"A Tiny Infusion Of Hope, Of Love And Care; A Reminder That There's Something On The Other Side Of This, A Whole World On The Other Side."

I generally don't choose to read fantasy novels. It's just not my jam. I have the utmost respect for fantasy and sci-fi writer, though. I am always amazed at the ability to create completely different worlds and creatures and everything that doesn't exist in our world. To pluck these things from pure imagination rather than adapting people as they are to a relatable story. I just do not have that bone of creativity in me and I have nothing but respect for those writers who do. 

But A Deadly Education was kind of an impulse pick at the bookstore. And as I started reading it, I didn't think I would enjoy it. There will of course be the obvious comparisons to Harry Potter, as the story is about a school for witches and wizards. But that's where the similarities end. While Harry Potter always had a bit of romanticism and whimsy to it (as far as the magically elements), this book is dark through and through. Every waking moment of the lives of the witches and wizards is consumed with not being murdered by evil magical creatures. They lurk in every corner of the world, every facet of the school (even in the lunch food), and every choice made in every moment of every day is about minimizing risk of encountering and being killed by some deadly creature. So yeah, a little more intense. 

And this central feature of the book gives it a constant intensity. I felt like I had anxiety while reading it because there was never a down moment. Not one single moment of relaxation. Which, man, what a terrible way to have to live. Of course the story also has the same trappings of kids in high school - cliques of popular and wealthy kids, nerds, crushes. But it didn't feel cliche or adolescent. The main character, Galadriel, an incredibly powerful dark witch, has to navigate her way through her days, managing classes, hiding her dark powers, and trying to sort out why the heroic boy in her class insists on continually saving her from monsters and trying to be her friend. 

I am surprised I enjoyed this book as much as I did. The world created was so unique and interesting and detailed enough to be so very believable. I enjoyed it so much that I actually bought the next book in the series because I wanted to find out what happens next...very uncharacteristic of me. I'll have to get to it soon, so I can make sure I remember all of the craziness that was contained in the first book. If you're looking for an interesting fantasy book, I'd give this one a recommendation. 

Next up, back to the lists with Angle of Repose by Wallace Stegner. I can't tell you how many times I've thought that this was "Angel" instead of "Angle." It sounds like a sweeping novel about settling the west. Which is different than anything else I've picked up in a while, so I'm here for it.  

"All Idealisation Makes Life Poorer. To Beautify It Is To Take Away Its Character Of Complexity - It Is To Destroy It."

Confession: I have been way behind the eight ball this year as far as writing blog posts after finishing reading books. I've been trucking along reading at a fine clip, outpacing last year, but for some reason I have a block when it comes to finding the time to sit down and summarize the book and how I felt about it. As a result, I'm writing posts a couple months after I finish the book as opposed to right after I finish reading it and it's fresh in my mind. So most of the initial reaction, emotion, and even recollection is long gone by the time I get to writing it. 

This is exactly where I am right now with The Secret Agent by Joseph Conrad. I finished it towards the end of June, and now it's slightly more than two months later. And while I can certainly remember the entire storyline, anything else I have to say about it is just meh. A secret agent in England who has infiltrated those believed to be acting, and potentially dangerous, anarchists (who are really all talk). Who is encouraged by his boss to do something destructive to be able to capture others. He arranges to have a bomb set off at the Greenwich Observatory that inadvertently kills his mentally challenged brother-in-law. Fallout with his wife from there.

And somehow that's really all I feel like I have to say about it. I didn't have much strong feeling about any of the characters. Or the writing. Or much else. It felt like a perfectly fine book. And maybe that was the point. That Verloc, the secret agent, was just mediocre at best. He spent his life as a middle of the road agent just doing his job which didn't yield much high-profile intelligence. And everything else about his life is mediocre as well - his family, his home, his interactions with others. If there was a book that made being a spy seem super duper boring, this is definitely the one. And again. Maybe that was the point. 

Coming up next, a short break from the list to read A Deadly Education by Naomi Novik. I randomly picked this book up at the bookstore with little to no idea what it is about. It seems like it's going to be very much outside my normal wheelhouse, but we shall see. 

188 to go.  

"I Was Lighter Because I Had Unburdened My Shoulders, And Heavier Because I Knew The Dreams Would Fall."

Sometimes (not always), I enjoy reading books that I don't entirely understand. Or that I somehow think aren't meant for me to fully grasp (I think I said something similar when I was discussing how I felt after reading Owls Do Cry). Normally I would say that I don't enjoy that because I walk away from my time spent laboring over a book only to not have "gotten it." But Tracks is one that felt mysterious and unexplainable in a good way. 

The novel is about a group of Native American families (either by blood or by bond) struggling to survive in North Dakota in 1914 as, inch by inch and plot by plot, they are being forced out of their lands and starving along the way. The unique characters all possess so much mystical foundation, rooted in their indigenous beliefs. But the way it is written, is so matter of fact, and accepted as true. Like, of course everyone knows about that demon that lives in the lake and who is tamed by one woman, Fleur. And the negative forces that Pauline embodies and shares with others. There are so many facets of the story that are bound up in Native American lore and belief that makes it one of the most unique novels I've read. There were passages I would read out loud because they felt so natural but not like anything that I could have comprehended. 

And I liked the fact that there were two different narrators to the book - Nanapush, the elder of the tribe (but a bit of a scoundrel) and Pauline, a young woman of mixed heritage who wants to be white-passing and joins a convent. Their tone, perspective, and access to the main events of the story were so different, that it gave you a fuller picture of the events from most sides.

I genuinely didn't want this book to be over when I finished it. And I will definitely be putting other novels by Louise Erdrich on my To Read list. It sounds like there are other books about the families in this one (this one giving backstory to some characters, even though it is the third in the series). 

Next up is The Secret Agent by Joseph Conrad. 189 to go. 

"All I Do Is Complain, The Repugnance Seems Bottomless, And I'm Beginning To Wonder if Maybe Enough Isn't Enough"

If only the author hadn't taken his own character's advice. Because enough was enough very early on in this book.  

I loathed Portnoy's Complaint. Like, a lot. I had a hard time even finishing it because all it was, was a very self-aware man who loathes everything and knows that this comes from his overbearing Jewish mother and the sexual repression from his family and childhood (to which he becomes the exact opposite, the sluttiest man-whore you could craft). And it's really just constant complaining, about everything (so the title is very apt). And how every single thought, decision, motivation in his life is completely geared towards jerking off or fucking women. But in every instance, he is never satisfied and continues to complain about it. Even when he finds the kinkiest, craziest, best lay he could ever dream of, even she isn't enough. And he sabotages everything and treats her like shit. That's fine that he doesn't want to marry her because he doesn't want to repeat the way he was raised, and yes, she is a little crazy herself, but he has so much contempt for this woman who is clearly the closest thing he'll ever get to being satisfied. And maybe that's the point. 

And all of the descriptions of the book describe it as being this hilarious novel. There were some bits here and there where I didn't mind his sarcasm and I can appreciate how this "humor" was intended to make the character relatable and funny, in spite of his neuroses. But I just didn't identify with the humor. Maybe when this novel came out in the 1960s it felt revolutionary for it's (male) approach to sexuality, but I personally don't think it aged well. And if any man tells you this is his favorite book, run. 

So yeah, definitely wouldn't recommend this unless you want to spend 274 pages being infuriated. 

Next up is Tracks by Louise Erdrich. 190 books to go.  

"She Knows Full Well What It's Like To Tamp Down Your Natural Inclinations, To Force A Smile When You Feel Numb. After A While You Don't Know What Your Own Needs Are Anymore. You're Grateful For The Slightest Hint Of Kindness, And Then, As You Get Older, Suspicious."

It continues to amaze me that there are any number of things that happened in this country's history that I have never learned about. Or more accurately, that aren't taught in schools. And Orphan Train is a perfect example. Did you know that between 1854 and 1929, thousands of abandoned children were shuttled from the east coast to the midwest and west to be "adopted" by families? And the word "adopted" is clearly intentionally in quotes, because often farmers and struggling families would take on these children to function as hired hands and servants rather than adopted as a child they would take in and love (of course the babies would be the most desirable for couples who wanted a child...not so different from today, huh?). 

This novel tells the story of one Irish immigrant, Vivian, whose parents and siblings die in a fire in New York. At 9 years old, without a single person in the world (or at least in America) who had any interest in caring for her, she is shuttled off to the Children's Aid Society, who will transport and help place all of these orphans in homes out west. With no idea what her future holds, Vivian goes through multiple homes, being abused, used for labor, starved, and finally to a quiet, household with two "parents" who accept Vivan and teach her how to run their store. Told in parallel in modern day, is the story of Molly who herself has been bounced between many foster homes, mistreated, and bitter. As part of her court-ordered community service, she begins helping 91-year old Vivian as she cleans out her attic (although not much is discarded), reliving and retelling her childhood. And the two find they have a lot more in common with their lived experiences than Molly would have initially thought.  

This book so well captures the sense of loss, helplessness, abandonment, and fear that so many orphans face. I mean the quote used as the title of this post breaks my heart. Literally having no one in the entire world. As a child. To want to accept any kind of kindness only find heartbreak over and over again. And not understanding what you did wrong to suffer the way you do. There is a gut-wrench to this novel that, even now, makes me want to cry. I certainly enjoyed this novel and as I mentioned, it's a shame that events like this that marked eras of American history aren't more widely known. 

Back to the lists. Up next, Portnoy's Complaint by Philip Roth.  

"You Stop Grieving For The Past. You See That The Past Is Something In Your Mind Alone, That It Doesn't Exist In Real Life. You Trample On The Past, You Crush It. In The Beginning It Is Like Trampling On A Garden. In The End You Are Just Walking On Ground."

I really loved the quote in A Bend in the River that is the title of the post. It gave me pause and made me think. And it felt very accurate. Don't we all have our own version of "the past" in our heads? Things that are so crystal clear for us, that define who we are, that someone else may not remember at all. But do we assume that everyone remembers everything the way we do? And do we assume that everyone knows how those past moments have brought us to who and where we are? But I would guess that almost no one know that about us. That those are the most intimately familiar pieces of our identity that no one else understands. And we can try to share these experiences and express the impact, but no one will ever understand it in the same way. And while sometimes it feels sacrilegious to move on without treasuring our past, eventually it will all fade into the background with the exception of a highlight reel. 

I don't think that this was necessarily one of the key elements of the book, but it did strike me. A Bend in the River tells the story of Salim, a Muslim originally from a country on the east coast of Africa, with Indian roots. Following unrest in his hometown, he moves to an unnamed country on the interior of Africa, at a village at the bend of a river, to be a shopkeeper. The story relates his adjustments living here and the political turmoil that finds its way to the small village. It also describes the modernity that also finds its way to the small village (fast food restaurant! A university!) and the impact, both good and bad, that it has on Salim and his "friends" (although he never really acknowledges anyone as a friend...those he associates with are either fellow merchants, a woman he is having an affair with, a man who used to be his family's servant, and other expats like himself). He seems to keep his acceptance of this place as his home at arm's length, but the passage of time says otherwise. 

I'll admit I had a hard time getting into the book and overall, thought it was just ok. I know that this is often considered one of V.S. Naipaul's best works, and I don't disagree that it was well written and interesting, but maybe just not for me. 

Next up, a pause in the book lists to read a recommendation from my sister, Orphan Train by Christina Baker Kline. 

191 to go. 

"And What Does It Mean, To Die? Perhaps Man Has A Hundred Senses, And When He Dies Only The Five Senses That We Know Perish With Him And The Other Ninety-Five Remain Alive."

A good friend of mine who is a professor of set design for a theatre department of a local university, and her partner, a Yale-drama educated technical director recently told me that while plays are fine to read, they really are intended to be witnessed on the stage. Which put me in a bit of a quandary, because on one of my lists, I have 9 (now 8) plays remaining to be read. On the one hand, it would delight me to be able to just see the play in person and check it off my list, having committed only a couple hours to its consumption. But on the other hand, it wouldn't feel like I was completing the task of my reading lists by not actually reading the material listed. I'm still at a crossroads of how to handle this, but for the time being, I have not crossed off Macbeth after having watched the recent Cohen Brothers adaptation of the play as a film. But I've also de-prioritized Macbeth for the time being as well knowing that it's gonna be a drudge of difficulty to get through. 

This was not the case, however, with The Cherry Orchard by Anton Chekhov. 4 acts, less than 50 pages. No drudgery to be seen. The story takes place in the late 1800s/early 1900s in Russia where there is a palpable shift from wealthy aristocracy to the rise of the lower classes. Madame Ravensky no longer has the financial means, having squandered it away, to retain her family home and cherry orchard, so it is auctioned off. The family, neighbors, and servants, of all differing opinions on this circumstance, share in this moment. 

I would be curious (and will keep an eye out) to see if this play is performed very often. I think there are a couple other Chekov plays that would be a preferred option to do, but I wouldn't hate to see this live. Did it leave an indelible impression on me. Not really? Will I be able to remember any of the characters very long Russian names? Definitely not. But did I enjoy it? Yes. 

Up next, A Bend in the River by V.S. Naipaul. Naipaul won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 2001. A Bend in the River was one of his later novels, so I'm intrigued to have another novel set in Africa on the docket (I've had 3 in the past year or so between The Heart of the Matter, Out of Africa, and Things Fall Apart).