Sunday, January 24, 2010

Books I read on my own, some time in college or grad school



Although I spent most of my time in college and grad school reading French lit, I did try, however, to broaden my mind beyond the lovely Hexagone of French literature.  The next few blogs will concentrate on books I read "just because".

A.S. Byatt, Possession
Quick summary: This gorgeous novel takes place in two different time periods and follows two different odd couples.  The contemporary couple, Roland Mitchell and Maud Bailey are two 19th century Brit Lit scholars searching for clues to their poet's secret lives and sources of poetic symbolism.  The trouble is: Maud is a British scholar ensconced in the politics of feminist theory and rhetoric who studies 19th century poet Christabel LaMotte (supposed lesbian and early feminist), while Roland is an American scholar living in England in an unhappy relationship and pathetic apartment, trying all the while to conduct research on manly poet Randolph Henry Ash.  So, how do Maud and Roland even meet?  It turns out that Roland discovers some previously unknown notes and letters Ash had written.  As he continues his research, he discovers they are to LaMotte, which leads him directly to Maud, the foremost LaMotte scholar.  From this point, the novel unfolds as a sort of literary detective novel as the two contemporary scholars try to reveal the true nature of the relationship between LaMotte and Ash, whose story is told entirely through letters and poetry (except for one, very important scene).  Ultimately, as the title connotes, this book is about possession: being possessed by passion... for a person, literature, an idea.

This was a book I read in grad school because I had heard about it through a friend and because A.S. Byatt was coming to give a lecture through my favorite Boston (ok, Brookline) bookstore: the Brookline Booksmith.  They knew this would be a large audience, so the lecture was held at the wonderful independent movie theatre, the Coolidge - a restored art deco theatre.  My favorite place to see indie films in Boston!

Reading this book was a wonderful experience (and so was the lecture!)... It has since been on my personal list of favorites.  Not only does Byatt write astoundingly well, but she has also done her fair share of academic work and research, which helps her to create an academic universe that is accurate in its portrayal of the politics and passion that drive so much scholarly work.  The frustrations and joys of academia are all there.  One of my favorite passages is when Roland first discovers Ash's work in the library and knows instantly that it must certainly be Ash's writing; for, all of his hours laboring in the library painstakingly writing, filing, and cross-indexing his note cards (laptops weren't quite the thing yet) have made him feel that he knows Ash's writing to its core.  I remember feeling this way when I was writing my dissertation; yet any time I read Sylvie Germain (my subject author), there is always a new mystery with every read.  I think I would miss that if I really knew everything possible in her work.

This is one of the interesting things the book has to say: scholars can't know everything, especially ones who rely on biographical information; there will always be something beyond the grasp of the literary critic.  Although both Roland and Maud think they know their respective scholars to the core, the most important (and private) aspect of Ash and LaMotte's story together is the only part not told through primary sources; here, the narration shifts to 3rd person, and it's wonderful and melancholic... Maud and Roland will never know about it.

As a literary, this passage makes me both happy and sad because it makes you feel as if there is always some extremely important motivation behind the scenes that remains inaccessible.  This, of course, makes me sad because there will necessarily be an incomplete aspect about any literary criticism; however, this makes me happy as well because literature should also exist in a world where some things are sacred, where literature remains private and personal, for authors and readers alike; a world beyond criticism.  Byatt beautifully shows us this untouchable part of literature, and she does it well.  Actually, everything about this book is simply beautiful:


"…words have been all my life, all my life--this need is like the Spider's need who carries before her a huge Burden of Silk which she must spin out--the silk is her life, her home, her safety--her food and drink too--and if it is attacked or pulled down, why, what can she do but make more, spin afresh, design anew…."
A.S. Byatt (Possession: A Romance)

"No mere human can stand in a fire and not be consumed."
A.S. Byatt (Possession

Monday, January 4, 2010

Philip Roth - American Pastoral




Quick summary: American Pastoral is one of Roth's many "Zuckerman" novels, which use the character of Nathan Zuckerman, himself a writer, as a narrative frame for the (imagined) life of Seymour "the Swede" Levov.  The novel first recounts Zuckerman's idealized memories of the Swede from their childhood, during which the Swede was the star of about any sport at school.  Zuckerman meets the Swede again at a ball game and later at a restaurant; the former encounter leaves him with the remaining impression that the Swede still leads a charmed life.  However, after a meeting at a restaurant (requested by the Swede), Zuckerman is somewhat puzzled about the reason for the lunch and wonders whether the Swede still leads the ideal American life.  Later, at a high school reunion Zuckerman meets Jerry Levov, the Swede's younger brother, who reveals that the Swede's daughter was the one who bombed a post office as a means of protest against the war.  After his conversation with Jerry Levov, Zuckerman pens a novel in which he imagines the deterioration of the Swede's ideal life from the inside out.

I will start by saying that I place this book among my favorites on the list so far.  Roth's prose in and of itself is a major reason for undertaking a good reading of this novel.  If you are a skimmer, this one might force you to slow down and smell the roses, or it might frustrate you.  When I say Roth can write, I don't mean in the way that David Foster Wallace can write (you'll eventually see a blog on Infinite Jest); unlike DFW's prose, which springs out of some sort of manic obsession, Roth is so controlled, much like the exterior of the Swede's ideal life.  As the lives of the Levovs spin out of control, Roth's prose loosens and seems to wander, but Roth is still in control of every word.  This is good writing, and you can feel it.

Beyond the writing, I love this book for its construction and its relationship with the past.  It's Proust's attempt to regain an idealized past, but with the backdrop of the fading American dream.  (Zuckerman even explicitly references the madeleine scene from Proust as he contemplates his reunion experience).  The Swede's generation is the generation eager to fight the good fight in WWII, the generation that seemed to know right from wrong.  However, as much as the Swede seems to lead the American dream (ex-pageant winner of a wife, a house in the country, the owner of a successful business), the American Pastoral that Roth offers up is an illusion.  Most of the Swede's story takes place during the Watergate era, when the US was being ripped in half by politics and a war that would just not end.  History and personal tragedy are woven together in magical storytelling that leaves you wondering if things really were better "back then" or if the American dream itself is simply a thinly veneered façade. 

I haven't read it yet, but Revolutionary Road is on the list, and it seems to me that Roth's novel is similar in that it eats away at the American pursuit of happiness.  Whereas Yates' novel plucks the feathers from the 1950s goal of perfection, Roth uses the intersection of the dreams of the Greatest Generation and the failure of those dreams in the turmoil of the 60s and 70s.   It gives me some insight into how my grandparents must view the world from whence they came.  It's control meets chaos, and the result is brilliance.  I love it.


Saturday, January 2, 2010

Books I Read in High School (or before), Part III

Hopefully, I will finish the list of books I read in high school (or before) with this blog... then I can move on to the book I just finished before I backtrack through college and other books I read on my own, before the dawning of the Great Book Throw-Down.


Zora Neale Hurston.  Their Eyes Were Watching God.
Quick summary: This book is set in Florida in the early part of the 20th century and follows the life of Janie Crawford, whose life has been mostly sorrowful and tragic, and yet Janie is a woman made stronger by her travails.  Her story is relayed through her conversation with her friend Pheoby, which frames the story.  There are lots of letdowns (even the most tender part of Janie's life doesn't seem safe), but it is a great work of African American fiction to be sure.

I have read this book a couple of times, the first being in ninth grade, and the last being a couple of years ago via Ruby Dee's superb reading on an audiobook.  I can't say how many people have borrowed my discs, but it is truly magnificent.  Dee's reading adds depths that I think I missed the first time around because I was trying to get past the thick drawl and dialect of the dialogues. 


As for high school, I remember two things: 1) the opening metaphor of the pear tree, representing Janie's burgeoning sense of her own sexuality; 2) Tea Cake.  I won't tell you about number two because I don't want to ruin anything for anyone out there.  The metaphor though is absolutely striking, although in high school, I thought our teacher had gone mad trying to tell us that a blossoming tree could in any way have anything to do with a metaphor for burgeoning sexuality.  I guess this is another moment that I could hold up to signify the good education I had, even before I was ready for it.  Want a taste of the prose?

Janie had spent most of the day under a blossoming pear tree in the back-yard. She had been spending every minute that she could steal from her chores under that tree for the last three days. That was to say, ever since the first tiny bloom had opened. It had called her to come and gaze on a mystery. From barren brown stems to glistening leaf-buds; from the leaf-buds to snowy virginity of bloom. It stirred her tremendously. How? Why? It was like a flute song forgotten in another existence and remembered again. What? How? Why? This singing she heard that had nothing to do with her ears. The rose of the world was breathing out smell. It followed her through all her waking moments and caressed her in her sleep. It connected itself with other vaguely felt matters that had struck her outside observation and buried themselves in her flesh. Now they emerged and quested about her consciousness.

She was stretched on her back beneath the pear tree soaking in the alto chant of the visiting bees, the gold of the sun and the panting breath of the breeze when the inaudible voice of it all came to her. She saw a dust-bearing bee sink into the sanctum of a bloom; the thousand sister-calyxes arch to meet the love embrace and the ecstatic shiver of the tree from root to tiniest branch creaming in every blossom and frothing with delight. So this was a marriage! She had been summoned to behold a revelation...

Oh to be a pear tree - any tree in bloom! With kissing bees singing of the beginning of the world! (pp 10-11)

Pretty obviously about sex, wouldn't you say?  Hey, I was a freshman and not so worldly!


I can't say much about this book with regards to a plot because everything is so intertwined and beautifully crafted, I do not think I could do it justice.  This is Alice Walker's the Color Purple before it's time.  It's a shame Zora Neale Hurston is not read more often... maybe you'll read her next?


Mitchell, Margaret - Gone With the Wind
Quick summary: Fiddle-dee-dee!  I'm sure most of you know the plot of this one: young, beautiful, and spoiled Scarlett O'Hara (Hamilton Kennedy Butler) uttered these words  and put off thinking about unpleasant events until tomorrow more than once as she sashayed through the South embroiled in the Civil War.  It's about life, love, loss... and growing up, sort of.


I have to admit, I'm not the biggest fan of Gone with the Wind.  Oh, I don't mind it, to be sure, but it just never captured me the way lots of other historical fiction did when I was younger.  Perhaps I didn't know enough about the South in the Civil War or enough about the life people led then, but I just didn't get sucked in the way many girls did.  That's ok if you're shocked and awed, I can take it.  

To be honest, I remember more of the film than I do of the book.  In neither case did I really find Scarlett a sympathetic character, not even when Rhett leaves for good.  Maybe you guys out there can fill me in on what the hullabaloo is all about, but I just don't see it.  Go ahead, tell me. 


Virginia Woolf - To the Lighthouse Quick summary: One of the Woolf greats, not Mrs. Dalloway (which I have NOT read), but wonderful and melancholy.  This is another book that is difficult to summarize because it is extremely modern in its narrative technique replete with requisite number of philosophic musings as the reader follows the Ramsay family.  Wonderful passage with stream of consciousness - not to be missed!


We read this some time in junior or senior year, which I know because it was an option for the IB exam.  Alongside The Sound and the Fury, this was my first introduction to "modern" writing (although from across the puddle this time), and it only reinforced my liking for strange plotless fiction.  Not a small wonder, considering my love for French novels.  How many times have people said that both French fiction and film are plotless and depressing?  Sounds a lot like Woolf, eh?


Let me just say that I don't find Woolf depressing, and I don't find French books all that depressing either.  They tend towards thought processes and life and the ways in which it unendingly disappoints.  What I love about To the Lighthouse is exactly what I love about Marguerite Duras' Moderato Cantabile, which is also a rather intriguing labyrinth: To the Lighthouse and Moderato Cantabile center around those parts of life that often go unspoken.  

I guess, for me, I will always have a penchant for the thinking man's literature.  As my dissertation adviser and friend (hi Kline!) says when talking about the difference between American and French cinemas: If Americans had a motto, it would be, just do it; if the French had a motto it would be, just think about it.  I think that applies beyond cinema and into deep cultural differences as well... I like to think, to ponder, to wonder... I'm not a Nike, I'm a Mont Blanc.