Saturday, November 26, 2011

"The Marriage Plot," by Jeffrey Eugenides

Why I Have Just Read “The Marriage Plot” (Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 2011), by Jeffrey Eugenides:

1. I was intrigued by the originality of, and liked reading, the author’s two earlier novels, “The Virgin Suicides” and “Middlesex.”
2. It had been nine years since the author’s last novel, “Middlesex,” was published, so there was much anticipation of this new novel.
3. As I said in my 11/13/11 post, there has been much speculation about whether “The Marriage Plot” is based on the author’s real-life famous writer friends; is it a roman a clef? And if so, which character is “really” which writer friend? I am certainly not immune to this kind of literary speculation (gossip?).
4. I am a pushover for novels about a group of friends in college (or elsewhere) and how their ensuing lives and relationships play out in the years after college. In the case of this novel, the characters meet at Brown University; the novel focuses on the college years and on the eventful year immediately after they graduate.
5. Most of all, the title is irresistible to me; it refers to the common plot of Regency and Victorian novels, especially those by women writers such as Austen and Eliot. One of the main characters, Madeleine, is a classic English major type, enchanted and absorbed by the joys, complexities, and insights provided by literature, and eager to pursue a career of scholarship in English literature. This is a very familiar “type” for me! Soon Madeleine is involved in her own “marriage plot,” but it is very different from those in her beloved novels. How does this plot play out in our current culture? In the old novels, marriage often (with the notable exception of Eliot’s “Middlemarch”) concluded the stories; nowadays we want to know what happens AFTER marriage as well.

I was not disappointed by the novel. (Sometimes a novel that is hyped this much is a disappointment.) I was immediately caught up in it, from the first page, which consisted of a cataloging of the books in Madeleine’s room, including those by Wharton, James, Dickens, Trollope, Austen, Eliot, the Brontes, H.D., Levertov, and Colette. (Madeleine’s bookshelf looks a lot like mine....) The three main characters, with their complicated relationships, as well as the supporting cast of fellow students, parents, professors, and employers, are recognizable and compelling; the plot turns are both believable and at times surprising; the writing is engaging.

Monday, November 21, 2011

"One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest," Fifty Years On

It is hard to believe that it has been just under 50 years since Ken Kesey's novel "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" was published in 1962. As an article by James Wolcott in the December 2011 issue of Vanity Fair points out, this novel "helped father the 60s counterculture." I, like a large portion of the Baby Boomer generation, well remember the huge impact of this novel, and of the film version that followed. Who could forget the way the mental hospital represented all the institutions in society that repressed and oppressed people, especially rebels and those who were a bit "different"? Who could forget the standoff between Randle Patrick McMurphy, played by Jack Nicholson, and Nurse Ratched, played by Louise Fletcher? Wolcott goes on to note that in January, Viking will publish a 50th-anniversary edition of the novel, and speculates that it "may inspire a whole new generation of agitators." A few months ago, I would have dismissed this last clause as hyperbole, but given the recent "Occupy" movement's rapid growth, and the great breadth and depth of outrage it represents, those words sound prescient.

Saturday, November 19, 2011

Martin Amis Pronounces...and Provokes

The ever-provocative novelist and critic Martin Amis, in a review of Don DeLillo's new book in the 11/28/11 issue of The New Yorker, makes the point that "When we say that we love a writer's work...what we really mean is that we love about half of it." He goes on to say that Joyce's reputation relies mostly on "Ulysses." More controversially, to me at least, he asserts that "George Eliot gave us one readable book, which turned out to be the central Anglophone novel." As readers of this blog know, I certainly agree with the second half of that sentence, but not the first. Just one readable book? What about "The Mill on the Floss"? "Daniel Deronda"? But in general, I must admit, there is something to Amis' thesis. He goes on to say that "every page of Dickens contains a paragraph to warm to and a paragraph to veer back from. Coleridge wrote a total of two major poems...Milton consists of 'Paradise Lost.' Even my favorite writer, William Shakespeare, succumbs to this law...who would voluntarily curl up with 'King John' or 'Henry VI, Part III'?" But then Amis goes on to say that "Janeites will never admit that three of the six novels are comparative weaklings." Those are fighting words! It is true that some of Austen's six are stronger than others, but it is all relative; compared to other novels by other novelists, they are all gems, shining stars, treasures of literature! The world would be poorer if any one of them did not exist. So while I more or less accept Amis' main argument, I certainly reject some of his examples. (I am sure he knew as he was writing that his examples would be controversial and provoke exactly the type of responses I am giving here!)

Thursday, November 17, 2011

Gratitude for My Colleagues Who Read My Drafts

We often hear about how great writers write multiple drafts, and get feedback from their editors, colleagues, friends, spouses, and others. Here I want to point out that far humbler writers, such as myself, benefit greatly from the same process as well: writing many drafts, and getting constructive criticism from colleagues and friends. I want to thank the colleagues/friends in my field who read my drafts and give me such helpful suggestions. It happens that right now two of my colleagues, one local and one not, are reading a draft of a chapter I am writing, and I thank them very much for it. Their input will make a difference; they help me to be a better writer. I wish for every writer such helpful colleagues and friends!

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Revisiting "The Waves," by Virginia Woolf

Continuing my recent re-reading of, as well as my longtime fascination with, Virginia Woolf’s amazing, groundbreaking novels (see also my posts of 2/26/10, 10/22/11, and 11/1/11, among other mentions of her and her work), I have just finished re-reading “The Waves.” I am, once again and more than ever, awestruck. I am enthralled by the breathtaking explorations of individuals’ consciousnesses in “Mrs. Dalloway” and “To the Lighthouse”; in “The Waves,” this exploration is taken still further, as Woolf creates a chorus of overlapping, blending voices of the inner thoughts and feelings of six friends whom she follows from small childhood to old age. The group meets several times over the years, and each time we get glimpses -- but only glimpses -- of the changes in their lives. The “story” (and it is far from a traditional narrative; Woolf herself once called it a “playpoem”) is revealed through alternating and interwoven interior monologues from the six characters (Bernard, Neville, Jinny, Susan, Rhoda and Louis). Although the characters’ soliloquies flow together, we gradually get a sense of each character’s individuality. However, there is still some uncertainty about the line between the individuals and the group as a whole (this uncertainty is clearly Woolf’s intention) and there is even, at the end, a question: “’Who am I?’ I have been talking of Bernard, Neville, Jinny, Susan, Rhoda and Louis. Am I all of them? Am I one and distinct? I do not know.” The effect of this purposeful blurring of boundaries is enhanced by the nine interludes between meetings --indicated by italics -- that indicate the slow rising and setting of the sun over the period of the characters’ lives, as if the dawns to the dusks of their lives represent one full metaphorical day. Each of these interludes portrays nature and the context of the characters’ lives, in sublime poetic language. And always, there are in these sections the sights and sounds of the waves. The waves are not literally part of the characters' meetings, but symbolize their advances and retreats toward and away from each other, and the eternal backdrop of their lives. Readers can connect to so much in the novel: the love and yet sometimes disconnection among the six lifelong friends, the stunning early loss of their dear friend and hero Percival, the ways they choose to live (single, married, with lovers, in business, in writing, in the country, in the city), their dependence on each other and yet sometimes wariness of each other, their insecurities, their epiphanies, their emotional fluctuations, the disjunctions between what they show the world of themselves and what they feel inside, and so much more. The overall impression given by the book is one of a symphony of sounds, words, feelings, events. There are many solos. Often instruments join in and then fade out. Most gloriously, sometimes the six stories and personalities blend in moments of divine transcendence.

Sunday, November 13, 2011

All the Writer Pals of Yore

The 10/17/11 issue of New York Magazine includes an article titled "Just Kids," by Evan Hughes, about several of our most prominent American authors when they were young and just starting out as writers. (The title is apparently a reference to Patti Smith's book about Robert Mapplethorpe's and her early days as artists, also young and just starting out.) The immediate occasion of the article is the new Jeffrey Eugenides novel, "The Marriage Plot," and speculation about which of his writer friends are represented in this novel, which may or may not be a roman a clef. Eugenides, Jonathan Franzen, David Foster Wallace, Mary Karr, Rick Moody, and other now-successful writers were all friends or at least literary acquaintances in their twenties and onwards, mostly ending up in New York, well before any of them became famous. They both supported and competed with each other, often drank too much, and in the case of Wallace and Karr, had a romantic if somewhat unusual relationship. The others all admired Wallace's work, yet worried about him, and were all devastated but not truly surprised when the troubled author committed suicide. Underlying the intriguing and sometimes quite revealing discussion of these writers' personal careers and connections is a description of the way their work moved from, in their early years, a new approach to "formal innovation in an effort to honor their literary forebears [such as Pynchon and Barth] and 'make it new,'" to, in their middle years (the present) "the familiar pleasures of emotional storytelling - and creat[ing] a new audience for serious, stylish prose." This New York article is an odd but fascinating mix of literary gossip and a genuine if perhaps not very deep engagement with the question of how these leading contemporary writers evolved in their literary works.

Friday, November 11, 2011

"The Forgotten Waltz," by Anne Enright

I thought Irish writer Anne Enright’s novel “The Gathering” was brilliant. I then read a couple of others of her books and liked them. Now I have read her newest novel, “The Forgotten Waltz” (Norton, 2011), and I am not quite sure what to think about it. First, it is a love story: a story about a love affair that breaks up two marriages. The narrator and main character, Gina, describes her feelings as the affair goes through its difficult stages as intense, painful, tortured, yet she often speaks in a flat, down to earth, almost unemotional tone. Still, there is also a richness, density, and complexity in the relationships portrayed: between Gina and her husband Conor, between Gina and her lover Sean, between Gina and her mother and sister and niece, and between Gina and her lover’s daughter Evie. Evie is an important character in the story, a child who is a bit different, a bit fragile, and whom both Sean and Gina want to protect. Their caring for her complicates their own relationship. The relationships in this novel are what make it most interesting. And yet, there is still that seeming lack of affect from the narrator that is confusing for the reader. Is it meant to suggest weariness on the part of the narrator? Or a sort of hard won but muted happiness?

Wednesday, November 9, 2011

Fight the Closing of Public Libraries

I have written before about the importance of libraries, but the topic is so crucial that I can’t resist writing about an article in the current (November 2011) issue of “The Progressive,” titled “Overdue Notice: Defend Our Libraries” and authored by Antonino D’Ambrosio. The author starts with a quote from Cicero: “If you have a garden and a library, you have everything you need.” The thrust of the article is the tremendous importance of libraries in allowing everyone access to the knowledge and pleasure provided by books, as well as to such practical assistance as use of computers and answers from librarians. In other words, libraries are an essential item in democracies. The free public library “is a wholly American invention advocating self-determination,” says the author, who then quotes Molly Raphael, president of the American Library Association, as stating that public libraries are “the most democratic of the institutions government has created.” But the author raises the alarm that “local governments across the United States…are slashing library budgets and closing libraries.” For example, New York City “recently closed fourteen branches, and 300 people lost their jobs.” A critical point: “These cuts will disproportionately punish poor and working class people.” One educator calls libraries “intellectual and cultural lifelines” for working people. And in this digital age, Raphael says, “Sixty-five percent of public libraries report that they are the only place in the community where there is free access to the Internet.” Libraries are also essential to democracies as gathering places. Losing them is “the disappearance of a town square, a free space open to all, regardless of race, class, or any other social barrier.” We must fight against the closing of libraries; they are too important to all of us, and to democracy.

Monday, November 7, 2011

The Joys of a New Pad of Paper

Upon acquiring a new legal pad the other day, to use for one of my academic projects, I had a sudden flash of memory of my first grade classroom. The teacher would hand out pieces of lined paper as needed, but one could also buy from the school one’s own pad of paper. I remember asking my mother if I could do that, her agreeing, and my then receiving my very own full pad of paper. What infinite riches that pad represented! Perhaps a hundred pages of fresh, clean, lined paper, all mine! I could fill those pages any way I wanted to! What joy! I can still remember the visceral pleasure of that moment. Hundreds of legal pads and notebooks later, I still occasionally get a flash of that same pleasure when I get a new pad or a new blank notebook. Each one is a clean slate, a new start, a new opportunity, a glimpse into the unknown future in which I will write something -- maybe something wonderful! -- on those so far unsullied pages. Hurray for the simple pleasures of life!

Sunday, November 6, 2011

"There But For The," by Ali Smith

British writer Ali Smith’s novel “There But For The” (Pantheon, 2011) is a bit of an “odd duck” of a book, starting with the unusual title. Of course the title brings to mind the saying “There but for the grace of God go I”; this is not specifically referenced in the novel, but the reader can make some connections. Each section of the book is introduced with one of the four words in the title. With a little work, one can tease out the connection between the word and the events in that section, but it is sometimes an obscure one. The story is told in a somewhat nonlinear manner, and sometimes one does not know the intersections among characters until well along in the book. There are also some sections that are told in a stream-of-consciousness style, especially from the minds of two main characters: a young girl and a very old woman. So, in short, Smith does not make reading her novel easy. On top of that, her main plot point -- in which Miles, a man who goes to a dinner party at the house of someone he does not know, goes upstairs and locks himself into a guest room and stays there for some weeks -- risks being gimmicky. However, Smith tells a compelling story, portrays quirky and mostly very sympathetic characters, and writes with wit, authority and absolute control. I felt that the novel was deeply grounded in a great appreciation for the basic humanity of most people. Somehow all these diverse aspects of the novel hang together and make one want to keep reading.

Friday, November 4, 2011

Books Featuring Various Illegal Drugs

As a companion piece to my recent (10/30/11) list of books featuring alcohol and alcoholism, I list here books (mostly novels) that prominently feature (mostly) illegal drugs as part of their stories. Some would criticize the authors for romanticizing drugs or making them seem glamorous, and this does happen to some extent. But just as often, the books show the negative sides of drugs and, especially, drug addiction.

Bright Lights, Big City, by Jay McInerney
A Clockwork Orange, by Anthony Burgess
Confessions of an English Opium Eater, by Thomas de Quincy
The Doors of Perception, by Aldous Huxley
The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test, by Tom Wolfe
Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, by Hunter S. Thompson
Junkie, by William Burroughs
Less Than Zero, by Brett Easton Ellis
The Man with the Golden Arm, by Nelson Algren
Naked Lunch, by William Burroughs
On the Road, by Jack Kerouac
Requiem for a Dream, by Hubert Selby, Jr.
Trainspotting, by Irvine Welsh

…and much of the poetry of Charles Baudelaire, Paul Verlaine, and Arthur Rimbaud.

I note, as a point of interest, that all of the books on this list are by male authors. We know that both men and women take drugs, but perhaps only men can take them as part of a macho, "guy" persona, and/or a bohemian, artistic, "living on the wild side" persona? Do women who take a lot of drugs simply seem pitiful? Is "living on the wild side" good for men's images but bad for women's?

Thursday, November 3, 2011

No to Abridged Books

On 3/10/10, I wrote about fond memories of reading Readers Digest Condensed books when I was a child, despite my later negative feeling about abridged books. I said in that post that in general I "firmly believe that books should be read unabridged; abridging books seems unnatural, almost like mutilating them." I was thinking about this again recently, as a couple of times when I checked out an audiobook from the library, I realized after I took it home and looked at the very small print that the version of the book on CD was actually abridged. First, this annoyed me because I feel such an important fact should be clearly featured, to allow readers/listeners to make informed choices. Second, and this is more important, I don't understand the need for abridged versions of books. Maybe if the books are for young people with reading problems, or those just entering the world of reading, these books could provide a "bridge" (pun intended) to full versions of books. Or for not-very-literary bestsellers, something like Readers Digest Condensed could provide quick and fun reads for pure entertainment or for an introduction to the works of writers. But in general, I strongly dislike abridged works, and feel they cheat the reader of the full experience. I suspect most authors would also be very unhappy with having their works abridged.

Tuesday, November 1, 2011

More on "To the Lighthouse"

On 10/22/11 I wrote about listening to “To the Lighthouse” on CD, and how listening to it read made the meaning of the words, and the weight of their sounds, so tangible. I have now finished the novel, and just want to add here that the luminosity of the writing, the insights into the characters’ consciousnesses, and the awareness and capture of the hundreds of shifts of emotions people go through every day, are but a few of the awe-inspiring qualities of Woolf’s writing. For just one example, here is a description of Lily Briscoe’s thoughts as she paints at the Ramsay’s house on the Isle of Skye: “One wanted, she thought…to be on a level with ordinary experience, to feel simply that’s a chair, that’s a table, and yet at the same time, It’s a miracle, it’s an ecstasy.” How beautifully Woolf encapsulates the constant alternating of our consciousnesses between the quotidian and the sublime.
 
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