 

Needless to say, I will read more by Ellis in the future...though I won't look for him at my local library. 

Book #135: Messenger

Book #135: Messenger by Lois Lowry

November 27, 2014

Happy Thanksgiving! After celebrating with my family, I came home and finished this book, the third in Lowry's "Giver Quartet" of novels. It was too short. The plot was too simple and resolved unsatisfactorily. The complaints that I had about Gathering Blue only working in conjunction with other books? I feel exactly the same about this book, and the plot wasn't even all that compelling. 

A shame, because I'd been looking forward to reading a story in the perspective of Matt (yes, now Matty). But he's kind of a boring narrator; he reflects on how he used to be naughty, until he moved to Village with Kira's father and becomes swayed by the loving influence of this utopia. Since Matty moved there, Jonas has become the leader. In fact, he is called Leader. Everyone and everything significant is referred to literally. The schoolteacher's "true name" is Mentor; the blind man is (ironically) Seer. The forest isn't called "the forest," but just "Forest." It's kind of fucking stupid.

So things are changing for the worse in Village at the start of the book. Some tradesman is like trading people their souls or their health for the items they most covet: gaming machines (what is the deal with those, anyway?), a woman's affections, whatever. It's not explained why, nor is it explained why this tradesman (the devil, maybe?) would want to turn people selfish, as the usually welcoming Village people vote to close their town to any more outsiders. It makes me think of Stephen King's Needful Things, except no motive is yet clear. 

It seems that, partly by Jonas and Kira's influence in their own home communities, overall conditions across the land are improving. It did not escape my attention that Kira wore all blue in this book. But for whatever reason, as Village threatened to go bad, Forest (huge and magical, tentatively connecting many communities to Village) has become hostile. Which is the main conflict of the book, I guess. 

Jonas and Kira (who are going to fall in love and bang and make babies, obviously) are both psychic or whatever, while Matty has magical healing powers. When all three of them are trapped in angry Forest, he sacrifices his life to heal his friends, the people in Village, Forest, and he even brings his puppy back to life. But he is dead...but all of the problems of the book are resolved, and all of the evil done by the trades is undone. 

This book could have been so much better. I feel like Lowry just slapped it together; she could have written it in a day, for all I can tell. The thing is, I'd still like to read the fourth of this "quartet." It's set back in Jonas's home village, told from the perspective of a young birth mother. To be one is considered the most base assignment that a girl can have. The teaser chapter seemed rather dark, and more exciting than any part of Messanger. I highly doubt that many questions that this series brings up will be answered, so I'd almost advise against reading this one.

Book #134: Life of Pi

Book #134: Life of Pi by Yann Martel

November 25, 2014

This book is one that's gained attention in the last decade, including a film version a couple of years ago. I've heard mixed reviews about this book, and I have mixed feelings about it now that I've read it for myself. On the one hand, the story itself is exciting and well-paced. But the main character Pi is kind of blah.

See, I got why the story went into such detail about how animals in zoos adapt to their environments and how they become submissive to their human handlers through training and conditioning. That explained how a teenage boy could survive for months, adrift on a lifeboat, with a huge tiger. And of course Pi would know about all that stuff, having grown up the son of a zoo owner. When he and his family are on a cargo ship to sell their animals and settle into a new life in Canada, the ship sinks in the Pacific, Pi and a rag tag group of animals being the only survivors. The hyena eventually preys on the injured zebra and the orangutan, and the tiger, Richard Parker, gets the hyena. Pi conditions the tiger to stay in his part of the boat, and he works tirelessly to provide food and fresh water for them both. Months later, they land in Mexico.

What I didn't get was the religious aspect of the whole thing. See, a couple of years before his ordeal, Pi begins enthusiastically embracing all three of the major religions in India:Hinduism, Islam, and Christianity. He prays to Allah, Vishnu, and Jesus equally. He is flabbergasted when the local religious leaders take offense to the fact that he won't pick just one. 

This in itself isn't my problem. I like the idea of not allowing doctrinal boundaries to limit one's spiritual journey. My problem is that the author's message (because these religious themes are so very prominent) is unclear. If Pi didn't draw strength from three faiths, would he not have survived his ordeal? It almost seemed like Martel set it up to have a religiousy message, but then backed out. In a way, it makes me think of how young Tricia, lost in the woods, drew comfort from her favorite baseball team in The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon. But if that's all it is, then Pi's passion for God could be replaced with just about anything: a love for geometry, an obsession with soccer. 

As it is, Pi wasn't a terribly well fleshed-out character. The story is definitely plot-driven rather than character-driven. I almost feel like this would be a good book to teach in my current environment. For younger readers, it might give them an interesting perspective on other religions, morality, and the fact that at its heart is a survival story would keep their interest. For me, I thought the story was just okay. 

One final note: I hate that the author included himself as a character in the story. I felt like the portions from his (fictional) perspective and the details on Pi's later life added nothing to the story. 

Book #133: Mrs. Dalloway

Book #133: Mrs. Dalloway by Virginia Woolf

November 24, 2014

I'm on my first day of a week-long break from work. I spent my time admirably: I got up around eight, consumed a whole batch of cinnamon rolls, took a nap, and watched Netflix. As an afterthought, I did go to the gym, and I got Indian food. And of course, read. 

I picked up this book, and a few others, recently. It's been a while since I bought any books, but I may be motivated to now that I've made it very very clear to my father that I want a bookshelf for Christmas. The little shelves that I've had since childhood don't fit all my novels, let alone my professional research materials. Plus, I've asked my sister to get me an Amazon gift card for more ebooks...she called me a nerd but I think she's glad that I'm so easy to buy for.

Virginia Woolf...I've always found her interesting, but never knew much about her. Nicole Kidman famously wore an ugly fake nose to play her, and won an Oscar for it. Maeby Fünke wore the nose to be Shirley Woolfbeak (haha, get it?). I know she killed herself by stuffing rocks into her pockets and walking into a body of water to drown, but otherwise I don't know a whole lot about her. I don't think I'm afraid of her (haha, I got jokes); she was definitely a unique voice.

Mrs. Dalloway was published by Woolf and her husband's own company, Hogarth. I'm certain that I have ordered and used academic texts from this very same company, so it's obviously still active today. The book (short, shy of 200 pages) is a day in London. The plot is centered around Clarissa Dalloway, a middle-aged society woman who is giving a party that evening. The narrative of the story is the thoughts and observations of various characters, especially Mrs. Dalloway; her ex Peter Walsh (who happens to show up in London that day, having been in India for years); and others connected to Clarissa in various ways. Because the story switches perspectives frequently (and abruptly at times), and because the conscious thoughts of the characters mingle with their observations and actions and dialogue, reading this book requires attention, you could say. And its themes aren't exactly clear; I could definitely see this book being a topic of extensive study and discussion. 

One clear theme of this book is regret. Depression, dissatisfaction perhaps, are others. I found myself comparing Clarissa with Septimus, even before Clarissa heard of the young man's suicide through their one connection, Lord William, who had prescribed him confined bed rest that very morning and had shared the news of his sudden, gruesome suicide (falling to his death out of a window and onto an iron fence; I think one of the sisters in Jeffrey Eugenides's The Virgin Suicides goes that way). I compared them before Clarissa compared herself to him, so obviously it was one that Woolf wanted readers to make. And here's what I found myself wondering:

At first I was like, Septimus's issues were clearly more serious. He was very very mentally ill, suffering from PTSD after World War I. This was, of course, during a time when there was little real understanding about mental illness, about the ways that trauma affects the human brain. His long-suffering wife Rezia, whom he met after the war in Italy, wants to find a quick fix, and is wary of well-meaning Lord William but trusting of the ignorant, pompous doctor. She is definitely in denial about the situation, though she is a sympathetic character.

Indeed almost everyone is sympathetic, because you get their perspective for at least some of the story. This book doesn't really have a plot, per se, but is rather a look at human life: emotions, memories, death. And that made me think, maybe I don't have a right to rank people's problems, saying that Septimus had more of a right to fall apart that Clarissa, who seems to be just holding herself together. Everybody has their shit. Even Miss Kilman, in many ways a despicable character, has a perspective. She blames her problems on other people and uses religion as a way to feel above people who intimidate her, but she has some convictions. She had a tough life, but still stood up for her principles, even when it meant losing a job. She seems like an awful person, but Clarissa seems to connect with her despair.

This book is sometimes referred to as "art," and I'd agree with that. It's definitely not a breeze-through sort of book, but rather a tapestry of a day in the life. Mrs. Dalloway, dealing with her declining health and a growing dissatisfaction in her lifestyle and a daughter growing apart from her, is going through some stuff, just as everybody is. And maybe something to keep in mind is that everyone has regrets and everyone wants something, though many people don't know what that is. And we are all connected, even in the loosest sense of the word. 

I would like to learn more about Virginia Woolf. Maybe I should watch that one movie? She wrote several other novels, and I certainly want to check out more of her work. She was definitely unconventional, and while I used to shy away from such texts, I'm seeing more how unique writing styles can present essential perspectives, allowing readers to know characters in different, important ways.

Book #132: The Autobiography of Mrs. Tom Thumb

Book #132: The Autobiography of Mrs. Tom Thumb by Melanie Benjamin

November 21, 2014

There is an actual Autobiography of Mrs. Tom Thumb, a collection of M. Lavinia Warren Bump Stratton's incomplete memoirs. They, like Benjamin's fictional (though fact-based) narrative, mainly discuss Vinnie's childhood; her time as the tiniest, most adorable, and yet competent school teacher; and her years as a performer, an "oddity" who became famous worldwide for her diminutive stature and her marriage to Charles Stratton, aka Tom Thumb.

I must admit, I knew little about "Tom Thumb" before reading this book. When I read June Melby's memoir about her family's miniature golf course, called Tom Thumb, I recognized the name; I thought he was a mythological being.

Nope, he was real. His "proportionate dwarfism" was caused by a family history of inbreeding. Same with Vinnie and Minnie. Vinnie's connections to the Warren family of Massachusetts was repeatedly mentioned; P.T. Barnum banked on this as he presented her as a tiny society lady, no object of ridicule like other little people in entertainment. Vinnie had ancestors who came over on the Mayflower. That makes me think of Gilmore Girls (I've about binged out on all the episodes by now; thanks, Netflix). When Rory is disrespected by Logan's snotty family, she points out that she had ancestors on the Mayflower as well. And there was also inbreeding in her family. Though nowadays, if descendants of early inbreeding society families develop "proportionate dwarfism," they can get hormonal growth supplements or something. 

Vinnie is depicted as being vulnerable with a tough exterior. She's always felt a need to protect her smaller sister, yet she brings her with her into the world of entertainment. But Barnum keeps them protected in the business end of things; during their hey day, it sounds like things were pretty damn sweet for General and Mrs. Tom Thumb.

They were huge celebrities. Their wedding got the same kind of publicity as the most high profile weddings today (think royalty, not Kardashian). They had powerful friends, and travelled the world. But Benjamin depicts Vinnie as being unhappy and insecure, though she does love to perform. She's so different, it's the only place she's ever felt like she could fit.

Vinnie's marriage to Stratton is depicted as being not loveless, but completely lacking in passion. I mean, no sex at all. Vinnie was terrified of the prospect of getting pregnant, and that's no surprise. She was just over two feet tall; she was born a normal-sized baby, typical in "proportionate dwarfism." Minnie herself died in childbirth; her baby was normal-sized, of course. Just try not to picture it...gruesome. 

So maybe the no sex at all idea is realistic, but I would be curious to know the true nature of the "Thumbs" and their married life. I'm not saying I want to picture little people doing the nasty, I'd just want proof that Benjamin wasn't quite right. Otherwise, I feel really bad for both of them. 

Much of Benjamin's plot revolves around the idea that Vinnie was in love with Barnum. The author's notes on her research indicate that the events of the book are fact-based, but there's no real note on why Benjamin interpreted their relationship this way. But then again, since Stratton was a good friend of Barnum, it makes sense that Vinnie and Barnum would also be close. Barnum essentially arranged the marriage; this is undoubtedly so. He made them two of the biggest celebrities in the world. P.T. Barnum seems like he was a fascinating man, if he was mainly concerned with money and fame. But Benjamin softens him; he really cares for his friends. 

There's a lot of historical fiction published these days, and this is one from a unique perspective. Some of the themes in this book grew tedious over time (as Vinnie reflects on the same fears over and over again), but overall I found this an interesting story. Plus, as I've said, I love books that teach me something, and that's what I look for in quality historical fiction. 

Book #131: The Fellowship of the Ring

Book #131: The Fellowship of the Ring by J.R.R. Tolkien

November 20, 2014

It's been over a decade since The Lord of the Rings trilogy of films were released and made Peter Jackson a shitload of money. I believe that the movies were meant to be appreciated by a wider audience than might otherwise read the source material, but I still found them a little confusing. I didn't even really quite grasp the fact that the ring that Frodo possessed was the most important ring, and I certainly had no clue why Merry and Pippin ended up in Gondor in the midst of a battle (and who was fighting whom, by the way?). Was I too stoned during my single viewings of each of the films, or what? I think I've addressed before, though, how I'm not a big movie watcher. I much prefer books, of course, but I can also binge-watch certain shows on Netflix for hours. Go figure. 

I could go on and on, but I'm already off track. So I think the last movie for The Hobbit is coming out soon, or something. That's like 80 years after the book was originally published. Tolkien, who made his living as a professor of language history (he was an expert on Anglo-Saxon influences on the development of English), published this first part of The Lord of the Rings about 20 years after The Hobbit. I might imagine that his extensive writings on Middle Earth (certainly his own fantastical version of the real sort of history that he studied and taught) and his other, lesser-known works, were a beloved hobby for him, but he was able to finally write the whole famous trilogy after he retired from his career. Not knowing much about Tolkien's other works, I'm really just speculating here.

The rewrite of the Gollum chapter in The Hobbit is explained by Bilbo in this book. I think the original read that he got the ring from Gollum as a gift after beating him in his riddle game, because that's the lie that Bilbo owns. Gandalf had been suspicious of the ring since the beginning, but it's not until many years later that he learns of its true deadly nature. 

Bilbo is actually fairly prominent in the first part of the book. He is admired but held in some suspicion by fellow hobbits in the Shire, but is admired and respected by many outside of the Shire, for his involvement in the events of the previous book. Gandalf convinces Bilbo to leave his heir, his favored younger cousin Frodo, the powerful ring when Bilbo decides to leave the Shire for good. Bilbo is, of course, more than reluctant.

It's many more years before Frodo is sent on his quest to destroy the powerful ring, the one ring that, if back in the possession of its creator Sauron, an evil wizard (or something) that is steadily regaining power in Middle Earth, will bring the kingdoms of men, elves, and probably all the species of intelligent creatures great and small, to his command. He and Sam (his very faithful servant), Merry, and Pippin encounter many dangers and adventures on the way to Rivendell, and that of course is not the extent of it for this book. 

Tom Bombadil and his wife Goldberry are not included in the movies, of course. I have a hard time deciding if Bombadil is awesome, or really fucking obnoxious. He's always singing and prancing around, and he's all-powerful in his neck of the woods. He wants only to live in peace and comfort, and it is doubted that he will venture from there to fight against Sauron's forces. Jackson and others involved in the making of the movies must have felt him more annoying than fun, obviously.

More is explained about the histories of men, dwarves, and elves in this book. The friendship between Gimli (one of the better developed characters; he looks like mini-Hagrid in the movies) and Legolas is meant to symbolize a coming of peace between elves and dwarves, who have a tumultuous history, in better times. Since the second and third movies continue to follow these characters to Gondor, even after Sam and Frodo depart for Mordor alone, I know that the books will have a lot more about these characters and creatures.

Tolkien made his living learning about and teaching ancient history, so it makes sense that he would have fun creating his own whimsical, imaginary histories and worlds and languages. Millions of people have had fun in Middle Earth as well. Tolkien's works have been a prominent part of "nerd culture" for decades, long before those movies came out. I found the first of The Lord of the Rings trilogy to be delightful (and Sam is still my favorite character), and while I'm not clambering to read the second one, I'll probably get to it in the next year.

Book #130: The City of Ember

Book #130: The City of Ember by Jeanne DuPrau

November 12, 2014

I was pretty lucky in my first year of teaching. I had a very bright group of 7th graders (those kiddos would be juniors now, holy cow!) for language arts and reading. I was able to assign them many novels that year; some went over better than others, but overall I had fun teaching that group. They told me about a book they'd all been assigned as 6th graders that was generally popular, the very book I'm reviewing now. I've been meaning to read it for that long.

I can see why this book would be good to use with middle schoolers: the plot is fast-paced, and there are many opportunities for kids to make inferences. Overall I found the book enjoyable; the plot is fairly standard in the dystopia genre, but I've written before about how I enjoy those kind of books generally, and teen readers tend to gravitate to them.

A negative Goodreads reviewer expressed disbelief that while all of the adults in Ember were helpless, two children had the gumption and the luck to find a way out of the underground city. This reviewer is obviously not familiar with YA literature. Kids outwitting adults is a very common theme, and considering the situation, and what I know of human nature, I don't find it unbelievable at all.

See, the people in Ember have no clue about anything. This was by design; about 250 years before the start of the story, 100 senior citizens and 100 babies were put in Ember to protect the human race. My guess is that they were put underground either in the 1960s, or in modern times. There was fear that wars or disaster would wipe out the human race. These select people are meant to start a new society, living in this city that has been build and wired and stocked for their survival. They are dependent on electricity; nothing can grow, and no one can see, without the artificial light. People in Ember were meant to be ignorant of the world above ground until 220 years after the first people went in, so that they wouldn't leave early and like suffocate on noxious air or something.

People in Ember don't have books. They can't create anything new; they reuse everything again and again. They don't know about religion, or animals, or the sun and moon. They only know life in Ember, and they believe that theirs is the only city anywhere, and that all else is darkness.

It doesn't surprise me that Doon and Lina, the two main characters, have dreamt of light. I mean, human beings all probably have a built-in instinct about sunlight and nature, and being stuck in darkness forever, the people in Ember would subconsciously crave to be outside. Biologically, they would need it.

The people in Ember don't seem especially unhappy about their circumstances...if the supplies weren't running out and the generator weren't breaking down. They've stayed longer than intended. To guard the secret of the city, the "Builders" of old had left instructions for how to get out of Ember with the mayor, and the locked box was meant to be passed from mayor to mayor until it opened by timer. The problem is that one mayor took the box home, attempted to break in, then shoved the box in a closet before he died. Oops.

Turns out that this mayor was a past relation of Lina's, and her grandmother, suffering from dementia, finds the box one day as she is going through all her things blindly. The lock has already opened, and Lina's beloved baby sister manages to eat and tear up the instructions before Lina discovers them. But Lina, with some help, is able to piece enough of the message back together that she and Doon can find a way out of Ember. And they're desperate to get away quickly: the current mayor has it in for them. When they were searching the Pipeworks, they find a door that, as Doon discovers, leads to the fatass mayor's secret horde of stuff stolen from the city's supplies. His refusal to act on Lina's tip about an exit just shows his fear and complacency in Ember. People don't like change, or the unknown. 

The book ends when Lina sends a message down to Ember. She and Doon, having gotten out, realize that they never left clear instructions with anyone. So once they're above ground, and they've been dazzled by the beauty of the countryside they find themselves in, they look for another way to access Ember. They find a narrow cave that leads to an opening above a huge cavern, with the city right below. The book ends with Lina's kind guardian finding her note, which I imagine leads right into the sequel.

The only thing that irked me about this book was a couple of comments that might be interpreted as thinly-veiled religious messages. When Clary made her comment about something having had to create life, I had a bad feeling. I guess I find the idea of religious indoctrination of unsuspecting children to be distasteful. Then again, if The City of Ember is some sort of religious allegory for, like, seeking the light through the words of the creator or something, it's not terribly in your face about it. Hell, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe is widely known to be an allegory for Jesus battling Satan or whatever, and it's a popular children's classic. Anyway, in our culture, I'd expect young readers to have questions about religion in this book. After all, they can't have Bibles, they can't know about seas and deserts and forests and boats. 

More than anything, I find Ember to be a fascinating setting. I could see myself reading the next book in this series, perhaps if it's available at my school library. It's a quality children's novel, perhaps a kid's first introduction to the dystopian genre. 

Book #129: Inferno

Book #129: Inferno by Dan Brown

November 9, 2014

A coworker of mine recently expressed frustration that some other coworkers seem determined to make some things at work as complicated as possible. That's essentially how I felt about this book, about the plot overall and about the "villain" Zobrist's plan.

So I read The Da Vinci Code when it was wildly popular, my junior or senior year of high school. At that time the twists and turns in the plot thrilled me, plus I felt like I was reading a "smart" mystery. Now a (I'd like to think) more sophisticated reader, I have a hard time deciding if the Robert Langdon series is trash lit for smart people, or a shot of culture for the masses. Either way, I found it unsatisfying. 

First off, the entire plot doesn't make sense. See, Zobrist was a genetic engineer or something, a brilliant scientist, who correctly pointed out that the world's population is getting out of control. He hires a corporation to "hide" him while he develops an airborne virus that, like, alters people's DNA or something so that like a third of people, forever and ever, will be unable to have babies. Now, this isn't the only instance of over-the-top "science" in this book, and that along with the details on Dante and The Divine Comedy, and Italian art and history is just exhausting. But I think Brown would have had something here if he'd cut out the Italian and Dante stuff, cut out the pointless treasure hunt, and cut out that shmuck Robert Langdon.

I fucking hate Robert Langdon. He is beyond douchey. This was especially frustrating due to the fact that his presence in the situation was pointless. What the hell was the point of the treasure hunt again, and Zobrist's elaborate clues based on his supposed obsession with Dante? I don't buy into his Dante fantasism, which is kind of a big problem because that's the foundation on which the plot is built. Like, why is this scientist obsessed with Dante, anyway? If it were explained, then maybe I would buy into the plot. Zobrist was a fascinating character, a huge creep, which made his supposedly earnest supplications to Sinsky seem unbelievable because he came off really intensely. Think Paris Gellar crossed with Batman. No wonder she called him a terrorist and stormed out.

But since Zobrist supposedly was obsessed with Dante, that brings Robert Langdon onto the scene, who so happens to be an expert on Dante and Dante-inspired art and Florence. But at the beginning of the book, he has amnesia. This turns out to have been induced by some strange drug. He's being played by the organization that's hired to hide Zobrist and blindly help him execute his plans. Supposedly this organization (run by a slimy, amoral worm called 'the provost') is based on one that really exists, and supposedly they help nations to perpetrate mass lies to the public. Way to feed into conspiracy theories. I don't even care.

Zobrist's lover Sienna is recruited by the organization to use Langdon to protect Zobrist's virus (of course they don't know that's what it is, but she does), and she poses as a doctor who "helps" Langdon to "escape" from the "hospital." But she really wants to use Langdon herself to stop the virus, though she doesn't tell him the truth for some reason. Oh, and get this: the virus had already been released by Zobrist before he killed himself. Oops. So why did he need to leave the stupid clues? Why couldn't he send Sinsky a message that said "waych the birth rates" or "nah nah nah nah, I'm cutting down the world's population by 1/3 and you can't stop me, nah nah." That'd pretty much get the point across, right? And if he wanted Sienna to "protect" the virus, as he said in his video, and he wrote to her shortly before his death, why didn't he just tell her it was in Istanbul? 

I'm done ranting about this book. It's the second and last Robert Langdon I'll ever read. One last thing that nagged me, though: whenever the character expressed surprise or anguish, their questions would end in the double-punctuation "?!" or "!?" (Brown mixed it up a little throughout). I think that this is acceptable while texting, or even used very very sparingly in other forms of writing. But we're talking like every single page here, since the characters tended to be shocked more than the reader. Now, I could go on to discuss how the female characters were sexist, how Brown gives and withholds details obnoxiously in order to confuse readers, or I could continue to explain why I despise Robert Langdon (who the fuck says "thank heavens" to his agent when he wakes him on the phone in the middle of the night?). He's meant to be like a thinking man's Indiana Jones, but fuck it. I'm done here.

Book #128: The Iliad

Book #128: The Iliad by Homer (translated by Edward Earl of Derby)

November 2, 2014

When I was 12, I dislocated my elbow. It was a pretty gnarly injury; it couldn't easily be popped back into place, and I had to wear an enormous cast on my left arm for like two months. The day after I injured it, I stayed home from school. My dad brought home a book for me, a childhood favorite of his: D'Aulaire's Book of Greek Myths by Ingri and Edgar Parin. This amazing book is in print to this day. It has fantastic illustrations, and tells the stories of the most prominent Greek gods and goddesses, myths of other demigod creatures (nymphs and centaurs and such), and stories of the great mortal heroes: Jason, Herecles, Odyseus. And it tells the complete (though very condensed) story of the Trojan War, from the contest that gave already-married Helen's hand to Paris, to to the Trojan Horse and the sacking of Ilium, which I think is the royal or capitol city of Troy.

The Iliad does not tell the complete story of the war. It isn't really meant to stand alone, but rather as one of a series of epic poems (credited to others, I assume, as The Iliad and The Odyssey are both credited to Homer). Why Homer's poems have withstood the test of time, I don't know. Maybe his attention to detail with the lives and emotions of the characters set his work above others? This poem (the translation put me in mind of Shakespeare; indeed, it wouldn't be a far cry to say that the Bard and his contemporaries were influenced by Homer) was mostly entertaining. The only truly unnecessary details were when Homer did a sort of "roll call" of the leaders of Greece and Troy and their respective allies. That part can mainly be ignored; you get to know the central characters on either side as the story progresses.

The polytheist religion of the ancient Greeks is fascinating. Their mythology, including this story, shows the gods being very personally and emotionally involved in the lives of mortals. So much so that like half the Greek and Trojan leaders had a god for a father; Achilles was somewhat unique in having a goddess mother instead. The gods are not benevolent or all-knowing; mortals are basically their playthings. Making a sacrifice won't necessarily get you a god's favor, but neglecting the sacrifice will get you the wrath of one. And if you aren't favored by a god, you better watch the fuck out. Essentially, it's like having giant human beings in charge; the Judeo-Christian god of the Old Testament sounds more like Zeus than like Jesus.

What was confusing about the poem were the names. I figured out that mortal men were called by like three different names: a given name, "son of" whomever, or by their second name (a veriation of the father's given name). Once I figured out the Agamemnon, Atreus' son, and Atrides were all the same person, things made a lot more sense. Of course, Atreus' son and Atrides could also refer to Menelaus, Agamemnon's brother and the husband Helen was taken from. Yeesh!

I was also thrown that the gods were referred to by their Roman names rather than their Greek names: Jove, Juno, Pallas, Mars, Neptune instead of Zeus, Hera, Artemis, Ares, Poseidon. But I was familiar enough with these to keep them straight.

This being a well-known story in Ancient Greece, the values of that society might be judged by this story. Plato criticized the myths as championing low morals: violence, trickery, desecration of bodies, raping and enslavement to women. All of these are hugely present in the story. Knowing the fate of the women of Troy (though the end of the war is not told in The Iliad) is cringe-worthy. The Greeks aim to pillage their city and take the women away, to toil and be degraded for the rest of their lives. Achilles' slaves, his "spoils" of war, pretend to mourn the death of his friend Patroclus, but really use it as an excuse to lament their own sorrows. And the many, many descriptions of men being beheaded, run through with spears, and disembowled in battle...Ancient Greece was pretty fucked up.

I read The Odyssey years ago, as a senior in high school, and I always intended to read The Iliad. I'm glad I did, but I think The Odyssey is the better of the two epic poems credited to Homer. There's some speculation that someone other than Homer wrote The Odyssey, but that may be something that is never known. These stories are older than the New Testament, and there's just so much that we can never know about their origins. I think, though, that if a story has survived for that long, it's worth reading.

Book #127: Tex

Book #127: Tex by S.E. Hinton

October 30, 2014

This is the book I've been reading at work. I've heard it said that The Outsiders, by far Hinton's most famous work, is the only one worth reading. But I had a student in the past who liked that so much when we read it in class that he went on to read some other of Hinton's works, and he enjoyed those, too. And I think that those who say The Outsiders is her very best book to be mistaken; Tex, for one, is just an enjoyable. 

Tex, or Texas, is similar to Ponyboy in some ways. About the same age, mostly cared for by a seemingly overbearing older brother, a bit of a troublemaker but with some depth to redeem him. Tex is a great character.

Some of the themes of this book are similar to The Outsiders as well, but there are many differences as well. In rural Oklahoma, just outside of Tulsa, there's not so much the distinctions in social class or the cliquiness of the urban-set text. This is more of a family drama than a social commentary, so I could see why The Outsiders has perhaps more literary merit. It doesn't make Tex's story any less compelling, though.

Tex loves his horse Negrito, so he is devastated when his brother Mason sells the horse, and his own. Why would he do this? Because he and Tex have been left alone as widower Pop has been traveling the rodeo circuit. I didn't get much of a feel for Pop; on the one hand, he's rather thoughtless, but he's not a mean drunk, plus he raised a child who wasn't his own. But Mason, a senior who is a basketball star, is a fascinating character. Serious-minded, he's desperate to get out of their small rural community, but he also feels that he's the only one who can care for Tex. After their big fight, during which Mason beats the shit out of his little brother, he feels horrible. He's obviously a young man with a lot of complex emotions, and Tex crossed him at the wrong time. It's clear that Tex loves and respects his brother, and he comes to understand him more by the end of the book, and quickly forgives him selling his beloved horse and kicking his ass.

Tex considers a lot about who is meant to stay in their little world, and who is meant to go. A fortune teller at the state fair puts this in his head. He is told that he will stay. This in itself only seems to bother him a little bit, but he considers the fate of others in his life. His girlfriend Jamie is told that she will go. He knows that Mason is meant to go, too. An old friend, Lem, was meant to stay. But he'd gotten his girlfriend pregnant, and in the 1970s in Oklahoma, there was only one respectable thing to do. He's in Tulsa since their families aren't supportive, and Tex feels sorry for him. Lem isn't happy; he should have stayed.

Tex goes through some heavy stuff in this book: all that family drama (and then some!); his first girlfriend, who happens to be his best friend's younger sister,  with a disapproving father to boot. I find it bizarre that the Collins kids call their parents by their first names, and yet their father is so strict. They only ever address him as "sir"; maybe they do it behind their backs, a cathartic and subversive gesture of disrespect. I don't know if it was explained. The Collins kids were an interesting influence on both Mason and Tex, and I would have wanted to read more about them. 

Besides all the family issues and girl trouble, Tex is looking into the future as he anticipates tenth grade, the official first year of high school in his community. He at least lived somewhere populated enough to have two separate buildings for junior high and high school. My first teaching job was at a school with all grades in one building. Very small western Iowa town, very rural, but I did imagine some similarities between what Tex and Johnny and their crew got up to (jumping motor bikes, riding around in trucks and meeting at a car wash or something on a Saturday night, occasionally smoking weed or drinking) with what my former students might have been up to themselves. I'm not going to pretend that underage drinking is just horrible, because it happens. However, Tex's observation that he'd rather ride with a drunk driver than an overly cautious stoned one was disturbing. If that was normal in his world, I imagine that kids dying in drunk driving accidents was all too common. Kind of like babies having babies, as Tex's mother must've only been about seventeen when she had Mason. 

What's great about Tex as a narrator is how frank he is. He's very honest, almost unflinchingly so, and isn't really afraid of much. But he admits when he is afraid. I'd have a hard time believing that everybody wouldn't love Tex (except maybe his teachers...I love the English teacher who gets him excited to read books about horses). He doesn't mean anybody any harm, and the antics he gets into are mostly harmless. Okay, he did steal a car once, a couple of years before the story starts, but it sounded like he took a careless neighbor's wheels for a brief joyride and got caught putting it back. Mason's concerns for his brother are understandable, but I think Tex will be all right. 

I plan to recommend this book to my students. I think that while The Outsiders has made its way into a typical American language arts curriculum, Hinton has kind of been ignored as an outstanding young adult author. Her works are accessible and still have appeal for adolescent male readers. Conveniently enough, this happens to be the exact demographic that I work with. 

Book #126: Candy

Book #126: Candy: A Century of Panic and Pleasure by Samira Kawash

October 29, 2014

This random library pick jumped out at me because of its cover: candies of all colors of the rainbow, like wax bottles and citrus fruit-shaped gummies, arranged around the colorful title. Candy. Kawash is right when she observes that almost everyone likes candy. At work, we placate or reward the kids with candy; a coworker keeps the school staff's candy jar filled with fun-sized chocolates. I don't eat as much of it as I used to, but I do love those mini Twix bars. I also got myself a bag of my favorite candy, cherry sours, from a local candy shop this past weekend. I work out five or six days a week and I've dropped 20 pounds in the last few months, so I don't stress about a little candy.

It took me a little while to get into this book, but overall I found it fascinating, and in line with my views on food. Kawash must have done a lot of research (the references section is a big chunk of the book itself), as she not only discusses the history of mass-produced candy in the U.S. and changing attitudes toward candy, but also the history of food processing, and how this is a huge reflection on the changes in our culture in the last century. We are, after all, what we eat.

Essentially, the candy industry, and mass produced foods in general, have a history of manipulating the public through advertisement, appealing to whatever the concerns of the day are. Mainly, this involved (and still involves) promoting certain products as "healthy" that clearly aren't. The promotion of candy as "good food" was found to be bogus, and the author points out that candy has pretty much dropped that charade...while other products (cereals, energy drinks, gummy snacks, frozen meal products) have picked it up. Not that it's anything new, or unique to the candy industry: Luckystrike cigarettes did it, and other early processed foods as well, claiming health benefits that weren't true. Today, claims can be made for processed foods because of chemical manipulation, and while what's going into your body isn't natural, it "technically" meets standards.

Kawash points out instances of processed corn products being used in food and edible products since around the time of the world wars, but doesn't get into much detail on the fact that it's due to the overproduction of corn (and soy) that have already been chemically altered. Good Lord. This book, and Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, both leave me feeling pretty certain about where all this cancer is coming from. It's not from candy, and while much of it is from cigarettes, it definitely has more to do with the unnatural foods that we eat. But I've gotten into this topic before; I've tried to be better about eating natural foods, and I do okay, but it's easier to put together a salad from a Hy-Vee bag and grab an Amy's vegetarian burrito (processed shit, I know, I know), than to cook a whole meal. But overall, I think I do an okay job with watching what I eat, but not counting calories...and not shying away from pastry and candy as treats.

Okay, so I read something the other day that did make me feel concerned about candy. An article read that something like 70% of the beans or whatever that are used to make major-brand chocolate come from slave plantations in Western Africa; the website foodispower.org has more information on this, and other food products that get supplies through such human rights violations. Kawash only once mentions that sugar and chocolate have a connection to slavery, and the implication was that this was a thing of the past. Clearly, this is not so.

I was most interested in the historical views on diet and nutrition. John and Will Kellogg were mentioned a couple of times; I knew Kawash's references because of a silly episode of Drunk History, in which the Wilson brothers, Luke and Owen, played the bickering brothers as they ran their sanitarium and John invented Corn Flakes or whatever. As Kawash explained Kellogg's theories on diet and health, it actually made a lot of sense to me. Besides the celibacy stuff; sex is part of a balanced life too, of course.

This book wasn't entirely what I expected, but I did get what I expected out of a quality non-fiction read. This book was on a display shelf at the library, and was probably a librarian's recommendation. I'm going to start paying more attention to those. I'm also going to try to be more mindful about the foods I eat. I have made great strides to improve my overall health recently, but continuing to cut back on processed foods is my next goal. And maybe, just maybe, I'll eventually quit smoking.

Book #125: The Thin Man

Book #125: The Thin Man by Dashiell Hammett

October 20, 2014

Phew! What a day it's been. It was such a relief to go to the gym after work and sweat out some stress, and finish this quick, classic crime noir. Apparently it was Hammett's last novel; he wrote several during the 1920s and early 1930s, I think, but the main characters in this book are his most celebrated.

Nick Charles is a retired private eye. I don't know what he and his young wife Nora do for a living; one sarcastic remark from him suggests that she comes from money. They constantly banter, and have a light-hearted relationship fueled by alcohol, and her love of excitement. Their conversations are fun to read. Though Nick is a brilliant detective, he isn't to be taken seriously by his wife. She is frequently praised by other men, and Nick doesn't let his pride show in his throwaway responses. They seem good together. In some ways, they remind me of Kenzie and Gennaro. Nora isn't involved directly in the murder investigation, though she helps her husband to reason aloud.

But the Wynants are worth remembering as well. See, the "thin man" is a kooky inventor (like of synthetics or something chemically) named Clyde Wynant. Years before, not long after he'd hired Nick to work a case for him, he'd divorced his wife and gotten out of contact with his kids. Wynant's daughter, an emotionally unstable young woman named Dorothy, remembers Nick from all those years ago when she runs into him at a bar at the beginning of the book. She starts to hang out with him and Nora, just as the news breaks that Clyde's assistant and lover was shot dead in her apartment. Coincidentally, it was just before Mimi Jorgensen, Clyde's ex, was going to see her. Mimi witnesses her dying, in fact, as she wasn't shot very expertly.

Dorothy isn't the only nutty one in the family. Her brother Gilbert is obsessed with the macabre aspects of human nature: cannibalism, incest, the like. But he's a harmless geek, as Nick finds out. Gilbert seems to admire Nick's world weariness; the same subjects that thrill him are nothing to Nick.

If Clyde is really crazy, Mimi could give him a run for it. Her emotions turn on a dime, and she's violent at times; she beats up on her 20-year-old daughter, for instance. And she lies constantly. Nick sees right through her, and she hates it. The Wynant family definitely have their share of drama. Yeesh.

What baffles me is this: why would the murderer want Nick on the case? To deflect suspicion, knowing that Nick was associating with the Wynants, and to try to bar him from the car would be suspicious? I don't know. That's my only real beef with an other complex yet neatly assembled plot. For it being so brief, I felt like the Charleses and the Wynants were very compelling characters. 

The interactions between characters was fascinating. Besides the very most heated moments, people were polite to one another. Mimi and Dorothy were the most "modern" because they let their emotions guide their behavior. Nick takes part in polite rituals but seems impatient with them. The use of the term "polite speeches" made me think of Mr. Collins, his over-the-top attempts at graciousness coming off as ass-kissing and overkill. 

I would like to read more classic mysteries. More Sherlock Holmes, more by Hammett, and others. I've said here before that I am always impressed by a well-crafted mystery, and I want to read the works that still surprise readers and inspire mystery writers to this day.