Instead of attempting to write about the 26 books I have read on the list all at once, I want to break them down into when I read them (although some of them I've read more than once). So, first... the early years...
I have to preface this by saying that there are a lot of "100 Best" lists out there, and, depending on the list, I have read a few to a lot of books on each list. The experience of looking over the lists got me thinking about my experience in high school, during which I spent a lot of time reading for my IB English classes. But, you'll notice that in my high school list, I did not read The Catcher in the Rye, 1984, Catch-22, or To Kill a Mocking Bird. In retrospect, we did skip many of the "greats" as far as most canonical English classes in the American high school are concerned, but we also read things like Yasunari Kawabata's Thousand Cranes, Sawako Ariyoshi's The Twighlight Years, Natsume Soseki's Kokoro, R.K. Naryan's The Guide, Sylvia Plath's poetry, Virginia Woolf's To the Lighthouse, and William Faulkner's The Sound and the Fury. These varied experiences taught me to be a good reader, a deep reader, and a curious reader. For that, I thank my early teachers.
One more thing before I delve into my first books... I'm not writing articles here, just impressions. For you lit crit people out there: think of this as a Reader Response approach. For me, English is the language I read for fun, the language to enjoy without writing an outline for an article or a lecture somewhere in the back of my head. That is not to say I don't make literary connections or have deep thoughts, but it's just not a time when theory pops into my marginal notes!
Here goes...
Chinua Achebe. Things Fall Apart.
Quick summary: Okonkwo is a great, respected man living in a small village in Nigeria. He puts a lot of merit into titles and honor. Things go awry when British missionaries arrive on their steel horses (bicycles), luring the weak (the elderly, women, and children) and the outcasts (the crazy, the disabled) into their circle. The fabric of the village starts to fall apart, and Okonkwo finds that his respected name does not go very far once the foreigners arrive. Nothing seems to go right, especially once his son, Ikemefuna, joins the Westerners...
This is one of those books that many people seem to read some time in high school or college, and it's one of the classics we did cover. If I remember correctly, we read it somewhere in 9th grade, and it was my first experience with anything post-colonial. The first time I read this book, I don't think I really "got it": the loss, the sadness, the pathos. And, I didn't get the social commentary about Western imperialism, which functions largely through religion and commerce. I think I understood it as one of those books that showed us a character about a man who refused to change with the times, who couldn't handle modernity, and who is stuck in the past. I was too young, too Catholic, too white and too American to see any sort of reflection of my history in the British missionaries.
I did reread this book when I was visiting Jeevan in Kenya. Seeing the modern culture that colonialism has left in even in rural Matoso brought a new understanding of the book. I began to understand the sense of loss and distress that Achebe was addressing through Okonkwo. Of course, my second time through this book, I was no longer too young, too Catholic, or too American. I'd gained a little wisdom, I'd say, I'd fallen from the papal ties, and, well, let's just say I'd rather be French. The too white part I can't do much about, but to my defense, I did marry a brown man! And, I did gain the valuable experience of being the only white person in a crowd, the stranger in a strange land.
I had also read West African and Caribbean post-colonial novels in grad school, and this knowledge informed my second reading. I cannot help but think of Achebe's novel in parallel with Ahmadou Kourouma's groundbreaking novel, Les Soleils des Indépendances (The Suns of Independence), which tells a similar tale of a man who can't quite come to grips with his changing culture, though this time the colonists are from the other side of the Channel. It's worth a read, if you like this sort of literature. I also put it in the realm of Alice Walker's Possessing the Secret of Joy. One note of advice for both Kourouma and Walker: not for the faint of heart... female circumcision.
Judy Blume. Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret
Quick summary: Basically it's your typical pre-pubescent girl who wants desperately to fit in, but she doesn't have a religion. Should she join the JCC or the YMCA? When, how, where does she buy a bra? What about her first period? These are tough questions.
Who knows when I read this one? 5th grade? Somewhere around there. So maybe I didn't have any questions about what religion I was, but, man, did I ever want to fit in! I wanted pants and shoes like everyone else, but it was hard to find them in my size. For those of you who have memories of me in those days, you probably know that I should have just given up, that the safety pins on the jeans just don't look good on a dwarf (or anyone, for that matter). Oh, and don't get me started on the shoes I have tried to fit my feet into over the years. I could show Cinderella's step-sisters a thing or two!
All in all, this book helped me make it through some tough years, but I don't remember many of the details. Maybe it'll be worth a reread some day. But, if you have a pre-pubescent daughter or were ever one yourself, you should read this. It will break your heart, and make you laugh, like only Judy Blume can.
William Faulkner. The Sound and the Fury.
Quick summary:This one is tough to summarize. First of all, the title comes from MacBeth:
"Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow,The idiot is Benjy Compson, and the first section is told from his point of view. Although it's not clear exactly what is wrong with him, Benjy clearly has a mental handicap. This makes for an interesting narration because events don't necessary mean much to him, nor does time; so, it's all out of order, and you spend the rest of the novel figuring his section out from the remaining parts. The second part is Quentin's section, and it tells the events leading up to his suicide and explains some of the past events Benjy relates. The third part is Jason's section; he's another Compson brother and is quite jaded. The fourth part is told in the third person but concentrates on the Compson's maid, Dilsey, and takes place on Easter Sunday (Benjy's section takes place on the preceding Saturday, and Jason's on Good Friday). It's all sorts of symbolic, in the stream of consciousness, and I love it! It's full of Faulkner's tortured visions of the South after reconstruction. So, if you like tortured souls in discombobulated narrative form, this is your novel!
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing."
In any case, the opening line of The Sound and the Fury?... "Through the fence, between the curling flower spaces, I could see them hitting." This is Benjy's voice, and it says a lot. Benjy seems to always be looking from outside, through a barrier. He doesn't say what is going on because he doesn't really know, but the reader slowly figures it out.
The last line?... "The broken flower drooped over Ben’s fist and his eyes were empty and blue and serene again as cornice and façade flowed smoothly once more from left to right, post and tree,window and doorway and signboard each in its ordered place.” It all loops back to Benjy. It's sad and brilliant. Nothing has changed, and everything has changed.
E. M. Forster. A Passage to India.
Quick summary: Dr. Aziz, an Indian doctor, and three Brits (two women and a man) make a day trip to the Marabar Caves. In the darkness and claustrophobia of the caves, Adela experiences a moment of terror after which she goes on to accuse Dr. Aziz of attempted rape, even though nothing of the sort ever happened. The trial that ensues brings to the surface the increasing discontent smoldering under the surface of colonial India.
Another high school read, one that led me to Forster. Sometimes I have a strange habit of finding an author I adore and then I gobble up books by that person. Examples: E.M. Forster, John Irving, Milan Kundera, Sylvie Germain, Albert Camus. (Bonus points if you know which one was the topic of my dissertation). Anyway, I don't know why, but having favorite authors is like having favorite musicians or actors: they have some sort of je ne sais quoi that speaks to you from the depths of your being without rhyme or reason. My dissertation adviser did say though that the topic of my dissertation was no accident. Aren't you curious?
Forster. So proper. So British. Just as in Howard's End or A Room with a View, it's all about class struggle and social divisions, although this one is set in colonial India. The obliviousness of the colonial rulers to the life and struggles of the Indians is so uncanny. The Indians really become a prop against which the Brits conduct their lives and contrive scandals to escape the monotony and heat of life in the colonies. Oh, these are the days of the budding independence movement, and tensions are high, but the British still seem to continue on as if everything should and will remain as it is.
The descriptions are interesting... Everything in the British quarters is straight and orderly, while the Indians live in disorder. Ask my husband about this stereotype; he'll say this is true. But, it's not that the stereotyping is upsetting; it's that it's stated with such ease and frankness: order must be imposed. There's no, "you go your way, and I'll go mine," about it. It comes from another time, and it has an idyllic aura about it. Although Forster is bring the social unrest to the forefront, there is still an undertone of wanting to maintain the good ol' days of the Empire. Unless you read it with a critical post-colonial eye, the book does not make you want to up and cry freedom. It took another book to make me see just how one sided this novel is, even though I still love it.
We read this book set against R.K. Naryan's The Guide. It was colonialism from both points of view: the British and the Indian. I remember pouring over both books looking for quotes (those quotes, again!) to find ways in which the Empire was portrayed from varying points of view. Lesson learned: history is not just dead, white men. Cliché? Yes, but a good one to learn at an age when most students are mostly learning about just that.
One more thing. I don't know if it's an accident or not, but I think I was in love with Dr. Aziz in A Passage to India. A sign of things to come, perhaps. If only I could marry an Indian doctor... oh... I did!
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