Why Did I Bring "Mudwoman" Home from the Library?

I saw a review of Joyce Carol Oates' new novel, "Mudwoman," thought it looked intriguing, requested it from the library, was notified it was in and waiting for me, checked it out and took it home, and put it on my pile of "to read" books. When I took it off the pile to start reading it, I suddenly wondered WHY I had brought it home. Although I admire Oates, I pretty much stopped reading her many years ago, with very occasional exceptions. In general, her work is too dark and too sensational for my taste. Yet each time a new novel comes out, I wonder if this time I will enjoy it, and shouldn't miss it. So, as if enacting a ritual, I slmost always read the review and track down the book. Then I flip through it and decide that no, in fact, once again, I am NOT going to read it. And once again, I take the book back to the library unread. And so it is with "Mudwoman." Yes, I am drawn in by the premise of a woman Ivy League college president with a lurid childhood lurking in the background, threatening to overtake her and change her life again. The prominent woman, the secret lover, the sensational back story...all call out to me, but when it comes to it, I just don't want to actually read the novel. So, yes, once again, the Oates novel is sitting on my "to return to the library unread" pile.

As a coda to the above: It may seem strange that I occasionally write here about books that I DON'T read. But I believe that such books are part of one's reading life: the "maybe-I-will, but, then again, after all, I guess I won't" books.

"Life on Moors"

My friend B. brought to my attention a recent (3/9/12) New York Times Magazine article by Daphne Merkin titled "Life on Moors: The Ghostly Allure of Bronte Country Beckons a Writer Back." Merkin recently visited the area in Yorkshire that is "the obdurate, timeless landscape that bred the celebrated Bronte sisters and fertilized their singular literary imaginations." She writes about their tiny village of Haworth, in the "remote, windswept setting where they [the Brontes] felt most at home." She remembers being drawn as a young woman to the Brontes' characters and to their writing "so powerfully about female aspirations and subversive love." She finds that although there are some tourists there, the village is remarkably unchanged, and -- according to a local bookstore owner -- that the village is full of eccentrics. Merkin writes that she is "struck by the overwhelming sense of solitariness that this landscape invokes -- and also by its eerie allure." Coincidentally, my colleague/friend A., who teaches at a university in England, posted today on Facebook that he has finally read Emily Bronte's "Wuthering Heights," and found it, although "beautifully written," "such a depressing story of human depravity." His post reminded me of how my own feelings regarding "Wuthering Heights" had changed over the years. When I was young, I found it dramatic, romantic, and brooding; as I noted here on 5/4/10, when I tried to re-read it a few years back, I found it so dark and crazily intense that I couldn't continue reading. I do, on the other hand, love Charlotte Bronte's novels, especially "Jane Eyre" and "Villette," and have re-read each of them several times with great pleasure.

Back from Conferences

I just got back from two great back-to-back academic conferences, one in Boston and one in Philadelphia. I learned a lot, saw a lot of colleagues and friends, and had a wonderful time. But this is why I haven't posted for several days. I not only didn't post but also barely read anything, as I was busy (in a good way!) from morning to late evening. This follows my usual experience at conferences: I read far less than usual when I am there. The only exception is reading on the plane. This time I caught up with a stack of magazines on the long flight there, and read stories by Edith Wharton on the way back. I will post on the Wharton collection when I finish it, but I can say now that it was good company on the airplane!

Books Keep Moving Around

Books keep moving around in my life. They come in to my house from the library, they return to the library. I buy some, then either give them to friends or the library for the library sale, only keeping a few. I move books from home to my office and back. I buy books for others, bring them home, then give them to family and friends. I lend books to friends. Recently when a colleague/friend whose office was across from mine retired, he put piles of books out for others to take if they wanted; I couldn’t resist taking a few, although I don’t have much more space in my office for more books. Other times I have been the one putting books out for others to take. When I have textbooks I no longer need, or don’t think I will use, I put them in our department resource room. Although I certainly have kept some books for a long time, and treasure having them in my home or office, I also feel happy when I return books to the library or to a friend, or pass books on to my mom or daughter or to the library or to a friend. I feel good about the idea of books circulating among many, rather than always retiring quietly to one person’s bookshelves.

"Unpacking My Library: Writers and Their Books"

Are you constantly curious about what other people are reading? When you go to people’s houses or offices, do you surreptitiously run your eyes over the books on their bookshelves? “Unpacking My Library: Writers and Their Books” (Yale, 2011), edited by Harvard English Professor Leah Price, offers a rare opportunity to exercise this curiosity. First, it is a lovely, horizontally rectangular hardback book, with thick, sturdy, coated pages, inviting you in. Second, it is full of gorgeous photos of writers’ bookshelves throughout their houses. The writers are (including three couples who share chapters) Alison Bechdel; Stephen Carter; Junot Diaz; Rebecca Goldstein and Stephen Pinker; Lev Grossman and Sophie Gee; Jonathan Lethem; Claire Messud and James Wood; Philip Pullman; Gary Shteyngart; and Edmund White. Each writer’s section starts with an overview photo of the shelves in her/his/their rooms. This is followed by several pages of up-close photos of shelves, close enough to easily read the titles and see the condition of the books: some old and grand, some in sets, some dog-eared and falling-apart paperbacks, some interspersed with other objects, some perfectly packed in, some crammed in every which way. Also in each writer’s chapter is a brief interview with the editor, on such questions as when the writers started acquiring books, whether they keep everything or regularly pass books on, what kind of shelves they use and why, their system of organizing their books, and where else in the house they have books (kitchen, bedroom, bathroom?). One interesting question asked of the couples was whether they kept their books separate or “interfiled.” (The answer was generally combined, but with a clear awareness of who had brought each book into the relationship.) One more delight in each chapter is the list of the writer’s “Top Ten Books” on one page, and a photo of those ten books on the facing page. I thoroughly enjoyed perusing the various bookshelves. I was pleased to note that many of the writers chose among their Top Ten some of my most-loved books: for example, several chose one of Virginia Woolf’s novels; a couple chose George Eliot’s “Middlemarch”; a couple more chose one or more of Jane Austen’s novels; and one chose an Alice Munro short story collection. This book is a delight. What an abundance of information, photos, and the sheer joy of books!

On Stopping Reading “The Vanishers,” by Heidi Julavits

I kept hearing about Heidi Julavits. She was a founding editor of The Believer magazine. Her novels are praised for their originality. But the reviews of her first three novels never quite drew me in. So when I read about her new novel, “The Vanishers” (Doubleday, 2012), I thought that this time I would try to read it. It sounded intriguing: It features a young protagonist named Julie who is studying at an institute for psychics. Her powers are increasing, which the proprietor of the institute, Madame Ackermann, finds threatening; she casts a sort of spell on Julie. Julie struggles with this problem at the same time she is reliving her mother’s long-ago suicide and looking for answers. The psychic part isn’t really up my alley, but the character and story sounded compelling. I got a few pages into the book, and realized it felt like uphill work. My interest was flagging. I pushed through a little bit longer. I got to about page 40; I am not sure which page exactly, because I kept falling asleep and losing my place. The next day I thought maybe I had just been too tired to read the night before, so I persisted a little longer. It didn’t work. Finally I gave up and gave in to my inclination to just stop reading it. Suddenly I felt liberated. Good, I didn’t have to read it! And just like that, it went onto the “return to the library” pile. A relief. I don’t mean to say it isn’t a good novel; the reviews I have read have been excellent. But for some reason it is not a novel I want to read, or at least I don’t want to read now. I long ago decided that I didn’t have to have a reason to stop reading a book I wasn’t enjoying; not enjoying it was enough of a reason.

On Trying Not to Repeat Myself

I have been writing this blog long enough now (a little over two years) that I occasionally can’t remember if I have already written about a certain author or topic. I do have a “system” of keeping track; it is elementary and low-tech, but it works. I have a document on which I list all my post titles by date, and also by category (books, authors, reading, lists, etc.); whenever I do a new post, I immediately enter that information on those lists. However, now that I am up to almost 600 posts, if I have a question about a prior post, or a possible prior post, even looking up a specific topic is not absolutely simple or quick. The “find” function on Word is helpful but not infallible. I would be highly embarrassed if I repeated myself. Although probably very few readers would remember, I am guessing someone would. So I hope my memory, backed up by my recording system, keeps me from making that mistake!