The Rose Is Fairest When 'T Is Budding New, And Hope Is Brightest When It Dawns from Fears; The Rose Is Sweetest Washed With Morning Dew, And Love Is Loveliest When Embalmed In Tears.

So as I mentioned in the previous post, I fully anticipated The Lady of the Lake to be a slog to get through because narrative poems (or poetry of any kind really), is 100% not my jam. However, I enjoyed reading The Lady of the Lake far more than I ever would have expected. I would have to whisper it out loud to myself while reading to ensure that I was capturing the rhyme schemes, which I probably wouldn't have gotten if I was just reading it silently to myself. And I think that may have contributed to my additional enjoyment. 

The story is made up of 6 cantos and is about opposing Scottish clansmen preparing for a battle. Intertwined with this is the young maiden, Ellen, betrothed to/in love with Malcom, but being proposed to by James Fitz-James (one of the valiant fighters). But Ellen's father has been exiled and is an enemy of Fitz-James and she cannot accept his proposal. There are 2 different bards who accompany Ellen and the opposing clan warrior, Roderick Dhu, who spontaneously break into storytelling songs along the way. 

This book made me feel like I was reading some ancient bit of Scottish folklore (even though it was published in 1810). It's hard to explain, but it felt like this was something that every Scottish school child would have read as part of their normal education of their own history, and I felt kind of special having this unique insight (I have zero reason to believe that any of this is true, but that's just how I felt). I did have to read an overview online of each of the cantos before diving in because the language was so florid and in some ways, antiquated. But it helped significantly with general comprehension while reading. I was fully transported to the Scottish highlands, as many of the descriptions of the terrain were quite lovely and detailed. And there was a fun little twist at the end that I did not see coming. So while I was very much dreading reading this, I was surprised by it in the end. I wonder if there's some kind of saying about that....

Next up is I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou. I had actually started reading this before I finished The Lady of the Lake, which I never do (I do not like reading 2 different books at once; it's important to me to fully focus on the one that I have in my hand). However, I tried to read each of the cantos in one sitting which would take me close to an hour, and we had gone to stay with friends of ours for a weekend where I knew I wouldn't have that large of a block of time to whisper a Scottish lyrical ballad to myself. So instead I brought my next book and started just a bit. 

I am officially without a job; I have, however, accepted an offer and start mid-May. So I have 7 of my 9 work-free weeks remaining. I have a list of to-dos while I'm unemployed (super exciting things like stuff around the house, taxes, getting my windshield fixed), but it's very likely that most of my mornings will be whittled away by laying in bed reading books. Sounds kind of amazing right??

208 to go.  

"He Felt That It Would Take All Time, More Than He Could Ever Spare, To Glue These Strange Cumbersome Pictures Into The Scrap-book Of His Life. It Was All Like A Banquet Where He Sat For This Half-hour Of His Youth And Tried To Enjoy Brilliant Epicurean Courses."

 I don't really have any explanation for why it took me so long to read This Side of Paradise. It wasn't necessarily that long, but it was just the kind of book that I found myself reading in stops and spurts. When I would get into the story, I would motor through 50-100 pages, and then not pick it up again for 3 weeks. I dunno. I guess it just didn't grab me enough to make it a page-turner that I couldn't put down. 

This Side of Paradise, the title taken from a line in the poem Tiare Tahiti by Rupert Brooke, is about Amory Blaine, a young man born and raised in Wisconsin and Minnesota in the early 1900s to a slightly eccentric mother. Amory attends a private school out east and eventually Princeton for college. Amory is incredibly good-looking and very witty and charming; he is very aware of this and the novel acknowledges him to be an egoist. I think even Amory uses this word to describe himself. But Amory is continually conflicted. He's very intellectual but doesn't want to just fall into the trappings that every educated man falls into. He is close friends with Monsignor Darcy who knew his mother, and is conflicted about religion in his many talks with him. In spite of his passion for knowledge, he struggles at school. He doesn't seem to want to conform, but he also isn't a rule-breaker either. The central crux of the novel is Amory attempting to truly discover who he is. 

The book has an interlude in the middle, during which Amory goes off to fight in World War I. His experiences there are not described in the book, and the second half of the novel picks up when he returns. It certainly seems that Amory has been affected by the war, as his behavior is a little more reckless, but this isn't explicitly stated. He falls passionately in love with Rosalind, his roommate's sister, but she breaks it off with him, stating that she needs a wealthy man (most of Amory's inheritance is now gone) and knowing that they will only destroy each other and their love in the long run. This wrecks Amory and he swings into a self-destructive phase, going on a bender and quitting his job. Once he sobers up (forced upon him by prohibition), Amory wanders a little aimlessly, staying with various relatives. During this time, he meets Eleanor, a woman very much his intellectual equal. They certainly seem to be very well-matched for each other (even though Eleanor might have a little bit of a mental health issue), but Amory still abandons her and abandons all hope for love. The novel ends with Amory continuing to try find himself since he seems to have nothing of value left. 

I think the main reason that I wasn't swept away by this book was because I didn't have a lot of sympathy for the character of Amory. He always felt himself to be superior - to his classmates, to all of the women he had trysts with, to his mother. The only person that may have avoided this fate was Monsignor Darcy, but Amory even looked down on him for his abiding to organized religion. So his whole personal quest of discovery seemed so self-absorbed and narcissistic, it just annoyed the hell out of me. He had this bitter view of the world, but all of the negative impacts in his life were of his own doing, yet he never seems to take responsibility for his own actions and decisions. 

While Fitzgerald's writing is quite lovely, I just didn't grasp on to the subject matter that much. I had read somewhere that people felt this novel was a little autobiographical about Fitzgerald, and I could see that. But curious if Amory Blaine was a portrait of himself or if he wrote the character as a more cynical version of himself. 

Anywho, onward and forward. Next up, I'm taking a big departure for myself and starting The Lady of the Lake by Sir Walter Scott. Narrative poems are DEFINITELY  not my jam, so I fully anticipate being on the struggle bus with this one. But I'll have to just soldier through. 209 to go. 

On a completely unrelated side note, I discovered at the beginning of the year that I'll be let go from my job (I either move to NJ or get "severed"). I'm secretly delighting in having nothing but free time to read unabashedly before I actively start looking for another job. So brace yourself for a flurry of posts come mid-March!

"People Said Ove Saw The World In Black And White. But She Was Color. All The Color He Had."

 Many of the descriptions and accolades for A Man Called Ove include the words "charming," "quirky," and "delightful." I must admit that when I started reading the book, I didn't see a single one of these things. But like most things, you have to soldier on to get the full appreciation and just let the story unfold. 

Ove is an curmudgeonly, crotchety old man who despises most things in life, especially people who don't follow rules, people who don't know how to fix things, and things that lack systematic order and organization. He doesn't identify with much of modern life, and after the recent death of his wife and loss of his job, there doesn't seem to be much worth living for. That is until his new pregnant neighbor and her husband (and kids), force their way into his life, casually dismissing the unfriendly persona. Little by little, many of the other cast of characters living in Ove's neighborhood (including a cat) also kick open the door to being a part of his life, very much against Ove's will. But some sense of duty and obligation to do what is "right" in Ove's eyes, keeps him helping the various members of this motley crew. And maybe he ends up finding much more in his twilight years than certainly he ever asked for.

The book certainly did make me smile. And it was very heart-warming in the end. I just had to stick through the beginning. Because curmudgeonly types are characters I'm not a fan of (or even real people...not those that I 'get' in any way). So I did struggle with having any sympathy for him. But he's such a unique and complicated character that is unfolded so slowly and deliberately throughout the story through the events that occurring in the present time as well as revealing stories about his entire life (from childhood, to his marriage, to his time spent living in the current neighborhood). 

So if you want a quick, delightful read that will make you happy that there could be unique versions of community and family out there, A Man Called Ove should certainly be at the top of that list. There was also one particular passage that I just loved and I had to earmark:

" 'Loving someone is like moving into a house,' Sonja used to say. 'At first you fall in love with all the new things, amazed every morning that all this belongs to you, as if fearing that someone would suddenly come rushing in through the door to explain that a terrible mistake had been made, you weren't actually supposed to live in a wonderful place like this. Then over the years the walls become weathered, the wood splinters here and there, and you start to love that house not so much because of all its perfection, but rather for its imperfections. You get to know all the nooks and crannies. How to avoid getting the key caught in the lock when it's cold outside. Which of the floorboards flex slightly when one steps on them or exactly how to open the wardrobe doors without them creaking. These are the little secrets that make it your home.' "  

And so, back to the book lists. A couple months ago, the bf and I went to the 4-floor used book store here in Detroit and stocked up on books to survive what clearly is going to be a horrible, horrible winter. So I'm starting to dig into the pile of 8 books that we bought that day (to add onto the 8 other books that I already had waiting in the wings). Everything I bought were books from the lists, so I should be set to hunker down and escape the terrible things going on in the world. Next up is This Side of Paradise by F. Scott Fitzgerald. The only book I have read of his was The Great Gatsby and I read it back in high school (never saw the movie either). So I'm looking forward to re-acquainting myself with him and his writing, as, similar to Hemingway, I feel like I've heard/learned more about his persona over the years than his actual writing.

Happy reading. And hanging on through the end of this wretched year.  

   

"The Word 'Pity' Is Used As Loosely As The Word 'Love': The Terrible Promiscuous Passion Which So Few Experience"

Well isn't The Heart of the Matter a bit of a bleak book? One that made me incredibly frustrated with the main character, Scobie, an assistant police commissioner stationed in a west African colony during World War II. Scobie has been living in the colony for 15 years and seems to be quite jaded about the environment he's in, his job, his colleagues, and certainly his wife. Nothing much seems to move him and he repeatedly states how much pity he feels. And completing his obligations doesn't give him any joy. 

But then a series of events occur, of Scobie's own doing, that make his life and position a little more tenuous: he borrows money from a local shady merchant to send his wife to South Africa (as she hates it there in the colony and is frustrated by her husband not being promoted to commissioner); acting on a request from the man who lent him the money, Scobie illegally provides contraband to an incoming ship captain; and Scobie begins having an affair with a young woman named Helen, who arrived to the colony very ill, on a ship that nearly sank in the ocean on its way, losing her husband during the journey. Scobie realizes that his illegal doings are likely to get him in trouble, and there are spies all around (a newly arrived police agent, Wilson, the servants for all of the main characters, etc) who are more than eager to catch and report him.

I had a hard time wrapping my head around the character of Scobie, and often had a difficult time sympathizing with him, because he just seemed so detached. Even though he expresses his love for his wife and for his mistress, he feels so much pity for them, which muddles what he seems to think "love" is and made it harder for me as the reader to believe he cared much about anything. As the book goes on, we learn more about Scobie's strong beliefs in Catholicism, and his inability to reconcile his actions against the religious doctrine and God - he goes to confession but cannot follow through with righting his sins. And from that point on, he believes that he is continuing to damn himself by accepting communion while living in sin. So while Catholicism is the only thing Scobie seems to really ascribe to and believe in, in the end, he ends up turning his back on even those teachings and commits the "unforgiveable sin". It was infinitely frustrating to read a character over and over again never feel any joy or happiness from any of the choices that he made. Another book where I found myself wanting to shake a character and say "Just get your fucking shit together." 

This book certainly did transport me to a unique setting, and the descriptions of the dynamics of the society were quite interesting and compelling. And I suppose Scobie's role within that made for an interesting plot point. But overall, I had a hard time really getting into the book. I cannot take anything away from the writing, because it was quite superb and there is so much symbolism and so many thematic elements to unpack, but it just left me feeling a little meh about everything. 

But onward we go. Up next, I'm taking a momentary break to pick up a suggestion from my sister and her book club with A Man Called Ove by Fredrik Backman. While reading last night, the bf pointed out that the book had been made into a movie and he already knew quite a bit about it. It seems like a quirky read that I'll probably motor through somewhat quickly. 210 to go.  

"She Perceived Herself, The Absent Jenny, The Ever-Blamed Mary, Rose, Eunice, And Monica, All In A Frightening Little Moment, In Unified Compliance To The Destiny Of Miss Brodie, As If God Had Willed Them To Birth For That Purpose"

I wish there was a way to count the number of times that the word "prime" was used throughout The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie. I mean just looking back at one particular passage, the word is used 4 times in 1 paragraph. It is used so many times to refer to the private school teacher, as "a woman in her prime." It must be at least 100 times. Easy. And that's not all the catch phrases that are repetitive: Miss Brodie is trying to determine which of her girls will become "the crème de la crème." And we learn that each girl becomes "famous" for something, of which, that something is repeated nearly every time each girl is mentioned. At first, I was incredibly annoyed at this technique (I mean, I can retain information in my brain for a few minutes at a time so I can recall what each girl was famous for), but after a few times, I really spent a moment evaluating what purpose this served for the story. Was it just to give Miss Brodie a few clever catch phrases? That, while described as this renaissance thinker and developer of young girls' minds, maybe she was just shallow and haughty to fixate on these, and only these things? Or was it more than that. 

As with The Old Man and the Sea, while The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie may seem like a short, little tale of a teacher a School for Girls in Edinburgh, Scotland, there are some layers here. First off, the story flashes forward abruptly throughout the novel, so the reader is already aware early on in the novel that one of her girls betrays her (oh, the word "betray" is probably used many dozen times too). So we spend the novel getting to know these young girls and how they were groomed by Miss Brodie. In many ways, she is a positive influence - she encourages them to be the best versions of themselves, she encourages their free thinking, exposes them to the beauty of art, and it is mentioned that they all are exceptional students compared to the others in their classes. But her relationship with them as a teacher is quite inappropriate, even long after they have moved on to the senior school, even grooming one of the girls to become the lover of the school's art teacher (as a proxy for her own love of the art teacher). 

One of Miss Brodie's girls, Sandy, is the primary narrator (and we are allowed into her head quite often, with some very clever "cut-aways" to the ongoing, dreamy, fictional stories that Sandy is making up in her head - I was particularly impressed with this approach in the novel; these types of asides don't seem like something easy to do in writing but much more suited for a visual medium). Sandy explores so many facets about herself, Edinburgh, and Miss Brodie through the lens of religion, politics (Miss Brodie was a big ol' fan of Hitler, Mussolini, and fascism), individualism, and psychology. The book explores how the girls grow up with Miss Brodie as the force majeure in their lives, at one point mentioning that their relationship with her "had worked itself into their bones, so that they could not break away without, as it were, splitting their bones to do so." But the story questions not just how one of her girls betrayed Miss Brodie, but whether Miss Brodie betrayed her girls by her methods and almost obsessive relationship with the girls as they grew up. 

Like I said, there was so much in this book to unpack and certainly a lot of literary critique could be derived from this book. If I was actually in school for literature, this would be a novel I would ear-mark, wanting to go back to it, read it multiple times, and really explore the depths of the themes in the book. I'm not sure if everyone would necessarily like this book, but I did, surprisingly more than in the first chapter or so.

Side note: I'm often amazed that someone like Muriel Spark isn't necessarily named in the list of authors who are considered the best of their time. Like I kind of feel like she has been forgotten a bit. But she was an absolutely prolific writer, publishing over 20 novels, many books of short stories, and poetry. I mean, she was knighted as a dame, for Pete's sake. It's a shame that I don't have any other books of hers on my lists, as I would really love to explore more of what she wrote (not that I can't just choose to read more, but I have a lot on my plate ya'll!).  

So next up, I'm moving on to The Heart of the Matter by Graham Greene. And coincidentally, Graham Greene funded Muriel Spark's first novel. As with many other books I read, I don't know squat about Graham Greene or what the book is about, and I kind of prefer it that way. 211 to go.   

" 'But Man Is Not Made For Defeat,' He Said. 'A Man Can Be Destroyed But Not Defeated.' "

 When I was slightly over halfway through reading The Old Man and the Sea, I kept thinking to myself, "This?! This won the Pulitzer Prize?!" It's just an old dude getting dragged around the ocean by a fish. The language/writing isn't particularly impressive (in fact much of the early dialogue between the fisherman and the young boy is so choppy and oddly formal it didn't feel very authentic). But fortunately the book is short and I was able to breeze through the rest of it, and the remainder of the story definitely changed my opinion.

The story is that of an elderly fisherman in Cuba, Santiago, who has had terrible fortune and has not caught a fish for 84 days. A young boy from the village who used to fish with him abandoned him for better waters with other fishermen, so the man is on his own to make his own way (even though the boy still helps the old man by carrying his supplies, bringing him food, providing him with sardines for bait, etc). The man sets out one morning and travels far out to sea, hooking a giant marlin, larger than the size of his own boat. He spends 3 days being dragged out to sea by the fish waiting for his opportunity to finally kill and capture the fish. He manages to best the creature, but it does not necessarily mean success, as he still has to get the ~1500 lb fish back to land. Some obstacles follow the fisherman and his fish back to shore, leaving the man broken and devoid of emotion. 

While I was initially so annoyed with the basic nature of the book, there is definitely more there than meets the eye. It's really just a big ol' metaphor, right? About the determination and perseverance of man, about taking on tasks in which it may seem impossible to triumph (that even risk one's demise and death), and how to overcome the devastation of defeat. While I didn't necessarily identify with the man's journey and seemingly insane choices, I acknowledge his heroic struggle against something greater than himself. Throughout the book, I couldn't help but be reminded of Moby Dick, with the singular focus of Captain Ahab and this fisherman. And maybe part of my initial recoil from fully getting on board with the book was due to the elaborate descriptions of everything related to fishing that took me right back to the months and months spent reading Moby Dick...perhaps still a little repressed trauma there all these years later. 

So The Old Man and the Sea was a quick little read. I suppose enjoyable, but had it been much longer, I wouldn't have been too happy. It has been a long time since I've read Hemingway. I have only read A Farewell to Arms back in high school, so don't recall much of his writing style from such a long time ago and must say I'm curious to read more. Because while The Old Man and the Sea was certainly fine, I wasn't blown out of the water (pun intended) that I would have expected to be based on all of the hype around Hemingway. Perhaps is persona has made him as legendary (or more so?) than his actual writing. But I still have 3 other books of his, so I'll have plenty of opportunity to re-assess based on a wider sample size. Stay tuned for that. 

Up next is The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie by Muriel Spark. Another relatively short read, so I expect to get through this one in a pretty short amount of time too. Just gettin' 'er done here during pandemic quarantine time. 212 to go. 

"It Was A Hunger In The Back Of The Throat, Not The Belly, An Echoing Emptiness That Ached For The Release Of Screaming"

In these terrible, fucked up times, people use different forms of entertainment as escapism, often veering towards easy-going, light-hearted topics (see for example, the rise of musicals during the Great Depression). So my goal has been to tune out the world, shutter myself in, and read books. So maybe reading a book about child abuse was not the wisest selection as a means to that end. 

But in spite of the horrific topic of the novel, Bastard Out of Carolina was one of the most heart-wrenching, riveting, and well-written books I've read in a long time. I couldn't put it down and blew through it in a week and a half. 

Bone is a young girl growing up poor in South Carolina in the late 1950s with her mother (Anney), sister (Reese), and stepfather (Daddy Glen), as well as a large extended family on her mother's side (I lost track...3 uncles and 5 aunts I believe, and a boatload of cousins). She was born a bastard, without the name of a father on her birth certificate. Her younger sister's father dies in a car accident and then her mother marries their stepfather when she was only about 7 years old. Glen has a very obsessive love for her mother. Initially, he wants to be a good father for the 2 girls, but after her mother loses their son in childbirth and can no longer have children, his initial good intentions turn to scorn and hate, focused squarely on Bone. 

The book contains very explicit descriptions of the physical, sexual, and emotional abuse that Daddy Glen inflicts on Bone and the majority of the book details the trauma she exhibits as a result and all the ways she acts out as coping mechanisms. I took a class in college about psychology in literature (including works like Madame Bovary, The Trial, Notes From Underground, etc) and while I was reading this book, was continually thinking that this could totally be a portrait of the psychological repercussions of child abuse. Because Bone's behavior changes drastically after the abuse begins. She goes through a phase of religious fervor, she begins masturbating and having sexual fantasies that are often very violent and/or incestuous, and she continually makes up very violent, horrific stories that she shares with her cousins. All of these things are intertwined with her shame and self-loathing and she constantly has all of this repressed rage that she wants to take out on so many people who aren't necessarily the object of her fury (a friend, her stepfather's family, the owner of the local Woolworth's, etc). 

And her relationship with her mom is probably the most complicated of all. She loves her mom beyond words, and wants to do anything to not upset the balance of their family. She can't/won't tell any family members what is going on. When she's taken to the doctor for a broken collarbone, the doctor is furious at her mother after seeing many healed broken bones and injuries on Bone's x-rays, knowing that they are due to physical abuse. And even then, knowing that the doctor knows, she refuses to admit it to even him. Even though her mother loves her abusive stepfather more than her and doesn't do enough to keep her out of harm's way, all she wants is her mother's love, even if that means suffering the way she does. It's a horrible, fucked up dynamic that is enough to break your heart. But is probably the same story of so, so many children who experience the same thing.  Too young to fully understand what is happening to them or the complexities of the adult relationships, and all they want is to be loved, not hurt. 

In spite of all of this, the connections with her mom's extended family is also a huge contributor to who Bone is and who her mother is. While they are what would be considered "white trash," they are all so unconditionally there for each other. Whether it's in simple things like having each others' kids over for a night or two, to helping in more serious moments like Aunt Ruth dying of cancer, Aunt Alma having a mental breakdown, or the uncles vowing revenge on Daddy Glen when they find out he has been hurting Bone. There is nothing they won't do for each other and while they struggle with being poor, or marital troubles, or trouble with the law, their connections to each other are what ground them all and at least gives Bone some love and support to rely on. 

Dorothy Allison's writing in this book was also quite brilliant. You can tell that it is written from Bone's point of view after she has had time to process the things that happened to her, so there is more self-awareness as well as a very perceptive eye on who the adults really are as people. She sees things in peoples' eyes that tell her what kind of person they are, which helps her navigate their world. She is not naïve, but at the same time, there are often things that transpire among the adults that we as the reader understand, but that Bone as a young child does not. It's quite a remarkable way to tell the story that gives the reader a perfect view into what Bone is experiencing and also seeing so much more that is going on in the bigger picture.

So while it may not have been wise to read a novel of such heavy subject material in the middle of a pandemic and the middle of unprecedented political drama, I can't say enough about what a formidable, exceptional book this was. And somehow, I didn't finish the book feeling depleted or overwhelmingly sad (even though it didn't end on a hopeful note in any way). It just seemed like a powerful statement that reminded me of what a remarkable emotional impact books can have when done well. 

After that, I'm taking a change of pace and heading into The Old Man and the Sea by Ernest Hemingway. I haven't read Hemingway since high school, and while I'm only about 35 pages into it, I don't know if I'm all that impressed yet. But I'll reserve judgement until I get through the entire thing (which should be relatively quick since it's pretty short and not dense reading). So I'm off. 213 to go.