A few months back I put Shelfari on my blog and noticed that, sadly, I had ready all of two books this year. The first was The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay by Michael Chabon, a decent-sized tome that took me a few months to get through, but to which I kept coming back after short hiatuses. The second was a book I had already read--Dave Egger's You Shall Know Our Velocity!, although this time it was different. Eggers had produced two versions, one of which featured a break in the narrative so that another character could tell his view of what happened. The version I read this year did not have those 40-something pages and, so, was probably closer to perfect. But given the choice between more and less pages from Eggers, I will always choose more, even if the addition of further chapters weakens the book as a whole. I think that this is because, with Eggers, each sentence is a novel, a complete thought.
I think noticing the lack of an influx of new literature and ideas shamed me into action, because I am now on a reading kick. Last week I split Haruki Murakami's bizarre new novel, After Dark into train rides to and from Manhattan. Today, I put away Junot Diaz's Drown--my starter kit for his just-released new novel The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao--on a series of flights between Washington, DC, and Charlotte. It certainly wasn't my plan to start and finish my new book in one day (I didn't bring a second--only magazines) because now I'll have to buy another one (perhaps Oscar Wao), but it is heartening. After all, I have now read 5 more books in a year than the average American.
Monday, October 22, 2007
Books
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5 comments:
I could not get into Eggers' book. Maybe because each sentence is so dense.
I'm currently 50+ pages into The Yiddish Policemen's Union by Chabon. I find that Chabon's practice of stopping and giving every character's backstory every time a new character is introduced annoys me. I liked the first chapter and since then he hasn't moved the plot and picked up more characters to tell me how the protagonist's father met his mother and how his father caused his hatred of chess...
I couldn't get into The Historian either.
Hey, dad, no problem--it just means you're a literary idiot. No big deal. Would you like to rag on, oh, let's say The Bible, as well?
Well, obviously, neither Eggers nor Chabon irritate me in their style, but--as with any art--if you don't dig their style you just don't. Some people cannot handle Scorsese films because he has this rawness or look at the works of Picasso because they're just plain ugly. I remember Bob Dalton, my crazy senior year English teacher believed Jane Austen books to be drivel and Hemingway to be America's most overrated novelist. It made me feel better when I yawned my way through The Great Gatsby.
Thus, oh, well. I'm sorry my recommendations weren't your cup of tea. Still, give the new Murakami and the old Diaz a shot--if you don't dig their style, the books are short enough that you won't waste too much time.
I heard Junot Diaz talk about The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao on NPR's Books podcast. I liked his style. I'm interested in reading it.
Now the Bible, I mean, c'mon, what's this whole non-linear narrative stuff? Then it's like it's...those clouds sure came in in a hurry...it's like different people wrote it...did you hear that thunder? close...it's like the role of God changed in the second act...KWZAP!
Did you finish the book on city planning?
Have you seen Nick Hornby's songs of the on his blog?
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