You Can't Always Trust a First Impression

Currently Reading: Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel Garcia Marquez

One of the reasons I’ve really enjoyed this reading project is that it’s not only introduced me to novels and authors that I’ve fallen in love with and that I might otherwise never have sought out on my own (i.e. One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest), but it’s also given me the opportunity to revisit books and authors of which I’ve formed unfair opinions during my formative years (i.e. George Orwell, The Hobbit). The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck gave me just such an opportunity.

I owe John Steinbeck one serious apology for all the name bashing I've done over the years.

Like Orwell, I had a bad English class experience with Steinbeck. (Actually, both of those bad experiences and my bad experience with The Hobbit all were in the same class... that can't be a coincidence...) In 8th grade, my English teacher assigned us The Pearl and I distinctly remember it as the most painful reading experience I had had to that point in my life. I remember The Pearl as having a very unbalanced ratio of plot to description and that the description was excruciatingly detailed. It felt like Steinbeck would depict every ring and bump on a log in a swamp even when both log and swamp were irrelevant to the plot. Admittedly, I have zero memory of the plot beyond that some guy finds a pearl. Even that summary I'm only 10% confident is accurate.

I would like to say, though, that I would imagine my early, negative impressions of Animal Farm and The Pearl would radically change if I read them again now, much as was the case when I re-read The Hobbit. So these anecdotes should not dissuade you from reading either.

Unfortunately, the damage had been done for Steinbeck and he could not redeem himself, even with the dialogue-heavy and thoroughly enjoyable Of Mice and Men that I read the following year.

So it was with a hint of trepidation that I began The Grapes of Wrath. The first two chapters were tainted with my deeply-ingrained, 8th-grade opinion and I internally groaned for most of them. Then, horror of horror!, the book included dialect writing, a pet peeve of mine. Strike two. The third seemed inevitable and I dreaded the trudge through the rest of the novel.

Then something amazing happened. I can't even really pinpoint when it happened, but at some point I started to loosen my grip on my long held belief that Steinbeck was the worst writer ever. Once that happened, I actually realized that the opposite is true.

I loved this book!! It was beautiful, sad, and eye-opening. It revealed a somber chapter of America's history to me that had only been a fact in textbooks before. I had never fully grasped the awful exploitation that occurred during this migration. It made me appreciate and truly understand the rise of unions and labor laws.

Despite initial prejudices against the characters (especially Tom Joad who had the extreme misfortune of being the first to appear and therefore the most heavily subjected to my irrational anti-Steinbeck thoughts), I came to deeply care and hurt for these characters. They are tough and go through misfortune after misfortune (it really hit a point when every time there's a moment of happiness, I internally flinched and thought, Oh God, now what's going to happen?? Can't they catch a break??) and still they retain their sense of compassion, humanity, and dignity. 

My absolute favorite part of the book - which has sold me on Steinbeck's writing genius - is the way he narrows and widens the scope of the story. While the focus is on the Joad family and their particular sad saga, Steinbeck includes alternating chapters that tell the generalized story of nameless, faceless families, only referring to them as "Pa," "Ma," etc. It was a brilliant way to drive home how universal these experiences of suffering were at this time in American history; the Joads were not just exceptionally unlucky. Hundreds of families were all subjected to these horrors and abuses. By weaving in the faceless, nameless anecdotes, Steinbeck almost seems to imply that this very easily could have happened to the reader or his family. It's just such a clever way to really get the reader to understand the scale and yet to evoke his empathy for this specific family.

So, Mr. Steinbeck, I hereby solemnly and profusely apologize.

And if you haven't read The Grapes of Wrath, go do so immediately!

Stepping Through the Looking Glass is Quite the Challenge

Currently Reading: Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel Garcia Marquez

Continuing my easy reading trend of the summer, I picked up yet another children’s book after I finished The Call of the Wild: Lewis Carroll’s Through the Looking Glass. However, I’m not sure there’s anything particularly easy about Lewis Carroll’s slightly crazed worlds.

The sequel to Alice in Wonderland, Through the Looking Glass features the same heroine, the imaginative, curious Alice, who begins to wonder what life must be like on the other side of the mirror in her family’s living room. Naturally, being a fantasy story for children, Alice successfully enters the backwards mirror-world and once again meets a cast of characters who all make you feel like you’re losing your mind when you interact with them.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise that this book would have several somewhat unhinged characters with impossible to follow thought processes. I’ve read Alice in Wonderland, been slightly scarred by the Disney version of the movie, and hey, where did I think the expression “through the looking glass” came from? I shouldn’t have expected a particularly logical story. Everyone seems to talk in riddles and oftentimes their actions seem backwards, fitting given it’s a world that exists in a mirror. Not exactly the easy reading I had anticipated.

However, the genius behind Carroll’s work and probably the reason that he’s so well known is that behind all the madness, there actually is logic. I honestly didn’t take the time to figure it out in every instance, but I did notice that the plot of the story followed the patterns of a chess match. Like the chess pieces she meets, Alice is limited in her movements, as she has become a chess piece herself, only allowed to move certain ways according to the rules.

In the end, once again, the whole bizarre adventure turns out to be a dream and Alice escapes climatic levels of chaos by simply waking up. This always seemed like a cop out ending to me growing up and frustrated me immensely. It felt like Carroll had simply written Alice – and himself – into a corner and couldn’t figure out how to get out of the impossible situation he created so he just makes the whole thing a dream. How lame! I used to think. After all that, that’s the best you can do?

Now, I see that this choice was more intentional than I ever gave Carroll credit for, especially since he uses it twice. Perhaps it’s a commentary on how the real world can be just as strange as the dream world. Or maybe Carroll is proposing that it’s impossible to really tell what is a dream and what is real? Again, I didn’t take the time to think all the implications of the ending out.

But give me a break! I was on vacation. 

The Return of Nine New November Novel 'Ntries!

Currently Reading: Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel Garcia Marquez

That’s right! It’s November once again and I’m ready to take on another monthly challenge:

Nine New November Novel ‘Ntries 2013

For those who don’t know, this personal writing challenge stems from another national writing challenge. November is National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo), “a fun, seat-of-your-pants approach to creative writing,” according to its website (created by the non-profit of the same name). Since apparently all writers suffer from procrastination-itis, aspiring authors are encouraged to treat this 11th month as their 11th hour, writing 50,000 words of their own novels by the month’s end. NaNoWriMo further motivates participants with a guarantee of a “Winner” badge for all who achieve the target word count in the allotted time. As the site says, “Valuing enthusiasm, determination, and a deadline, NaNoWriMo is for anyone who has ever thought fleetingly about writing a novel.” You can find out more about NaNoWriMo through the link above.

When I discovered NaNoWriMo last year, I was inspired and decided to channel my writing energies into this blog instead of a novel. I considered it a wildly successful experiment as I not only completed the goal of writing nine new blog posts by the end of November, but I didn’t post them all during that last week! Take that procrastination! Plus it was a good way to catch up my blog with my reading, as I tend to fall behind with my corresponding posts and I refuse to skip over any book that’s on my reading list.

So I’ve decided to start the race again and will attempt to write nine new entries (including this one) by month’s end!

Admittedly, I’m much more nervous about this project this year as I have significantly less free time. With a full time job, two weekend trips out of state, Thanksgiving, and a scuba diving trip, my November is pretty spoken for. However, I’m determined to keep this blog – and writing – a priority.

So….

LET’S DO THIS THING!!!!

The Call of Childhood is a Little Weaker Than I Thought

Currently Reading: Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel Garcia Marquez

After finishing The Eyre Affair novels, I decided it was time to get back to tackling my reading list. Of course, this was a considerably easy decision to make when I was temporarily out of Jasper Fforde novels to read. But either way, I knew that I should take advantage of my summer oasis and opportunity for a reading binge so I dove back into the list. Well… actually, I kind of waded back in, back tracking in my reading gaps to ones created in my middle school years and picking up Jack London’s The Call of the Wild.

It’s a very bizarre experience to go from reading books like On the Road and The Once and Future King to reading a book designated appropriate material for young adults. Not only is this the first book I’ve read with illustrations since I don’t even know when, but it was also the first book told from a non-human perspective that I’ve encountered (with the exception of The Art of Racing in the Rain) since… middle school? I honestly had to reread the first paragraph several times before I realized that the narrator is a dog.

For someone who avidly read the Bunnicula series growing up, it was an odd moment to recognize that I’ve matured to the point that a canine narrator is no longer perfectly normal.

Also, how did we ever read books with illustrations as kids? They’re not only distracting, but often contain spoilers of what’s coming on the next page. Granted, my parents had a really beautiful copy of this book and the illustrations were gorgeous, but still! It just made them even more distracting.

The most unsettling sign of the onset of adulthood I discovered while reading this novel was that I had no idea how to judge it. I’ve become so accustomed to the elevated language, the experimental structures, and the jammed-packed symbolism of the other books on my list that I forgot what merits a good book for younger readers. I assume that it is widely agreed that Call of the Wild is considered such a book given that it is on most middle school English class syllabi, and I think I agree, but I don’t feel qualified to judge anymore.

Besides assessing its merits in the scope of literature, I couldn’t even tell if I enjoyed it. I loved how effortless a read it was and it was kind of fun to have an animal narrator again, but beyond that, I’m not sure. It was upsetting and eye opening to see how sled dogs were treated during the Klondike Gold Rush (who kidnaps a family pet??), but I didn’t particularly enjoy watching Buck revert from a sweet pet to a vicious sled dog.

Maybe I should have taken a children’s literature class in college. I always wanted to, but never managed to fit one in. Maybe children’s stories really don’t have the depth of meaning that I was looking for?

Or maybe I’m just too old for this…

Eyre-ing Out My Mind

Currently Reading: Moby Dick by Herman Melville

After finishing (the upsettingly abridged version of) The Count of Monte Cristo back in June, I decided I needed a bit of a mental break. Just as summer signaled the end of assigned readings while I was in school, it signaled the end of challenging reading for me this year. Even though I liked The Count of Monte Cristo, I just needed a book that you wouldn’t study in a classroom; I needed a serving of book candy.

With this in mind, I picked up Jasper Fforde’s The Eyre Affair. It was exactly what the doctor ordered. A quick paced, intriguing plot with a strong, likeable heroine and endless clever allusions to classic literature, The Eyre Affair was an enjoyable way to pass the time on my now daily metro rides. In fact, it was so enjoyable that I promptly went out and bought the next two books in the series, Lost in a Good Book and The Well of Lost Plots, and thus continued my book candy binge. I’m now anxiously awaiting the following four books, Something Rotten, First Among Sequels, One of our Thursday Nexts is Missing, and The Woman Who Died A Lot, as anticipated birthday presents at the end of the month.

The story takes place in an alternate reality in which time travel is possible; dodos are a popular pet; Neanderthals have been resurrected; and literature is taken seriously enough that there are literary detectives who investigate crimes against literature. One such literary detective is the heroine, Thursday Next, who ultimately gets wrapped up in a case in which she has to return the kidnapped Jane Eyre to her rightful place in her novel.

The sequels go on to introduce the complex world of Fiction, including the agency that governs crimes from within, Jurisfiction. While hiding out, Thursday Next eventually joins the ranks among other agents like Miss Haversham from Great Expectations. (Side note: I’m really intrigued to read Great Expectations now just to see how accurate Fforde’s depiction of the character is.)

There are three particular reasons that I really liked reading The Eyre Affair and its sequels.

The first is the number of literary inside jokes. I loved understanding the references to classic literature and getting caught up in the various Shakespeare authorship debates! And when I didn’t understand a joke, it made me want to read the referenced material so that I would. This makes this book special in that it not only makes its readers want to continue with the series, but it inspires them to read other books. I think that’s wonderful!

Plus, come on, who doesn’t love a good literature or grammar joke?

The second is that I love the idea that characters in novels have a life beyond the page. As someone who still somewhat subscribes to the idea that her stuffed animals came to life when she left the room, Toy Story-style, I really like to think of my favorite characters existing outside of their stories, acting as agents for Jurisfiction or needing walkmans to pass the time between their scenes. You get so attached to these characters that they start to feel like real people, friends of yours, so it’s nice to think that even after your time with them has finished because you’ve finished reading the novel that your friends go on living, like a friend who has moved across the country or something.

The third reason I liked this novel is that I love that this story provides plausible – if fantastical – explanations for some of the weird plot points of Jane Eyre. The most important and novel-altering is the mysterious voice that calls out Jane’s name, convincing her to suddenly return to Rochester. I’m not sure what Charlotte Bronte had in mind for the explanation of that bizarre and random voice, but I like the idea that it was Thursday Next because she had to get Jane back to Rochester so she could escape the novel. I also like the idea that the fire that causes Rochester’s injuries was an accident rather than an intended plot point set down by the author. It always felt a bit cruel and odd that Bronte would maim Rochester and destroy Thornfield Hall. Plus, the fire is never really explained beyond a weak, “Mrs. Rochester is crazy! Of course she’d burn down the house!” So having it be the setting for the pivotal battle between the sociopath villain Hades and Thursday Next feels like a much more reasonable explanation. I applaud Fforde’s cleverness and creativity for filling in these gaps.

These books were a wonderful surprise and I’m very excited to continue the series.

Especially since reading Moby Dick might just kill me.

The Unabridged Count of Monte Cristo Blog Post

Currently Reading: Moby Dick by Herman Melville

When I originally sat down to write my post on Alexandre Dumas’s The Count of Monte Cristo, I had every intention of simply discussing my thoughts about and impressions of the book. I wanted to discuss the impressive intricacies of Edmond Dantes’ revenge plans; the disappointment in watching him deteriorate from a wonderfully charming, likeable young man to a vengeful, almost creepy, bitter man; the somewhat weird relationship he had with Haydee that seemed to walk the line between father-daughter and lovers a little too closely; and the dissatisfaction of the ending, which I expected to be completely different since I was basely my expectations off the movie adaptation. Essentially, I had every intention of writing a normal reaction post.

Because I’ve been fairly miserable about keeping my blog up to date with my reading, it’s been about two months since I finished The Count of Monte Cristo. So I decided to review the plot (shamefully) on its Wikipedia page. As I read the summary, I became more and more confused. I have no memory of that, I thought as I read. When did that happen? Since when did those characters have an affair? 

I grew concerned. Is my memory really going at the tender age of 23?

I turned to a co-worker who I knew had read the novel. (Another bonus of working at a library: everyone is really well read!) After discussing the various gaps I encountered in the summary, it turns out Wikipedia wasn’t at fault for them. Those missing parts were really in the book.

At least, they were in the original version of the book.

That’s right. I came home to discover that my copy of The Count of Monte Cristo had deceptively snuck in this title page:

Mind you, nowhere on the cover is there a mention of abridgement! And who really reads the title page?

I felt robbed. Someone had stolen part of the story from me.

And in my frustration (and if we're being honest, my devastation), I realized that this incident raised some very interesting questions for me.

I don’t really have answers to most of these, but I would be SO GRATEFUL if anyone had some to offer me!

First of all, why do abridgements exist? Why do people feel the need to make abridged versions of novels? I understand that some novels are insanely hefty, but why has it become OK to say that you only want to read part of the novel, not the whole thing? If you only want to have a general idea of what it’s about, why wouldn’t you just read the SparkNotes or find a summary some other way? If you don’t want to bother with the original version, why do you want to bother with it at all?

Also, how did this movement towards abridgements get started? Is this something that’s been going on for hundreds of years or is this something that’s become part of what my mother affectionately refers to as “the dumbing down of America”? Or are abridgements necessary in some cases, like when teaching a novel in a classroom?

Who makes the decision to cut down novels? How do they decide which parts to cut out or shorten? How do they decide which books to cut? And if there seems to be a book that people universally agree should be shorter (like Les Miserables), shouldn’t there be an effort to just make one abridged edition so people reading the abridged version are at least having one universal experience? Plus, wouldn’t that eliminate the chances that you would read a bad abridgement, one that jumps around and skips major plot points?

Finally, do abridged versions count? Can I now say that I’ve read The Count of Monte Cristo? Or can I only proclaim that when I’ve read it the way it was written by the author, i.e. in its entirety? I think, on the whole, I got the majority of the key plot points. I’m pretty sure I got all the characters, if not all the parts of their stories. In other words, I believe I read a pretty good abridgement, but does that mean I’ve read the novel?

When will the book slashing end?!

And what do you think?

Like I said, I really don’t have answers for these questions, but I would love to know. I’d also love to know if abridgements bother everyone the way they bother me or if some people appreciate or even prefer them? 

In the meantime, I’ll continue to be paranoid that every book I’m reading is a secret abridgement. I sincerely hope that this already 586 page version of Moby Dick isn’t…

Some People (in Camelot) Claim That There’s A Woman to Blame

Currently Reading: The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck 

The Once and Future King by T. H. White chronicles the life and reign of the famous King Arthur of Camelot, as well as the love affair between his most trusted knight and friend, Lancelot, and his wife, Guenever, which eventually leads to his kingdom’s downfall. It’s a much more in depth version of the story than I’ve ever heard, probably because the basis for my knowledge of this legend come from the Disney cartoon The Sword and the Stone and a few clips of the musical Camelot, which I never had the patience to sit through in its entirety. Discovering all the details of the story, including the incestuous conception of Arthur’s only son, Mordred, was fascinating and made reading this hefty 500-page book enjoyable overall. 

The parts that dragged for me a bit were the philosophical aspects that T. H. White added, musing over the man’s aggressive nature, war, and morality for his post-World War II audience. I’ve never been one for philosophy as it tends to make me feel like a dog chasing its tail, running around and around in circles debating a topic, but never able to achieve the desired goal. However, I have to say that White’s exploration of these lofty topics was pretty accessible and actually kind of fascinating in parts. I especially enjoyed them during Arthur’s childhood lessons from animals, particularly the adventure with the geese who point out how ridiculous the notions of property, boundaries, and ultimately nations are.

It does make me wonder, though, that I can only understand and enjoy philosophy that’s meant for a child’s intellect… 

On the whole, this book was lengthy, but enjoyable. I just have one rather significant complaint:

The women in this book SUCK!

T. H. White writes women like they are as foreign a species as the ants or geese, basically only capable of sense and good judgment “in the long years that bring women to the middle of life,” when they “are beginning to hate [their] used bod[ies].” Before that, they are apparently slaves to their hormones, moody, changeable, and incapable of suppressing their sexual appetites.

Despite the fact that Arthur’s knights are supposedly defending women from rapists on a regular basis, it never seems like men have any desire to have sex at any point in this book. When they do, they push it down and channel the energy elsewhere. The only times men do have sex is when they have been tricked into it by an evil seductress. Arthur’s half-sister, Morgause seduces him through magic; Elaine gets Lancelot drunk and convinces him she’s Guenever to get him in bed; Morgause continues on to apparently sleep with pretty much anyone and everyone; and Guevener has an affair with her husband’s best friend for decades.

I really cannot think of one instance in the novel when a woman appears and doesn’t do something deceitful. Even in one of Lancelot’s quests, a woman tricks him into climbing a tree without his armor so that when he comes down, her husband able to take advantage of his vulnerability in a fight.

As if this isn’t insulting enough, women also seem to be the root of all evil in this book. How biblical of you, Mr. White.

After all, Morgause is responsible for the conception of Mordred, who vows revenge upon his father and ultimately leads to the downfall of Camelot. Guenever’s affair is also largely responsible for this destruction, as she forces Arthur into an impossible situation in which he has to burn his wife at the stake for the sake of the established order and set of principles he’s created and preached (Spoiler alert: Lancelot saves her). Elaine is responsible for taking away Lancelot’s ability to ever perform another miracle and destroying his virtue.

Basically, as I said before, women in this book suck.

This rather blatant misogyny is upsetting in and of itself, but what upsets me more is realizing that this was the standard in novels for a long time. My mother is the person who recommended this book to me. It is one of her favorites, but I don’t believe she’s read it since childhood. When I mentioned the pretty awful female characters, she didn’t remember it fazing her and said, “That’s just the type of book we grew up with.”

When I think about the amazing and empowering female characters that I grew up with, from the Paper Bag Princess to Ella Enchanted to Alanna of Trebond to Talia of Valdemar, it breaks my heart a bit to think my mother didn’t have fictional guides like them. It’s really made me appreciate how times have changed and how lucky I am to live in the time I do.

Yes, the fight for gender equality isn’t completely over (it probably never will be), but at least I didn’t have to grow up with Guenever as my fictional role model.

P.S. The King Pellinore parts of this book are the BEST! He’s definitely one of my new favorite characters.