Happiness

I read Happiness by Will Ferguson last week. I picked it up at Powell's before a They Might Be Giants show I attended with my brother. Good times.

Happiness was a wonderful read. A story about what happens when people fianlly find a self-help book that works. A comedy for the lover of books for it's constant need to poke fun at the world of publishing. For you see our protagonist, Edwin Vincent de Valu, is a publisher in New York City and he is the one who has to deal with what it is that he has unleashed upon the world.

I have to say that what i enjoyed the most was reading about the world as it fell into a state of chaos, the most literate communities going first. Seeing again why it is that some people decide to live away from the city, so that they can stay away from it's influence.

The one aspect I didn't like was the way that Ferguson was constantly poking fun at the various generational gaps, but maybe that's just because in his work their really seemed to be no place for my generation. But I just didn't find the comedy of those areas to work as well as in the rest of the novel. I wouldn't say that this is a great work, but it was good enough for me to read in two days and it made me late for Thanksgiving dinner.

Where's Papa going with that ax?' said Fern to her mother as they were setting the table for breakfast

Coffey79: well now where are all the other posters on that there book blog?
Coffey79: why dont they write posts?
demagogue42: they're being lazy probably.
Coffey79: are they reading and not sharing? little piggies!

The Portrait of a Lady

This is the best novel I have read all year. Henry James is chiefly concerned with the characters he creates, and he prefers to allow them to live in the reader's mind rather than form for them a destiny that we would simply watch unfold. I am not entirely in agreement with this notion of what fiction should be, because I like too much the satisfaction of knowing a definitive ending to the entanglements and hardships of the characters I've grown to love. This particular work is a message to the American girl and it comes down hard on the old world ideology of Europe, and its shallow values, and for that alone I love it. I had read some Edith Wharton a couple months ago, and in the preface someone had written that she one of the most excellent American novelists, second only to Henry James, and I didn't believe it. But his language and characterization completely captured me, and now I whole-heartedly agree.

Here's my favorite section of the book:

For herself, she lingered in the soundless drawing-room long after the fire had gone out. There was not danger of her feeling the cold; she was in a fever. She heard the small hours strike, and then the great ones, but her vigil took no heed of time. Her mind, assailed by visions, was in a state of extraordinary activity, and her visions might as well come to her there, where she sat up to meet them, as on her pillow, to make a mockery of rest.

I love this character:

Then she rose and moved about the room, and from one room to another, preferring the places where the vague lamplight expired. She was restless, and even excited; at moments she trembled a little. She felt that something had happened to her of which the importance was out of proportion to its appearance; there had really been a change in her life. What it would bring with it was as yet extremely indefinite; but Isabel was in a situation which gave a value to any change. She had a desire to leave the past behind her, and, as she said to herself, to begin afresh. This desire, indeed, was not a birth of the present occasion; it was as familiar as the sound of the rain upon the window, and it had led to her beginning afresh a great many times. She closed her eyes as she sat in one of the dusky corners of the quiet parlour; but it was not with a desire to take a nap. On the contrary, it was because she felt too wide awake, and wished to check the sense of seeing too many things at once. Her imagination was by habit ridiculously active; if the door were not opened to it, it jumped out of the window. She was not accustomed, indeed, to keep it behind bolts; and, at important moments, when she would have been thankful to make use of her judgement alone, she paid the penalty of having given undue encouragement to the faculty of seeing without judging.

A sample of the dialogue between the main character and her cousin:

"I have no wish to argue with you at all. I only wish to leave you alone. I am simply greatly interested in your own sentiments."

"I am greatly obliged to you!" cried Isabel, with a laugh.

"Of course you mean that I am meddling in what doesn't concern me. But why shouldn't I speak to you of this matter without annoying you or embarrassing myself? What's the use of being your cousin, if I can't have a few privileges? What is the use of adoring you without the hope of a reward, if I can't have a few compensations? What is the use of being ill and disabled, and restricted to the mere spectatorship at the game of life, if I really can't see the show when I have paid so much for my ticket? Tell me this," Ralph went on, while Isabel listened to him with quickened attention: "What had you in mind when you refused Lord Warburton?"

"What had I in my mind?"

"What was the logic- the view of your situation- that dictated so remarkable an act?"

"I didn't wish to marry him- if that is logic."

Another one of my favorite parts:

"I had a sort of vision of your future," Ralph said, without answering this; "I amused myself with planning out a kind of destiny for you. There was to be nothing of this sort in it. You were not to come down so easily, so soon."

"To come down? What strange expressions you use! Is that your description of my marriage?"

"It expresses my idea of it. You seemed to me to be soaring far up in the blue- to be sailing in the bright light, over the heads of men. Suddenly some one tosses up a faded rosebud- a missile that should never have reached you- and down you drop to the ground. It hurts me," said Ralph, audaciously, "as if I had fallen myself!"

And the last two quoted segments are some of the hefty stones he throws at the old world:

Ralph was a clever man; but Ralph had never - to his own sense- been so clever as when he observed, in petto, that under the guise of caring only for intrinsic values, Osmond lived exclusively for the world. Far from being its master, as he pretended to be, he was its very humble servant, and the degree of its attention was his only measure of success. He lived with his eye on it, from morning till night, and the world was so stupid it never suspected the trick. Everything he did was pose- pose so deeply calculated that if one were not on the look-out one mistook it for impulse.

and another...

She was to think of him as he thought of himself- as the first gentleman in Europe. So it was that she had thought of him at first, and that indeed was the reason she had married him. But when she began to see what it implied, she drew back; there was more in the bond than she had meant to put her name to. It implied a sovereign contempt for every one but some three or four very exalted people whom he envied, and for everything in the world but half a dozen ideas of his own.

I hope you enjoy it as much as I did! :o)

Assassination Vacation

Sarah Vowell (We've all seen The Incredibles, right?) has written a gem! It is a wildly entertaining and amusing book. She travels around to historical landmarks related to the assassinations of three presidents (Lincoln, Garfield, McKinley). There are so many interesting facts in here, as it is true, that none of us really know anything about Garfield. Try to think of something besides him getting shot. You really can't. He's like a nonentity to most. The slightly morbid nature of the death and the mix of wry humor makes it a fun read. Are we all as fascinated by death as me? Probably not. But that doesn't mean you don't need to know about fragments of Lincoln's skull or pieces of brain or the Oneida Community (creepy communal love, baby :P )! Chock-full of facts and funnies.

"The egomania required to be president or a presidential assassin makes the two types brothers of sorts. Presidents and presidential assassins are like Las Vegas and Salt Lake City that way. Even though one city is all about sin and the other is all about salvation, they are identical, one-dimensional company towns built up out of the desert by the sheer will of true believers. The assassins and the presidents invite the same basic question: Just who do you think you are?" -Assassination Vacation

Mansfield Park

I recently finished Mansfield Park, by Jane Austen. I do not recommend it to anyone. The main character is supposed to be virtuous, but she ends up sounding sanctimonious and irritating all the time. I like to like the main character and have a very difficult time getting into the story if I don't at least respect the main character by the end of the first couple chapters or so. It wasn't until about 200 pages into this story that I could even care much about what happens to the characters. Pride and Prejudice may be excellent, but Mansfield Park is drudgery to get through.

Reading Lolita in Tehran by Azar Nafisi

What a beautiful book. It is the story of many things dear to my heart, and many things I do not fully understand. I was fascinated reading about such a different culture, as Azar Nafisi relates her story of teaching and living in Iran. By taking works of literature and interweaving them with her own life and those of her students, she shows the power and importance of literature and our own imagination. In a world where immorality is constantly held over people's heads and fear is a regular part of life, here is the story of courageous women with a passion for literature and for understanding. It is the story of their educations, their beliefs, and a country torn by opposing religious and political forces. I was constantly caught off guard, thinking about things in terms I had never considered before. Courage. Religion. And fiction--one of my greatest loves. This book shows fiction as a place of solace and as a conduit for learning about one's self. It is eloquently written and above all, honest.

I always feel a sort of affinity towards those whom I recognize as sharing the same love of books and reading and the freedom that comes from books. I spent many hours and days in my youth (and now, of course) with my nosed tucked in a book, sometimes stopping to smile and bask in the warm feeling you get when you know that this is a good book, an important book, something to treasure and enjoy... Through reading, I found many people and experiences to be not less difficult, but at least more understandable. Good books make life easier to understand. They teach us about humanity and make us view people and their desires and fears in a different light. (More to come in the future on Ender's Game and Speaker for the Dead.) The men and women in Reading Lolita in Tehran understand this better than most (and most certainly better than I). They are extraordingary people in extraordinary times. Even with all the sad recountings of war, lost friends, and fear, I felt comforted by this book--as though amongst friends brought together by the same joys and delight that only fiction can bring. I've often seen people who seem so ambivalent to everything. It is a great thing to know who you are and what you love, and to live in a way which reflects that. And at times, it is very difficult. I like how much gray is shown in the book. Nothing is ever as black and white as it may appear. No people always how we think of them.

I would highly recommend it to anyone who has ever felt that excited feeling... that protective happiness that comes from great works of fiction and that gives us a feeling that there is hope and beauty to be found--not only in this world, but in those in which we immerse ourselves through reading, and all those we choose to create when we write. It was a book about many things, but one I like most: embracing the freedoms which we are given or can find, especially in books. Azar Nafisi is one of the most articulate writers I have read in a while. I very much enjoyed Reading Lolita in Tehran. I haven't enough accolades. You should just go read it. (If you haven't already, of course. :) )

"I would like to believe that all this eagerness meant something, that there was in the air, in Tehran, something not quite like spring but a breeze, an aura that promised spring was on its way. This is what I cling to, the faint whiff of a stustained and restrained excitement, reminding me of reading a book like Lolita in Tehran. I still find it in my former students' letters when, despite all their fears and anxieties for a future without jobs or security and a fragile and disloyal present, they write about their search for beauty." -Reading Lolita in Tehran

Country Girls Trilogy

I recently read Country Girls by Edna O'Brien, and have now moved on to Lonely Girl. It is a trilogy, you see. They are rather quaint stories published in the 1960's. They tell of two friends. Their lives are filled with a few triumphs and any number of tragedies coupled with romantic disappointments. Baba, the sparkling, vicious and beautiful girl, and Cait, her best friend who is literary and as we are reminded repeatedly--fat. Or thought so by everyone else. (Why must girls who love books always be "fat" or "odd" or "dull"? Why aren't we beautiful, desirable, or vivific?) The girls grow up in the country together and are sent off to a convent for school, but end up living in Dublin. Ireland has banned a few of O'Brien's books. Perhaps the subject matter of growing girls and their experiences with love (which usually end badly) and many other unfortunate, but understandable, situations are too scandalous! They do things that proper young ladies are not encouraged to do-- skipping mass, drinking, dating married men, etc. The girls are precious though, and despite Cait's honest and good heart, she always seems to get the fuzzy end of the lollipop. They're easy and quick reads with that poor, but virtuous feel to the characters. Sprinkled with delightful descriptions of life in the country and the difficult and exciting lives of young girls in the city crashing parties and going to the hop. I found the books entertaining and the characters sympathetic. I wouldn't really suggest everyone read them, but if you just want to drink a cup of tea some afternoon and read a nice book which will stir feelings of righteous indignation, then here is a an enjoyable trilogy.

"They used to ban my books, but now when I go there, people are courteous to my face, though rather slanderous behind my back. Then again, Ireland has changed. There are a lot of young people who are irreligious, or less religious. Ironically, they wouldn't be interested in my early books - they would think them gauche. They are aping English and American mores. If I went to a dance hall in Dublin now I would feel as alien as in a disco in Oklahoma." (O'Brien in Writers at Work, ed. by George Plimpton, 1986)