"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). 

" 'Nothing But Vast Wisdom and Onlimited Power Should Dare To Sweep Off Men In Multitudes,' He Added; 'For It Is Only The One That Can Know The Necessity Of The Judgment; And What Is There Short Of The Other, That Can Replace The Creatures Of The Lord?' "

The Last of the Mohicans was far more engaging than I expected it to be. Given that it was written in the 1820s, I fully expected the language to be difficult to get through. And yes, it was a bit dense, but not antiquated (which is always where I struggle with older books). But it was an exciting, frontier, beginning of the United States, adventure story. So it was a pleasant read. 

However, it isn't easy to read books like this through a different lens of history. With so much overt racism against Native Americans. And so much colonist-as-rightful-conqueror mindset. And the continuous description of Native Americans as savages, even though white settlers proved themselves to be the more vicious and destructive of the races. 

But taking it with a grain of salt, it was a perfectly fine novel. The storyline was engaging, heroes and villains, damsels in distress, daring rescue attempts. I did enjoy it. 

Confession: I've been lagging behind in writing up my blog post summaries immediately after I finish the book. So it has been a few months since I actually finished The Last of the Mohicans, and clearly, the quality and detail of my post about it suffers as a result. But I'm attempting to get caught up and hopefully the rest won't be as woefully inadequate. Here's hoping. 

"Each Morning Comes Along And You Assume It Will Be Similar Enough To The Previous One - That You Will Be Safe, That Your Family Will Be Alive, That You Will Be Together, That Life Will Remain Mostly As It Was. Then A Moment Arrives And Everything Changes."

It's not that often that a book really really blows my mind, but Cloud Cuckoo Land knocked my socks off. It's the kind of book that I will re-read. The kind of book that I will miss the experience of reading for the first time through. The kind of book that makes me crave excellent writing and so outside-the-box storylines. The kind of book where stories are woven together in such a remarkable way. I crave more books like this. 

The book tells three different stories set in three different time periods: Anna and Omeir in 1453 during the siege and eventually capture of Constantinople by the Ottoman Empire (Anna, a poor orphan who embroiders vestments for priests with her sister but dreams of flying and learns to read, a big no-no for women; Omeir, a boy with a cleft lip, believed to be a demon by small-minded peasants, and lives in the country with his family and his two remarkably strong oxen), Zeno and Seymour in current day Idaho (Zeno, a Korean war vet and librarian who has translated an important ancient Greek text; Seymour, a boy/teenager on the spectrum with a sensory disorder who finds peace in the woods near his home and the rare owl he sees only to have it all taken away by developers), and Konstance in an undefined date in the future (living on a spaceship called the Argos after the climate destruction of earth, bound for a new, Earth-similar planet). So even just those descriptions have you saying "WTF," right?? 

The stories are woven together so beautifully, in particular, based on the Greek story of Aethon, a donkey who wants to rise above his station in life, written by Antonius Diogenes. Anna is saving the already degraded scrolls of the story before the city is destroyed, the story comes to Zeno after hundreds of years for translation, and the story becomes important to Konstance, having been told the story by her father, but finding out that his knowledge/history with the story unlocks some critical information for her. 

And it's not just how this story links the three timelines together, but what the story is about and how it reflects the desires of all of the characters - just like Aethon the donkey, wanting to fly above the world to somewhere different than they are, but maybe discovering that where they are isn't all that terrible in the end. 

I feel like I'm not even remotely giving this novel justice. It was all parts beautiful, suspenseful, heart-breaking, and with at least one surprise that I was NOT prepared for. You will not regret reading this book - I'm going to become that person who shoves this book down everyone's throat because I loved it that much and I want them to love it too. 

Next up, back to the lists with The Last of the Mohicans. Never seen the movie and don't really have a good sense what it is about other than Native Americans.

By the way, have I mentioned that you should go out and read Cloud Cuckoo Land? Because you should. I'll probably mention it again. And again.  

"And Each Time They Made Their Way And The World Had Dropped Them For A While To A Peaceful Hiding Place, It Would Again Seize Them With A Burning One Of Its Million Hands, And The Struggle Would Begin Again and Again And Go On And On And Never Finish."

Ok, so I ready Owls Do Cry all the way through. Beginning to end. And I was engaged. And it was a great book. But I felt like it was one that I didn't quite understand. One that would have benefitted from discussing with someone else while I was reading it or discussing during a literature class or something. Because the language and descriptions felt so veiled and complex. Like it was a secret way of communicating that I wasn't a part of (like poetry that I don't get). And I'm not referring to just the section of the book that was told from the perspective of Daphne who was institutionalized, presumably with schizophrenia or some other form of mental disorder. That section was particularly difficult for me, but I still fully understand the intent and the disjointedness of the state of mind related to the disjointedness of the writing. 

Owls Do Cry tells the story of the Withers family and their 4 children, Francie, Toby, Chicks, and Daphne who grew up poor in a small town in New Zealand in the 19402. The children spend their free time in the town dump where other peoples' discards are their treasures. There is so much heart to the coming-of-age parts of the early section of the novel, and how the kids navigate growing independence, needing to support their family, and their place in the community. In a freak accident at the dump, Francie tumbles into the garbage fire and loses her life. The second portion of the book takes place 20 years later as the remaining 3 children have tried to exist after this devastating experience as well as the difficulties of their upbringing. Daphne in particular is institutionalized for mental illness and again, while this section was difficult for me to understand all of the intended nuances, there were some wonderful nuggets of insight about the circumstances she found herself in. 

Would I say it's one of my favorite books I've ever read? Probably not. But I acknowledge and respect the way in which it was told. Each child's voice and perspective are all very individual and all have such different reactions and paths to the challenges they experienced when they were younger, it's hard not to read it and feel some kind of way.

Next up, I'm taking a pause in the lists to read Cloud Cuckoo Land by Anthony Doerr. I haven't read All the Light We Cannot See, but I'll probably have to add that to my (continually expanding) list. I got sucked into the 50% off hardcover sale at Barnes and Nobel just after Christmas and went a little crazy with some gift cards. Looking forward to this one. 

194 to go.   

"No One But Yourself Bothers To Make A Collection Of Disasters. For The Time Being You Are The Hero Or The Villain Of The Thing That Is Uppermost In The Minds Of Your Friends And Acquaintances."

When I was only a short way through Appointment in Samarra, I was quite puzzled about why this book hasn't risen to the level of literary hype as The Great Gatsby. It has many of the same elements and has a very similar feel to the book. And while I haven't read The Great Gatsby in a long time, I felt myself already gravitating to this book more. Steeped in the wealthy, young adults of the 1920s, fueled with odious amounts of bootlegged liquor, there was almost a dark, cynical side to the characters motives and actions. But it all felt like a less romanticized version of elites in the 1920s and had a more modern feel (especially with regards to the portrayal of the women...they were much more interested in sex and this was written about so frankly, it felt pretty surprising. And I wonder if it was a bit shocking for the time).

Appointment in Samarra tells the story of Julian English and his wife Caroline, who attend an elite social event at their club just before Christmas in the small town of Gibbsville, Pennsylvania. And in a somewhat irrational moment of annoyance and ennui, Julian throws a drink in the face of a fellow club-member, Harry Reid. From there, he spends the remainder of the book attempting to make amends to Harry, his wife, his family, and their friends, and when it is not well-received, Julian doubles-down on his bad behavior, bringing about his own self-destruction.

It has all of the elements of a lush novel detailing the lives of the wealthy socialites of this time period: descriptions of particular social norms around party hostessing and marrying well, SO much talk about new automobiles (I mean, part of this is because Julian owns a car dealership, but so much space devoted to every detail about cars), gangsters, liquor, etc. It grounded the setting of the book and made it very visual and distinct. And made Julian's actions, particularly in the end, feel much more reasonable - all of the social climbing, and money, and infidelity very much drove his (and all of the characters') behavior. I was surprised at how much I enjoyed this book, and even now thinking about it a bit later, it feels like the kind of book I would very much want to pick up and read again. 

Up next, Owls Do Cry by Janet Frame. I have zero idea what this book is about which makes it an interesting surprise! 

195 to go.    

"God Was Everywhere, Terrible, The Living God; And So High, The Song Said, You Couldn't Get Over Him; So Low You Couldn't Get Under Him; So Wide You Couldn't Get Around Him; But Must Come In At The Door."

We watched I Am Not Your Negro on Netflix not that long ago, which is a documentary/essay of sorts based on an unfinished book by James Baldwin about race relations. I enjoyed it very much and remember looking forward to reading Go Tell It on the Mountain, which is included on two of my reading lists, to see how Baldwin's visual words that I had seen spoken would translate to the written word. And within the first few pages it was evident that Baldwin had a remarkable way of communicating large concepts in a lovely, interesting, and dynamic way. 

Go Tell It on the Mountain is based on Baldwin's youth growing up in Harlem with his stepfather who was a preacher and abusive to his wife and children. The character in the novel, John Grimes, turns 14 years old and attends a evening prayer service at his stepfather's parish where he experiences salvation, traveling to the depths of his own sin to climb up the mountain, determined to live thenceforth for Jesus. A large majority of the book is spent recounting the histories of his stepfather, mother, and aunt and how their journeys led them to where and who they are and, pervasive throughout every moment, is their relationship with God and their faith. 

It was surprising to me how much of the book was about the virtues of God and religion. In fact, there isn't that much activity/action that occurs throughout the course of the novel. The vast majority of it details the sermons, the struggle, the salvation, the way life should be led in the path of God. And it wasn't in an ironic way. It didn't seem to be critical of it. But the character of John struggles so mightily with trying to live with faith but that is in conflict with his own intelligence and trying to fight against the pervasiveness of sin that is in every single fragment of the world. And John struggles with despising his stepfather for his physical abuse on the one hand, and trying to love God (and his stepfather) on the other hand. I guess I found it surprising that John eventually is "saved" and moves forward choosing to follow in the path of his stepfather and mother, and embrace Jesus, knowing that Baldwin was ultimately not a religious person. So it's interesting to me that Baldwin wrote the book later in life and didn't eschew religion, but had his character of John embrace it. That the book wasn't written through the lens of someone who no longer embraced the faith that the character so strongly ascribes to.

Next up is Appointment in Samarra by John O'Hara. In reading the first couple chapters already, it already feels like it's going to feel a lot like The Great Gatsby but with a bit of a more sardonic feel. 

2021 ended up being quite a banner year for me for reading. I don't know what crawled up my ass and had me reading as much as I did, but I read more books this year than I can ever remember (a total of 20 books). I think part of it was joining Goodreads, which provides me with a great amount of satisfaction to see and track the accomplishment of finishing books. But mostly I just found a lot of joy this year from reading good stories. And not all of them were always great. But I read enough really great ones to make me want to continue to seek out things that move me. So on to 2022 where I'm sure I'll continue on this trend. Because I have a giant stack of "to read" books on my bookshelf and a lot of motivation to keep enjoying excellent stories. 

196 to go.