"To Allow Yourself to Play With Another Person is No Small Risk. It Means Allowing Yourself to Be Open, to Be Exposed, to Be Hurt. It is Like the Human Equivalent of the Dog Rolling on its Back - I Know You Won't Hurt Me, Even Though You Can. It is the Dog Putting its Mouth Around Your Hand and Never Biting Down. To Play Requires Trust and Love."

While I read a book, I dog-ear the bottom corner of pages when I come to a particular passage of text that I like. That moves me. That makes me smile. That makes me think. That touches me in a larger sense about us as humans and about these precious little lives we live. Then, when choosing a quote for the title of these posts, I go back through all of my dog-eared pages to find the quote that I liked the most and that feels right for the book itself. And ya'll, even just going back through the dog-eared pages from Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, I was friggin crying all over again.

The novel is about Sadie and Sam, friends who meet in a hospital when they were young - Sadie there for her cancer-stricken sister and Sam recovering from a car accident that took the life of him mom and left his foot all but destroyed. They bond over playing video games together in the waiting room. This love of video games would bind their lives together, weaving in and out over a span of decades. Sadie attending MIT and Sam attending Harvard reconnect and create what becomes a blockbuster game and found a successful company. From there, they have falling outs, come back together, experience unbearable grief (alone and together), and grow and change.  

I get all of the love for this book. I am not a gamer and I still so much appreciated the context of video games around the relationships of the main characters, Sadie and Sam (and their friend/game producer/company CEO/lover Marx). As one who would be roughly the same age as the characters in the book, I played the same games as they did when I was younger. So I "got it" enough to appreciate the descriptions and ideas around the video games that Sadie and Sam created. And I mostly loved how the video games were all about duality - many of them had two different worlds for the gamer to exist in. Or they were games in which one could create/live a different persona than their own. They could transform into someone different. And it was such a wonderful metaphor for the characters of Sadie and Sam. They struggle with their own lives (loves, physical struggles, notoriety and fame) and with each other. And oftentimes want to be someone other than themselves. But transform at the same time.

The way the relationships evolved felt so real to me. That you have those people in your life who are the constant. Who are the ones who love you and understand you more than anyone else. But who you may have times when you don't talk to because of some misunderstanding. Or because you needed to take time away to work on your own shit. And realizing that the other person is still there for you and you can reconnect as better versions of yourself. The love never goes away but it transforms into something different over time. I must admit that a couple chapters away from the end, I was in a bit of a sour place with how I felt about Sadie and Sam's characters. And I was really hoping that the end brought it around. And it did. But not in a happy-ending-wrapped-up-with-a-bow kind of way. But in a way that acknowledges that we're all flawed and we don't always make the best choices in the moment, but in the long run, they're the right choices that develop us into better versions of ourselves. I think this is what I appreciated about Sadie and Sam the most - they weren't always likeable but they were always evolving.

This is the kind of book that I'm going to be thinking about for a while. And while I'm not one to like to re-read books, I would probably put this one at the top of a list to re-read down the road. Highly recommend. 

I used Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow for the PopSugar Reading Challenge prompt of "A #BookTok recommendation." 

Next up, shifting back to the reading lists with A Clockwork Orange by Anthony Burgess. Honestly, I'm not really looking all that forward to this one, but I'll get into that when I write the post after I finish. 

"There is a Parochialism to Some Kinds of Misery - a Geographical Remoteness Like the Life Led by a Grade-Crossing Tender - a Point Where Life is Lived or Endured at the Minimum of Energy or Perception and Where Most of the World Appears to Pass Swiftly By Like Passengers on the Gorgeous Trains of the Santa Fe."

The Wapshot Chronicle is on one of my lists (Modern Library) and I chose to read it now to fulfill the PopSugar Reading Challenge prompt of "Book About a Family." And it actually ended up being a pretty damn appropriate choice to fit that category.

Because that's exactly what the book is - a chronicle of the Wapshot Family, a long-standing fixture of the town of St. Botolphs, a fishing village outside of Boston (apparently it was based on Quincy, Massachusetts and was loosely based on John Cheever's life). We get the full family tree breakdown of several generations and then land on the most recent descendants - parents Leander and Sarah, sons Coverly and Moses, and cousin Honora. While exact dates are not necessarily given in the book, given some context clues, it's fair to assume that it takes place in roughly the 1920s to 194os. Leander wants to instill in his sons the honors of tradition and to love and celebrate their roots, not just of their family but of St Botolphs. But he also wants them to go out and make something of themselves in the world, find wives, and have children. Honora is the one who controls the finances of the Wapshots and makes it knows that she will only provide for Moses and Coverly if they get married and have sons. 

What seemed to be the biggest theme of this book to me was the contrast between the old ways and the new. Not just in the characters perceptions (in particular Leander - there are portions of the book where Leander is writing his memoir in a very choppy, matter-of-fact way), but in how things are described. In particular, the family home is dated. And the home that Moses is living in after he marries the ward of one of his distant cousins, Clear Haven, is a once-opulent American castle that is crumbling, with descriptions of dust, broken tiles, plaster ceilings falling apart in certain rooms, etc. It was a nice contrast to show how prominent the family had been through their fortunes, but how even time will degrade them in stature and prominence. This was most literally demonstrated when Clear Haven burns to the ground. Or when Leander's beloved ferry boat, the Topaze, is wrecked on the shore and his wife turns his lifeblood into a gift shop. 

Overall, I enjoyed the book. I don't know if I was necessarily wowed by it. It's exactly as advertised - a chronicle. So nothing too remarkable happens, there isn't a significant plotline. Just the retelling of the lives of a family. And there's nothin' wrong with that. 

Next up, I'm taking a short break from the lists to hit up Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow by Gabrielle Zevin. I've heard so many great things about this book, I'm really looking forward to it. I've got a couple of doozies coming up from the book lists as far as length goes (David Copperfield and War and Peace), so I'll probably be mixing in some more non-list books than I normally would just so I don't go absolutely batty trying to slog through them. But more on that on another day. 

Oh, I also realized that in my master list of books remaining, I had one listed that I had already read (Tess of the d'Ubervilles). So I in fact have 175 to go.  

"I Thought, Though Everybody Hated and Despised Each Other, They Could Not Avoid Loving Me - And They Have All Turned to Enemies in a Few Hours."

Confession: I didn't know what Wuthering Heights was about before I started reading it. And I mistakenly lumped it in with Jane Eyre and Pride and Prejudice. I assumed it was likely a love story, with characters that were complicated and a love you may not always have rooted for but you came around to in the end. Friends to lovers trope, perhaps. Spoiler alert: Wuthering Heights is not that book. 

It's been a long time since I came close to DNF-ing a book that I started. One that I despised so much that I just didn't care how it turned out. But that's where I was with about 100 pages left of this book. 

I very strongly disliked this book. And I genuinely don't understand how people can say they love it or that it's their favorite. This is not a love story. There is no love in there anywhere. There is selfishness and narcissism, toxicity and vengeance. Sure, someone might say that Heathcliff and Catherine had a complicated love and their choices are what drove the tragedy of the rest of the story. But they are both awful people and I couldn't give two squats if they were together or not. Because they were petty and petulant and snobbish and vindictive. So it's hard to get on board with the main "love story" of this book when you despise everything about the main characters. 

There are no redeeming characters in this (except maybe Nelly Dean, the narrator. Or Lockwood, the temporary tenant who Nelly narrates the story to). You don't root for anyone. They're all just wretched, miserable, and awful people. Heathcliff is truly one of the most villainous characters I've ever seen in print. Shit, I'd take undead, definition-of-evil Dracula over this turd. And passing their misery on to their children in such horrible manipulative ways, and the children all succumbing and becoming wretched awful people themselves (although, in fairness, they didn't know any other way than to follow the examples of the horrible people around them and they literally had no way of extracting themselves from their circumstances). 

I do give Emily Bronte a lot of credit. The story itself was masterfully crafted and felt like a Shakespearian tragedy - you could see what was coming but the inertia of the outcome was inevitable. And she managed to evoke very strong feelings in me about these characters and this book. But just not feelings that make me like the book. So bravo to her for that. 

I'm glad this is over with. I'll not revisit. And I'll have bad things to say if anyone ever asks me about this book. 

Thanks for coming to my salty, bitter TedTalk on the craptastic-ness of Wuthering Heights. 

I'm using this book for the PopSugar Reading Challenge prompt of "A book with a love triangle." Although if I could put the word "love" in quotation marks I would. 

Next up is The Wapshot Chronicle by John Cheever. Wish me luck. 

177 books to go.        

"Our Generation Still Carry the Old Feelings. A Part of Us Refuses to Let Go. The Part That Wants to Keep Believing There's Something Unreachable Inside Each of Us. Something That's Unique and Won't Transfer."

The only thing I knew about Kazuo Ishiguro before reading Klara and the Sun was that he had written Remains of the Day. And while I haven't read that book or seen the movie, I'm familiar enough with what the story is about (my interest in Downton Abbey led me to seek out other, similar stories, even if I haven't read them yet). So imagine my surprise when expecting something along the lines of a period piece romance, I instead got a book about emotional support robots.

The book is set in an undefined future time in an undefined place (although there are a few context clues sprinkled throughout, mostly towards the end). Josie, a young girl with an unspecified illness (which we find out more about later...or do we? There are a lot of inferences the reader needs to make in this book) and her mother choose Klara, an AF (artificial friend) to keep Josie company at home while she's struggling with her sickness. Klara is excited for the possibility to serve Josie as she has been designed to do. And along the way, Klara learns and absorbs everything she possibly can about the world she encounters, in particular, she is extremely perceptive about human emotions and behaviors. Klara is convinced that she can make a deal with the Sun to restore Josie's health but we soon discover that there is much more going on behind the scenes with Josie and her family, housekeeper, and neighbor friend Rick. 

So while the book was nothing that I anticipated, I absolutely loved Klara and the Sun. And I very much realize that not everyone will feel the same. I think I was about halfway through when I was thinking, "Is anything actually going to happen in this book or what?" And then shortly after, realized that I had been missing all of the very carefully placed allusions all along. And then had to more carefully reflect on what was being said without actually being said. Even upon finishing the very last chapter, I knew I had missed something and had to do some internet sleuthing to see what it all meant. And holy moly, did I find a doozy of a theory that I do actually think is what happened. I can't stress enough how subtle and intentional the writing is - and I absolutely loved that. It's been a really long time since I've read a book that didn't spell it all out, hand it to you wrapped up in a bow. 

But at the heart of the book is the question of what it means to be human. And like the quote in the title of this post, we believe that there is a unique, undefinable "thing" that makes us, us. But what if that wasn't true? What if we could be exactly replicated down to our soul by AI or technology? And what does that say about how humans love? I am very excited to add all of Ishiguro's other works to my ever-expanding To Read list.

I'm using this book to fulfill the PopSugar Reading Challenge prompt of "A book your friend recommended." And immediately upon finishing the book last night, I texted this friend because I need to talk to someone about the ending! 

Next up, back to the reading lists I go. Picking up Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte. Amazing that I've never read this book, seen any of the adaptations, and have no idea what the story is about. So looking forward to this one! 

"She Was Like a Cork. No Matter How Rough the Sea Got, She Would Go Dancing Over the Same Waves That Sank Iron Ships and Tore Away Piers of Reinforced Concrete."

Considering that The Day of the Locust was a relatively short book, there was a whole lot going on. In particular, a lot of colorful, well-detailed characters.

Set in the 1930s, the narrator of the story is Tod, an artist who has recently moved to Hollywood to work on scenic design for the movies, and he tells about the myriad of individuals who pepper his life - Faye Greener, a bombshell aspiring actress, and her father Harry, a former vaudevillian turned door-to-door salesman; Homer Simpson (no relation), a troubled Midwesterner seeking respite in the California sunshine; Abe Kusich, the disgruntled little person with a temper; Earle the realest cowboy in California; Miguel, Earle's Mexican friend. Most of them had come to California with idealized notions of thriving in the movies and becoming a star, but instead live on the fringes of decency, wrapped up in hustles, cock fighting, booze, and prostitution. Oh, did I mention that all of these men are madly in love with Faye and Tod has landed himself in the friend zone but continually has rape fantasies about her? So yeah, there's that. 

At first I really didn't know what to make of the novel. It seemed mostly like a portrait of desperate folks who are trying to make their way through the churning machine of Hollywood, whatever that might look like. And initially, I wasn't all that interested in the characters, but as I moved through the book, I found myself quite engaged with the portraits that said so much about who they were with so few words. There were also a few moments that escalated my opinion - in particular the horrifically detailed cock fight (a literal fight between two roosters), which couldn't have been a clearer analogy for all of the men who eventually come to blows over Faye. And then the culminating scene where Tod, when walking past a movie premiere at the Kahn Persian theatre, quite literally gets swept into the riotous mayhem of the unrelenting crowd. This whole scene was written fancifully, like it was happening as a caricature of real events. But was again, a perfect analogy to describe all of the characters who were swept away in the throes of Hollywood. 

I was surprised to find that I liked the book much more than I thought I would early on. I'm still thinking about it a day later, so that has to say something about it, right? 

I am using this book to fulfill the PopSugar Reading Challenge prompt for "A book about or set in Hollywood."

Next up is a short break from the book lists to read Klara and the Sun by Kazuo Ishiguro. A friend recommended this author and book to me a while back and it has been lurking on my "To Read" list for a while. So I take the plunge. 

178 to go. 

"They Trod on the Necks of Those Thousands of Others Who, for God Knew What Reason, Were Not Made as They Were; They Prided Themselves on Their Indignation, on What They Proclaimed as Their Righteous Judgements."

If only people were willing to take the time, to take the opportunity to read books (with an open heart) that can teach them so much about how oppressed groups live and the prejudice they've experienced, I really do believe it would change the world. Reading The Well of Loneliness, I kept having that feeling. "If only everyone would read this and really SEE and FEEL the struggle, and pain, and confusion, and hurt, and anger, and rejection that gay people experience from everyone, even those who supposedly love them the most. If only people could acknowledge and understand this with an ounce of compassion for the agony they experience, certainly it would change hearts and minds." 

The Well of Loneliness was written by Radclyffe Hall in the 1928 and became one of the seminal works of lesbian literature (often listed with Rubyfruit Jungle and Oranges are Not the Only Fruit). It was banned in the UK but oddly enough, not in the US. The fact that it was written almost 100 years ago and still so much of it feels relevant and topical today is quite heartbreaking. But also gives me so much admiration for Radclyffe Hall for even taking the risk of publishing this novel, surely knowing the potential blowback. 

The novel is supposedly based on Radclyffe's life, telling the story of Stephen, a young woman born to wealthy English parents who thought they were having a boy (hence them keeping the name they had initially planned for their son). Little did they know, that Stephen was gay (or what was referred to as "an invert" back in the day). She presented as a boy, cropping her hair short and dressing in the manor of men at the time. I wouldn't necessarily go so far as to say she was trans, but more likely nonbinary or what might be considered a butch lesbian. The novel details her abundant challenges of trying to understand who she is while being faced with ridicule, trying to develop relationships with both men and women and not understanding how to navigate her way in those relationships, and being treated so terribly by people she loved. And how this lifetime of hurt molded her into a bitter, oftentimes angry person. But I've never read a book about an angry character where I said, "I 100% get it. And she absolutely deserves to have that kind of anger after everything she has been through. And everything that has been denied to her." The person she becomes felt very authentic. And beyond heartbreaking. 

If you haven't, please go read this book. Even while set back in the 1920s, it will open your eyes to how simple it is to accept people exactly as they are, because everyone is just living as they have been created. And most times, all people want are love and acceptance.

I am using this book to fulfill the PopSugar Reading Challenge prompt of "A book with a queer lead." 

Next up is The Day of the Locust by Nathanael West. 179 to go. 

"Sometimes a Few Must Be Sacrificed for the Greater Good"

I wouldn't necessarily say that historical fiction (written in current times) would be my go-to literary genre. Maybe this is because I feel a lot of it skews toward WWII and sometimes, they feel as though they blend together (I know, I know, I need to just widen my scope of what I'm looking at for historical fiction). But The Lost Girls of Paris was bequeathed to me and not necessarily what I would have chosen, so here we are, reading a WWII historical fiction novel. 

And surprisingly, I enjoyed it very much. I usually do, so I don't know what I'm griping about. The story is about a group of female secret agents operating out of England and who were deployed into France to act as operatives and radio operators, supporting the resistance. Women were only considered for these jobs because they would be able to function more effectively given that no one would suspect women to be spies (women can't do that, can they??). Also as part of the novel, a few years after the war has ended, a young woman finds a suitcase in Grand Central Station with photographs of the women (not knowing the origin of the photos or their stories) and is determined to uncover who they are. She uncovers a betrayal has occurred, but by who and why?

The twist of the betrayal was really what had me hooked into the novel. A bit of a mystery thrown in there. And given that everyone was a spy and had something to gain, it felt like it could have been anyone. The book seemed very meticulously researched which gave it a very strong feeling of authenticity. But knowing that this was based on true events gives such a level of awe to the courage of these women - to know that they had to be terrified every moment while they were doing what they were doing and yet doing it anyway is the hallmark of bravery. So while much is celebrated about the armed forces who fought to win the war, I do enjoy hearing these types of stories of all of the other everyday people who fought in different, maybe more subtle ways, but still showed remarkable levels of courage nonetheless. 

I am using The Lost Girls of Paris for the PopSugar Reading Challenge prompt of "book with 'Girl' in the title." 

Switching back to the book lists, up next is The Well of Loneliness by Radclyffe Hall. Happy reading!  

"I Feel Sad for People and the Queer Part We Play in Our Own Disasters."

It's always interesting to me that through the course of reading the books on my book lists, that I come across a book that I never in a million years would have picked up myself and it ends up being something that I am enthralled with. I would put White Noise into that camp. I'm so so glad that this novel was one that I read.

Consumerism, capitalism, misinformation, herd mentality, technology, self-centeredness, bright and shiny everything, ie, the constant white noise drowning out our ability to hear our own thoughts. And the ridiculousness of it all given that we're all just going to die anyway. A commentary on our modern culture that is centered around throw-away convenience at the expense of human connection. There is so much packed into this novel, it feels like one that would benefit from a second reading. And kind of amazing that, while written in the 1980s, it's so appropriate today (even moreso). 

The book is chock full of dark, observational humor, taking our everyday, heightening it to almost cringe-worthy levels. The Gladney family, helmed by Jack, a professor of Hitler, and his fourth wife, Babette, and their Brady Bunch-esque children from all of their many previous marriages navigate their modern world, when along comes the Airborne Toxic Event, a literal black cloud of toxins (metaphor much?) that centers over their small town and all the residents are forced to flee to avoid...to avoid what? They don't really know. The contents of the cloud are unclear and the symptoms of exposure change by the minute. Jack finds out later that his choice to put gas in the car during their evacuation may have exposed him to unsafe levels of the toxin that may or may not cause him to die in 30 years (mind you, he's in his mid 40s, so dying in 30 years would put him at the normal human lifespan anyway). This leads him to heighten his already manic obsession/fear of death. Similarly, his wife has an obsessive fear of dying (especially before her husband), so much so that she takes an investigational drug to block out this fear of death.  

The one thing that this book managed to do was to give me a pearl of wisdom that felt like an "ah ha" moment. And that very rarely happens to me. And even more rarely happens from something that I read in a fiction novel. But the most profound thing I took away from this book was the idea that life is not important and not of value without death. If we lived forever, nothing would mean anything anymore - you would have unlimited time to see and do everything, so all of those moments wouldn't achieve the level of importance that they currently do. Death is the inevitable anchor that forces us to live our lives to the fullest and to be grateful for the lives that we do have. I have found myself thinking about this a lot since finishing the book.

I really can't say enough great things about the book - highly recommend. And I'm excited to see the movie. I've heard that it stays very faithful to the novel, which if executed well, would be a remarkable feat. 

I'm using White Noise to fulfill the PopSugar Challenge prompt of a book becoming a TV series or movie in 2023 (ok so technically it was released on December 30th, 2022, but imma count it anyway). 

Next up is a quick sojourn from the lists to read The Lost Girls of Paris by Pam Jenoff. My parents were moving a couple months ago and my mom unloaded a handful of books to me, so I'm happy to dig into those too. 

180 to go.  

"Everything Human Was Imperfect and Ultimately Absurd."

I started reading Fear of Flying last summer, shortly after finishing Portnoy's Complaint. And within the first two pages, I knew that I wasn't ready for another novel of similar ilk. A restless, unhappy woman who has no problem with repeated infidelity against her husband, either real or imagined. 

Now, I have absolutely no problem with vulgar. With blunt, often shocking discussions about sex. Or even with literary stories about infidelity. But I think it was just too much of the same thing within a short time frame. Oddly enough, Portnoy was even mentioned in this book, so apparently the similarities were not just me connecting the two that I happened to read in close proximity and were the author connecting them herself. 

The novel is about Isadora Wing, who is attending a psychiatric conference in Vienna with her husband. We find out early while she's on the plane there that many of the conference attendees have either been Isadora's lover, or her shrink, or both. At the conference, Isadora meets Adrian, a free-spirited, tell-it-like-it-is shrink with a penchant for analyzing her (although in fairness, all of the shrinks do) and they commence a torrid love affair in full view of everyone, including her husband, Bennett. Per Adrian's request, she leaves her husband and they take off together to drive around Europe together for the duration of the summer. The entire time they're gone, Isadora has constant emotional turmoil about all of her past and current relationships, much of which she shares with Adrian. 

And while the above describes the actual storyline of the book, it's really so much more about relationships and the maintenance of one's identity while in them, particularly for the woman. I found the character of Isadora insufferable and I don't know if I've ever wanted to crawl through a book and smack someone as much as I wanted to smack her. She constantly wallows in self-pity, insecurity, and the banality of life yet mocked and derided all others - married women, mothers, people at the beach just enjoying themselves. Projecting her misery onto others. There was so much I really disliked about the book when it came to how it was written - it felt like just a lot of whining and bitching about things while being 100% completely self-aware that you're the problem (insert sound clip of Taylor Swift's, "It's me, hi, I'm the problem, it's me," here). 

But when it came to a lot of the observations about identity in relationships, there were some snippets that I did enjoy and putting it into context of being written in the early 1970s, it was interesting to see how much of that has changed in 50 years. Particularly about women having to be married for any kind of stability, but the author takes it even farther that women need to be in a relationship to have any kind of emotional stability as well. And that seemed to be the biggest thing that the character of Isadora was railing against. I ended up liking the book more than I thought I would when I set it aside last year but definitely not one I would recommend to others or would want to read again.

And so onto the next. Which is White Noise by Don Delillo. 

A friend of mine introduced me to the PopSugar Reading Challenge, which is a list of 50 reading prompts, to try to read one book for each prompt during 2023. I am delighted and excited to give this a shot! Although reading 50 books in one year would be about double what I did last year. But we'll see how it goes! And I must admit that just plotting it out takes quite a bit of time. So I'll be counting Fear of Flying for the prompt of "A book you meant to read in 2022."

181 to go!