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#17 - The Inimitable Jeeves

The Inimitable Jeeves
P.G. Wodehouse
Fiction
Read from 5/4-5/9
My Grade: 8

Very light, very funny, very English.

#42 – The Sea

The Sea
John Banville
Fiction
Read from 9/22/06 -9/26/06
My grade: 5

Middling. Won the Booker. I think it won the Booker for two reasons: (1) it was depressing; and (2) he used many unfamiliar words – at least one every two pages. He said “climacteric.” What the hell?

Anyway, another book where young girls are veiled in mystery, instead of the truth, which is that they are ELEVEN and surely concerned more with, say, sand castles, than developing weirdly sexual things with their twin brothers and the neighbor boy. Seriously, who are these authors, and have they ever actually seen a child? Ugh.

Anyway, the book was most of the things I don’t like about today’s literary fiction. Bleak, boring, unappealing narrator (why is the unappealing narrator so appealing to the author?), things that don’t make sense masquerading as mystery, everyone dying, and so on.

Spoilers below:

#41 – Writing in General and the Short Story in Particular

Writing in General and the Short Story in Particular
Rust Hills (seriously)
Non-Fiction / Writing
Read from 9/14/06 – 9/21/06
My grade: 8

I read this quite slowly, on purpose, because I really wanted to get it. Like Dane Cook, I didn’t just listen, I LISTENED.

I incline naturally toward novels. Part of that is reading speed – short stories are so quick. Like commercials. That’s often unsatisfying. So I was trying to figure out what short stories are supposed to be doing. I often finish one and think, “Okay, but then what?” And they never seem to end with a plot-type resolution, but some kind of too-subtle character beat that I inevitably miss.

The main theme in this book is that every part of a short story is connected – i.e. a tale about an aimless character will have rambling language. I mean, I learned this in high school with the rest of you, but I guess it didn’t sink in. Plus, I sort of have my doubts. I’m sure that, for example, Hemingway could write a short story about an aimless character wandering around, and do so in four word sentences. I see why the writer and academic would want this unity of parts – to match structure to plot to language to symbolism, but I’m not sure it does much for me. Sadly, my response to overt symbolism is usually, “Okay, I fucking get it, desert = loneliness, stop telling me.” On the other hand, I miss all but the most amateurish symbolism.

I can’t figure out how to fix this conflict between me and the short story. I like novels because so much happens – people change, they move around, the fall in and out of love, they die, someone else dies, and so on. I think in a short story we’re just getting a very narrowly focused view of one moment in one person’s life. Hills says in a short story “something happens to someone.” And that’s great, but I’m me, and I want to see consequences and growth and change.

For example, I recently read a short story in the New Yorker, the one with the depressed lesbian who loses her sort-of-girlfriend, takes up a career in peep shows, gets the girlfriend on limited terms, loses her again, and then it ends with her vowing she will quit the peep show job if however many minutes pass, and it ends with her counting them down. Okay, fine, I see that she has been changed, that through the story she has actually learned to let go of girlfriend, and maybe has decided to be her own person now. And I see that she is likely to quit the peep show. BUT! I honestly want to know what she does next week. It’s not enough to be shown some tiny change in her emotional outlook (or rather, having to infer the same). It doesn’t feel like a whole story to me. Hills actually addresses this obliquely, saying that maybe “story” isn’t the right word for these things, and he tries out “epiphanies” which, while he admits that's pretentious, does actually seem more apt.

Anyway, the book was fabulous, and really made me think about short stories and why they don’t work for me, and how I can work around that. I learned a lot about what the writers are trying to do, without feeling like I was stuck in English Literature 101. I hope that I will enjoy short stories more – I’ve decided to stop skipping the New Yorker ones – and try to engage them on their own terms, not as really short, bad novels.

#40 – Malgudi Days

Malgudi Days
R.K. Narayan
Short Stories
Read from 9/12/06 – 9/14/06
My grade: 6 

I realized while grading this that I totally bump all the grades up for effort. I think “well, I didn’t like it, but he clearly tried and/or is talented, so…” I think that’s okay, but it does explain why I tend to average a 7, not a 5.

I read these on Jhumpa Lahiri’s recommendation. While I didn’t like her novel, I thought her short story collection was good, so I figured she was a good source. Alas, blah. At first I was charmed by the Indian locale and unusual characters (all American short stories contain a disaffected youth – prove me wrong). So that part was nice. But over the collection (and thus, over his life) the stories got dimmer, sadder.

Overall, not memorable, but a worthwhile read. I won’t go back for more, but I’ve been trying to exercise my short story muscles lately, so it was fine.

#39 – The Know-It-All

The Know-It-All
A.J. Jacobs, Jr.
Non-Fiction
Read from 9/5/06 – 9/11/06
My grade: 7

A gift from friend of Rota, Anthea!

Well-written, in the line of Julie & Julia in many ways. A light non-fiction read. I tried not to read implied insult into the choice of gift. Hee. 

Subplots about his rivalry with his father, and trying to conceive with his wife added a little depth.

Never boring, often pretty funny. 

Oddly, even I started to get annoyed when he’d bring up tangentially related facts to family in friends, trying to show off his smarts. He started to wear on me a little in places, but the book is based on his insecurity about his intelligence, so that’s understandable.

Overall, entertaining. Emily might like it.

Abandoned - Oh Pure and Radiant Heart

Oh Pure and Radiant Heart!
Lydia Millet
Fiction
Started 8/31/06, abandoned 9/1/06-ish

Ugh. Too dreamy for me, which is too bad, because the premise is awesome. Three nuclear scientists are transported, at the moment of their first nuclear test, to the modern world, to see what they helped create. Such a great premise, and not one I expected would lend itself to dreamy bullshit.

I might dip into a later chapter and see if the writing got better. I ended on page 81, so there was a little hope left.

#38 - Post Office

Post Office
Charles Bukowski
Fiction
Read from 8/25/06 – 8/26/06
My grade: 8

Wild. I read this because I heard that Matt Dillon was starring a movie adaptation of another Bukowski, and simultaneously all the lit-bloggers went into Bukowski-praising ecstasies. 

It was very raw – the voice is incredible and immediate. Post Office, and, I bet, his other books, was obviously auto-biographical.

I rather enjoyed reading his hijinks, though he lost me a little when he kind of raped that crazy lady. It was hilarious, and I didn’t know what to do with that. Whenever the tone doesn’t match the content, I get this little shiver of cognitive dissonance. Sometimes it’s great, as with black comedy, but other times it’s just disturbing. 

Overall, it was funny in a very specific way. Like nothing I’ve read before. He’s very frank and a big loser, and can write like nobody’s business. I really have no idea what to give this. It was so out there (for me), it doesn’t seem to fit on my 1-10 scale at all. I’m tempted to give it a “blue” or “hat” or something.

Award Winners

For my reference, here are the books I've read so far this year, and what awards they've won.

The only legitimate one: Remains of the Day won the Booker Prize.

Runaway won the Giller Prize (something Canadian).

The Watchmen won an honorary Hugo.

Number9Dream was on the Booker shortlist.

Things Writers Do That I Hate #1-3

I am simultaneously a very picky and a very laid-back reader. I will read almost any genre - romance, sure; western, sure; sci-fi, depends on if I can survive the first ten pages; Tom Clancy (he's a genre, right?), ditto. I don't think of myself as a reading snob, and I can't imagine anyone who scanned the books I've read this year would think that either. But I am extremely picky about the writing. When I put something down, give up, it's invariably because of the writing. There is no plot too cliche-ridden, no character too flat, no premise too ridiculous to make me stop reading. But God, the writing. So I've decided to collect my pet peeves here, mostly so I can rant about them (again).

#1 - Unnecessary descriptors: For example, "Jill and Kate went out for lunch. The brunette lawyer ordered a salad, and the fiery redhead ordered scallops." You often find this in genre writing, but I have seen it in a few literary fiction titles, and cried every time. Ooh, I also see this sometimes: "Jake reached for the salt, but the older man got it first." I think it's obvious why I hate this, but let's go through my reasons anyway:

• It assumes I can't remember a character's name.
• Or the writer was too lazy to go back and introduce the character's name before sending the character into action.
• It's awkward.
• It's distracting because I am waiting for it to matter - I give any writer the benefit of the doubt, but the second time I find the hair color of the person was not relevant to the situation, I give up.
• I think it indicates shallow character development on the author's part - if she is talking about her character as a function of his profession, why should I think the character is compelling?
• I despair at the number of people who saw it and thought it was fine.
• I worry that someone read it and thought "Ah, a helpful reminder of a few of this character's salient characteristics! Great!"
• I am not an idiot.

#2 - Provide me with their deep insights before they've earned it (approx. page 250). Here's an example, from page 12 of the book I am currently reading. Watch as our protagonist prepares for bed:

Innocent and ignorant, she thought sadly, turning to lie on her back, there's no real difference, actually we are both. Finally our ignorance consumes us, licking our backs with tongues of fire. And behind us the earth is left black.

There is a lot there that drives me right up a wall. Primarily, it's that on page 12 she's given me this insight about the relative dangers of innocence and ignorance, which could alone be the theme of an epic novel. (I'm pretty sure Shakespeare did some work on the whole innocence/ignorance thing himself.) But all that has happened in her book so far is that the protagonist had a dream, woke up, brushed her teeth, and went back to bed. I'm all for abstract thoughts, but the author just hasn't earned this one. I don't buy it. What authority does she have to speak to me about innocence and ignorance? So far she hasn't shown me she can write more than one character, or that her characters can be awake, or talk to one another, or floss.

To me, it's like meeting someone and then ten minutes later they say, "So, daddy issues, huh?"

Another example:

You can't treat an idea like a fact, she decided. You have to treat it like music.

Put another way, I think one of the great things about novels is how a great writer can tell me something about life or the human condition by coaxing me along - introducing me to some new people, showing me what happens to them, how they relate to each other, where their lives go and how they end up. Then I realize what's it's been about all along, and I know something that I didn't know before. That's the point, that's why the good authors write.

In contrast, an insight too soon will just slide off my back. I'm not ready - the author doesn't have my trust, and nothing has happened to demonstrate the truth of the insight.

#3 - Obscurity, aka What the fuck is she talking about? See "treat ideas like music" and "behind us the earth left black." I can't decide if that's bad writing or if I'm just not willing to do the work to understand. I just have no idea what she is saying. I don't know what it would mean to treat an idea like music, or exactly how it would be different than treating it like fact, or even how we treat music itself. Furthermore, and more important, she hasn't made those things clear to me. I suspect there is a thought there, but that it's not coming across. It's obscured by semi-poetic dreaminess, and it's really annoying.

I just don't understand why writers so often feel the need to put something in between what they mean and what they say. Okay, fine, maybe some of them are really trying to be clear, and not getting there. But not all of them. Maybe they are trying to write like a writer? To be writerly? In our example, why didn't the thought end with not treating ideas like fact? That was clear, that was something we could all get behind. (Sure, it still had no relation to what was happening, and was an annoying metaphysical thought dropped into some teeth brushing, but ignoring that for the moment.) I get the sense the writer just couldn't resist the prettiness of "like music." And that tells me she isn't writing for the reader, but herself.

Goal Update

At the end of last year I posted this on my 2005 book log:

Goal the First: Read 52 books. Having been shamed by my failure this year, I’m setting the bar lower. I hope I recapture my reading mojo and breeze by 52, but after this debacle I’d be happy with 52.

Goal the Second: Semi-Specific Books I Plan to Read:
The Forgotten Man, Robert Crais
Another by Ishiguro
Another by Hemingway (I still don’t get it, but I’m determined.)
Three of the big award winners from this year – including The People’s Act of Love
Another Pinker – or other science writer
Ada, or Ardor by Vladimir Nabokov (but it’s so looooooong)
Reread Bel Canto

Goal the Third: Fewer incompletes. I dropped 8 books this year. I don’t mind abandoning a book if I don’t like it, or if it’s just not for me, but that wasn’t true for most of these. For example, I know that I am going to read Number 9 Dream, and the Nabokov, and stupid Hamlet. I just put them down and didn’t pick them back up for a long time. I want less of that.

Goal the Fourth: Carry a book with me. I very rarely had a book with me this year – I always took a magazine instead. Obviously magazines are more convenient, since I can read a few articles on the T, and at lunch, and on the T home, and not feel disrupted. But that really hurt me this year in terms of book reading. Last year I had a backlog of nearly a dozen New Yorkers, and this year I have none, which means I spent a lot more time reading articles than I did last year. This year is the year of the Having of a Book. It’s a terrible name.

I think I'm doing pretty well with these.

#4 - I always have a book with me, and I'm pretty far behind on The New Yorker again.

#3 - I have just one unfinished book this year, which means I'm picking better.

# 2 - For the specific books to read, I'm halfway there. I read The Forgotten Man, a Hemingway, and TWO Ishiguro's. I haven't reread Bel Canto, and I don't know that I will, since I think I left it at home during this last move. I still plan to read Ada, Or Ardor, but it is also at home, so it depends on if I can find it. I will definitely read another Pinker, but I'm worried about reading three of the big award winners. The People's Act of Love wasn't even on my wishlist until 10 seconds ago, and I don't think it won an award, actually. I also added The Sea, by John Banville, which won the Man Booker Prize. But I'm a bit more skeptical of the award winners than I was last year, and I think I'd rather focus on the innovative stuff I mentioned in the last post.

I heart books.