"A Book Must Be the Ax For the Frozen Sea Within Us"

Quick demonstration of what an immense book dork I really am:

I was in Las Vegas a couple weeks ago to run a 1/2 marathon (in addition to some other debauchery...) and on the last day I was there I had some time in the morning to kill while waiting for friends who were staying at a different hotel to wake up and recover from the night prior before meeting up with them. So I spent my time walking to The Venetian and in and around The Grand Canal Shoppes, when I came across the Bauman Rare Book store.

How is it that I find the dorkiest possible thing to do in Vegas? Looking at old books? But I did. For a sizable amount of time. I had never really given much thought to original print versions of books...it didn't really seem all that interesting to me, but to actually see them blew me away.

The only theatrical work Cervantes ever published in his lifetime which was ~400 years old? Jack London's very first printing, first edition of Call of the Wild, inscribed for his mom? An actual signed copy of The Catcher in the Rye (from what I understand, Salinger did not do this very often)? I couldn't even believe what I was seeing. And it's not like you're just looking at pictures of these on the internet. The books are right there in front of you (although certainly behind glass), each with their own story to tell of how they passed through hands over many, many years. I was completely transfixed and fascinated with each and every one, to look at the little creases at the edges of the book jackets and how the tinge of the covers had changed over time. So many of the books I had read (even an original version of The Age of Innocence) that I got so giddy excited to see. 

So if you ever find yourself in Vegas with time to kill and you're as much of a dork as I am, I would highly recommend strolling over to check this store out. You won't regret it. And if you're not interested, hey, I hear they might have some other stuff you can do in Vegas too.    

"You See Monsieur, It's Worth Everything, Isn't It, To Keep One's Intellectual Liberty, Not to Enslave One's Powers Of Appreciation, One's Critical Independence?"

We finally watched the film version of The Age of Innocence last night. It took me a while to get my hands on it, largely because I am an On Demand whore, and if the movie is not immediately available at my fingertips, I get ornery and a bit of anxiety. And I don't have Netflix, so the mister had to get it for us to watch.

And let me just say, this was an absolutely gorgeous and very faithful retelling of the book. Go figure that it was Scorcese. One of the biggest things that Edith Wharton did magnificently well in the book was the translation of the things that were valued by those in the wealthy echelon that the story centers around - particularly home interiors, furniture, food, and clothing. And all of these things were so opulently displayed in the movie - while watching it I was hoping that the costume and set designers received Academy Awards for their work, (only 1 of these turned out to be true). It's one thing to imagine in your mind that kind of extravagance and that kind of detail while you're reading a book, and another thing entirely to see it translated in even more detail that your imagination could have summoned. So that visual part of the film was done to perfection.

And the acting and translation of the story was very faithful too. The love affair between Newland and Madame Olenska is much more overt in the movie (it felt a little more reserved in the book), and the book certainly captured Newland's frustration with having to be tied to societal norms (while also revering them) more than the movie, but I think the gist of it was there. There were times while watching the movie that I think, if you hadn't read the book, you would have been thoroughly confused (characters and events that were squished into the movie without the sufficient explanation), but overall, it was a very fair representation.

So overall, I really really liked it. It's the kind of movie that I wish I was able to watch on a regular basis. Like if it was on tv and I happened across it, chances are I would stay there and watch the entire thing until it was done.

I'm plugging away on Rebecca (100+ pages down) and am already looking forward to watching the movie. Hitchcock here I come.

Happy Sunday!

"I Consider In My Own Mind Whether Thou Art A Spirit, Sometimes, Or Sometimes An Evil Imp"

So finally Kim is done. And general verdict? Meehhhh, it was ok. It wasn't that riveting for me, which is why it took me so long to get through it.

Background on the book: the character of Kim is a white young boy who is the son to a British soldier but whose parents have died, leaving him orphaned in India. At the beginning of the story, he meets a holy lama searching for a river that will give him enlightenment. Kim agrees to travel with the lama and be his chela (a sort of a disciple who travels with him and begs for him). But Kim isn't necessarily a good, virtuous disciple of a holy man. He uses the knowledge he acquires from others and manipulates situations to his gain. He is discovered to be a white boy and is sent to a high class school, and eventually divides his time between spying for the government and continuing to serve as the lama's disciple.  

Honestly, the main reason I didn't love the book was because the character of Kim was kind of a little punk. I had a hard time really liking him or rooting for him. It was such a strange dichotomy to have this kid be so devout to the very holy, venerable lama, but then to do other less-than-respectable things at the same time. Don't get me wrong, Kipling did a wonderful job at pairing these 2 things in 1 character, and by the end of the book you definitely saw growth and transition of Kim, but I just didn't really connect with him. The one thing that I did love about the book though was the descriptions of India. There was so much detail that felt really authentic and true. I did however, have to look up the locations of the named cities in the book constantly - having a map nearby was helpful!

So from one single female titled book to another, on I move to Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier. Hopefully this one will be a little more engaging! 246 books more to go!

"Men Are Only as Good as Their Technological Development Allows Them to Be"

So I've been horribly delinquent on reading Kim. And on writing blogs. There are multiple reasons for this:

1. My computer is currently in the hands of the Geek Squad. And I will refrain from calling them names or insinuating that their prices are an absolute racket until my computer and all of its contents (including all of my documentation of the book lists!) are safely returned to me in 100% functioning order (I heart you Geek Squad!! Smoochies!).
2. I have just recently climbed out of my post-vacation depression which consisted of :
• Despising doing anything that wasn't being on vacation,
• Coming home from work and mindlessly watching whatever reality show marathon would make me not think of the fact that that I was no longer on vacation, and
• Pondering ways to make more money to allow me to always be on vacation (this was usually done concurrently with the 2 above bullets).

So the post-vacation depression rendered my completely uninterested in Kim. Plus, in reading the first 5 pages, it's going to be a very language heavy book; the kind that you can find yourself having read an entire page, but have no idea what you just read because the language is so rich and intricate. So if it's that kind of book, I'm going to have to read it with attention and dedication. So generally not while the television is on in the background while I half watch what the chefs on Chopped are trying to cook up with navy beans, gummy worms, sardines, and Triscuits.

But I'm feeling more motivated. So I'm on it. I swear. By the end of the month. Fo' reals. Progress: still 247 books to go.

"We Build Our Identities From That Detritus of Regret. Every Relationship Worth Keeping Sustains, at the Very Least, Splintered Glazes, Hairline Fractures, Cracks. And Aren't These Flaws the Prerequisites of Intimacy?"

There is nothing I would rather do on vacation than wake up, have a cup of coffee, preferably outside with a cool early morning sun, and read a book for hours. And fortunately for me, that's exactly what I did for the last week. During that time, I flew through a casual, non-list book that I've had on my bookshelf for a while, Broken for You, by Stephanie Kallos.

The story is about an elderly recluse with an extensive antique porcelain collection who finds out she has a brain tumor and decides to take in boarders in her Seattle mansion. One of these boarders, Wanda, is a stage manager from New York on a mission to find her ex-boyfriend who she believes is in the city (kind of in a manic, stalking kinda way). The story initially seemed a bit slow and straightforward, but then morphed into a much more compelling story about how the antiques were obtained (stolen from Jews during WWII), and Wanda's painful transformation into a mosaic artist, using the shattered antiques as her tesserae (the 50 cent word I learned while reading this book) and also tells the stories of many of the unique boarders and their attempts of connect with something and assemble the pieces of their own lives (mosaic pun fully intended).

Overall, I liked the book. It was a pleasant, quick summer read. What I liked the most, were some of the breaks in prose for some sweeping statements. Ones that made me smile. That made me dog ear the page.

"Be true to what attracts you had become her motto. Keep it near. Its voice may be far away and faint, unformed and obfuscated, but that's no reason to shutter it in darkness."

"Look then at the faces and bodies of people you love. The explicit beauty that comes not from smoothness of skin or neutrality of expression, but from the web of experience that has left its mark. Each face, each body is its own living fossilized record. A record of cats, combatants, difficult births; of accidents, cruelties, blessings. Reminders of folly, greed, indiscretion, impatience. A moment of time, of memory, preserved, internalized, and enshrined within and upon the body. You need not be told that these records are what render your beloved beautiful. If God exists, He is there, in the small, cast-off pieces, rough and random and no two alike."

Moving on, next up the docket is Kim, by Rudyard Kipling. It should be an interesting read after having read Heart of Darkness not that long ago. One with a very negative portrayal of Belgian imperialism, one favoring British imperialism (or so the introduction seems to indicate). Hopefully the lazy days of summer will allow me to continue lovely mornings of coffee and reading!

"His Whole Future Seemed Suddenly to be Unrolled Before Him; and Passing Down its Endless Emptiness He Saw the Dwindling Figure of a Man to Whom Nothing Was Ever to Happen"

Well, I've been a busy little reader, although I haven't gotten around to writing posts just yet.

I have emerged from high society of the 1870s New York by finishing the Age of Innocence. And I was utterly fascinated by the portrait that Edith Wharton painted. With lavish descriptions of the luxurious food, furniture, and clothing  of the time, you certainly get a very detailed visual picture of the wealthy, high class society that the characters exist in.

She also provides a clear idea of the almost inbred quality of who was deemed acceptable to be admitted into the small circle of society. And while many of the characters display a wide spectrum of their role in this tight-knit world (from isolating themselves from it to being the busy-body at the center of it), none of the characters, in the end, will fight it. They are all so very bound to the customs and codes that have been followed for generations. So as much as the main character, Newland, is conflicted by wanting to be free from the expectations and trappings of his upbringing and class, he concurrently defends it and is as much of a snob as the rest of the characters (although this is certainly debatable).

And in fact, many of the characters display so much hypocrisy, except perhaps Ellen Olenska. So I found it kind of difficult to really like or root for any of the characters. I certainly had hoped for a different ending, but I know that was the ending that needed to be written. And while the last chapter, set 26 years after the previous chapter, provides some indication that acceptable behavior certainly had evolved in their society, it almost seemed like a consolation prize for how I had hoped the story would end.

The main thing, though, that I could not stop thinking about throughout this book, more so than any other book I've probably ever read, was how much I wanted to watch the  movie. I made the mistake of looking up the movie before I read the book, and all I could picture the entire time was Michelle Pfeiffer, Winona Ryder, and Daniel Day Lewis (although he seemed more like a Christian Bale in my head) as the main characters. I don't really know why I'm so jonesing to see it...I think it's just to put it all together visually. Plus it was directed by Martin Scorcese (surprising right?) so it intrigues me all the more. Alas, it isn't available on my cable movies, so I'll just have to figure something else out (damn you Comcast!!).

So I dug it and would highly recommend the book. I almost kind of wish there were more than just 2 other books by Edith Wharton on my lists (Ethan Frome and House of Mirth). She is certainly an author whose works I plan to read much more of.

247 books left to go.

And one last total random note: the phrase "keeping up with the Joneses" supposedly refers to Edith Wharton's father's family. File that away for random trivia night too!

"I Took a Deep Breath and Listened to the Old Brag of My Heart. I am, I am, I am"

I think like most people, I truly learned to love reading when I was in high school. I'm sure it was a combination of being old enough to pick up a certain novel and have it reach down into your gut and pull out something that you never even suspected was there in the first place. Or that one character who you were certain mirrored YOU, and that you were certain YOU connected to the way that no one else ever had (and I'm guessing at least half of you are thinking to yourself, "Holden Caulfield WAS me"). And I admit to being equally as much of a cliche by quoting Sylvia Plath, because when I read The Bell Jar, she knocked me right off my seat, certain that I WAS Esther Greenwood. You know, minus all those kooky psychiatric issues and and that whole suicide attempt thing. But certainly was Esther Greenwod in the regard of wanting to forge my own path and identity regardless of what society felt that should be.

So in high school when I took my first real literature class, it certainly changed my life. To read Catcher in the Rye. And One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. And 1984. And A Farewell to Arms. To discover the world contained in these books was like nothing I've ever known before. Books that told a story so moving and complex, with words that were intentional, and elaborate, and remarkable, truly changed what I thought reading could be. I was fortunate enough to have a teacher to allowed us to discover the books on our own, but to also prod us enough to really think about what was there. What could be there. What was there that we may not even be paying attention to.

And I never really forgot that. So every time I start something new, there is always a joy in knowing that what is contained between the covers in 300 pages or so is something so wonderful, or thought-provoking, or reaction-inciting, or terrifying, or exquisite. And I'm the fortunate enought to able to experience it all and create all that it could be up in my own little noggin.

So I am grateful for something as simple as a beginner's lit class in high school (thanks Mrs. ED!) for the places that it has taken me. Regardless of where that ends up being in the long run, the act of opening up a book and reading will always contain a prospect of joy and anticipation, in the dorkiest, book-nerdiest way possible.

And thus concludes my cheezy, "stay in school", "books are cool", "I heart reading" PSA for the day.

Pg 34/293 in The Age of Innocence. Not for lack of trying. Or lack of liking. Just lack of time. I have long flight this week during which I plan to do nothing but read (and maybe then have a panic attack when I get off the plane for losing 5 whole hours of work work time). 1870s NY, here I come!

BTW, did you know that Edith Wharton was the first woman to win the Pulitzer Prize for fiction for Age of Innocence? If you retain nothing from this post (or this blog for that matter), file that little tidbit of trivia away. I'm sure it'll come in good use one day at bar trivia night.