The world seems to be caught up in an overwhelming tide of
tragic-ness. This is true most intensely in literature. I can't
think of too many books that I've read recently that aren't built
solely around exploring every possible nuance of a tragedy and how it
effects me, and Oscar Wao fits into this category as well. I've been
recommending The Road by Cormac McCarthy to a lot of people recently,
and I've been thinking about why this book has so struck a chord with
me, and I think it's because while it addresses the theme of tragedy
and explores it in-depth, it doesn't end with tragedy as the be-all,
end-all function of existence. Admittedly, the ending is bleak, but
it's also inspiring at the same time. And I don't think I can say
that about Oscar Wao. I mean Diaz built the ending up 100 pages
before it actually occurred, and I had to spend the last part of the
book watching it move inexorably closer, and the pain of reading it
was only increased by the fact that I knew I was going to read it for
so long. Then of course the book ended in its own bleak way, and
other than the physical text itself resting comfortably in your hand
or on your bookshelf, there wasn't a whole lot that you could walk
away with and be encouraged about.
Maybe my expectations for books are unreasonable, but Mark Twain's
books didn't always end with a bereft longing glance at nostalgia and
tragedy. Neither did Steinbeck or Garcia Marquez (well, ok Marquez is
generally pretty bleak, but he usually transcends that after a page or
two), or even Michael Chabon, who has to write 'genre' just so he can
have positive endings or think transformational thoughts. Are we that
caught up in the bitterly pessimistic worldview these days? I think
we are, I think almost all of us are despite our protestations that we
have happy moments or weeks or years. I think we tend to define
ourselves by our tragedies, and I wonder if that has anything to do
with world events - 9/11, Katrina, war, etc - or if it is the defining
zeitgeist of our generation. And if it is, what the fuck? I mean we
have to move past that at some point don't we? And I'm not sure I
need to hear that it could only be a white American asking this
question, because that sentiment, however true, only pulls us back
into the morass that so many people of so many different backgrounds
are trying to escape - hence the reason for the book Oscar Wao in the
first place, am I wrong?
So, while I loved the book, I am struck by the tone in a deeply
philosophical and existential way. And that tone seems to be an ever
present burden on the shoulders of everyone, and I am wondering if we
haven't set for ourselves an inescapable trap. And our books are just
the explanations of these traps, and sometimes that gets ridiculous.
And if that's the existential reality of the book and of our lives,
well then that just plain sucks. I don't think I can buy into a
paradigm that says life will be shitty forever and ever and oh woe is
me and all that crap. And that seems to be the approach of so many
books that I've read. It's like we can't seriously talk about the
transformational value of literature anymore because literature has
become a solipsistic cesspool. Is it any wonder that no Americans
have won the Nobel in a good long time. We're all focused on one
thing, and that one thing isn't terribly affirming, unless of course
if you count the fact that it is about 'me' and 'I' and certainly not
about the other because they can worry about their own damn selves.
Well, I've rambled enough and not all of it about the book.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Thursday, October 1, 2009
some continuations
Recently I have found myself reading books that are entries in long-standing series. On one level this bothers me because it suggests that a) there is nothing 'new' out there worth reading or b) I don't know what new books I should be reading. In either case, I'm not very happy. But I have been reading some good stuff recently. Here's a run-down:
A Lion Among Men by Gregory Maguire:
The third book in the Wicked series chronicles the life of the cowardly lion, named in this book at least Burr. Maguire has written a fascinating character in Burr. He is a lonely, ashamed soul seeking redemption in all the wrong places and in all the wrong ways. He is America before we found ourselves and voted for the symbol of Obama. He is materialistic and opportunistic because he thinks that is how to get fame (as my students would put it). He is lost and empty because nothing he does provides joy or solace, and the book is a brilliant examination of his psycho-social development to the point where he sees himself truly for the first time. This book is more complete than the middle entry in the series - Son of a Witch - because Burr is more fully realized than Nor, the son of Elphaba. (Ironic isn't it, and intentionally so, that the Lion is the most fully realized character since Elphaba.) The tortuous route to self discovery made by Burr is paralleled by another character, of Maguire's own devising, called Yackle, who has floated mysteriously throughout the other books in the series. Her presence bothered me immensely in Wicked because it was completely indecipherable; here she comes through in a most winning way and her own story makes me want to go back and read Wicked again just so I can see what she was really all about. Good writing that.
Rubicon by Steven Saylor:
Yes, I am a lonely man looking for prostitute fiction written about ancient Rome. This series is the high class hooker. The Falco books by Lindsey Davis are the joyful BJ or handjob or backseat quickie, but Saylor writes about the overnight stay at the Mustang Ranch where one's needs are really met. I say all that mostly so you will pick up the other books in the series which are all quite good. This one, however, is average. Gordianus, our delightfully aging protagonist, makes some ethical leaps in the book that are inconsistent with his character as it has been built in the previous books. It's still a good read, and it takes up during a period about which we know the most historically. But I think Saylor did a better job writing about the more obscure historical developments in Rome - dealing with Sulla and Crassus and the notable poet Catallus. This one features Ceasar and Pompey, two of the giants of Antiquity, and Gordianus really has no reason to be involved with them. And that of course is my dilemma with the book. But it's a rollicking good adventure nonetheless.
The Gunslinger by Stephen King:
I have never before read King, and I may never again. King's ideas are quite original, even when he's riffing off of Robert Browning, which he is in this book. But his prose is so tromping and his situations so blah. I will continue to read the Dark Tower series because I'm intrigued to see where King goes, and Roland his protagonist is well-written primarily because he's written as the slightly less intellectual fanatic. He tends to have notions rather than ideas, and he understands that things will change without actually being able to predict those changes. He is more like you and I than most epic heroes. But I'm never quite sure why he finds himself in half the situations that he does. What's the point, big Stephen? I'm still trying to find out.
A Lion Among Men by Gregory Maguire:
The third book in the Wicked series chronicles the life of the cowardly lion, named in this book at least Burr. Maguire has written a fascinating character in Burr. He is a lonely, ashamed soul seeking redemption in all the wrong places and in all the wrong ways. He is America before we found ourselves and voted for the symbol of Obama. He is materialistic and opportunistic because he thinks that is how to get fame (as my students would put it). He is lost and empty because nothing he does provides joy or solace, and the book is a brilliant examination of his psycho-social development to the point where he sees himself truly for the first time. This book is more complete than the middle entry in the series - Son of a Witch - because Burr is more fully realized than Nor, the son of Elphaba. (Ironic isn't it, and intentionally so, that the Lion is the most fully realized character since Elphaba.) The tortuous route to self discovery made by Burr is paralleled by another character, of Maguire's own devising, called Yackle, who has floated mysteriously throughout the other books in the series. Her presence bothered me immensely in Wicked because it was completely indecipherable; here she comes through in a most winning way and her own story makes me want to go back and read Wicked again just so I can see what she was really all about. Good writing that.
Rubicon by Steven Saylor:
Yes, I am a lonely man looking for prostitute fiction written about ancient Rome. This series is the high class hooker. The Falco books by Lindsey Davis are the joyful BJ or handjob or backseat quickie, but Saylor writes about the overnight stay at the Mustang Ranch where one's needs are really met. I say all that mostly so you will pick up the other books in the series which are all quite good. This one, however, is average. Gordianus, our delightfully aging protagonist, makes some ethical leaps in the book that are inconsistent with his character as it has been built in the previous books. It's still a good read, and it takes up during a period about which we know the most historically. But I think Saylor did a better job writing about the more obscure historical developments in Rome - dealing with Sulla and Crassus and the notable poet Catallus. This one features Ceasar and Pompey, two of the giants of Antiquity, and Gordianus really has no reason to be involved with them. And that of course is my dilemma with the book. But it's a rollicking good adventure nonetheless.
The Gunslinger by Stephen King:
I have never before read King, and I may never again. King's ideas are quite original, even when he's riffing off of Robert Browning, which he is in this book. But his prose is so tromping and his situations so blah. I will continue to read the Dark Tower series because I'm intrigued to see where King goes, and Roland his protagonist is well-written primarily because he's written as the slightly less intellectual fanatic. He tends to have notions rather than ideas, and he understands that things will change without actually being able to predict those changes. He is more like you and I than most epic heroes. But I'm never quite sure why he finds himself in half the situations that he does. What's the point, big Stephen? I'm still trying to find out.
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