Booklog 2007: Week 2
Jan. 15th, 2007 08:36 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
trinityofoneSo I have more dental work today and I'm on deadline. Joy!
La la la, let's talk about something else. (And yes, these book posts are really a weekly way of asking for recommendations.)
Week 2: 8-14 January 2007
8. Take the Cannoli, Sarah Vowell — Reading Sarah Vowell always inspires in me the same reaction as watching/listening to a really cool kid did in high school (or, okay, now): I desperately want to hang with her. (Especially because she's also friends with fellow essayist David Rakoff, whom I adore; one of the pieces in this collection is about the two of them going to DisneyWorld, and I had resist the temptation to leap up from my couch, waving my hand and crying: 'Ooh, take me! Take me, too!') In these essays about growing up/living in America and trying to make sense of American history and culture, Vowell captures the spirit and soul of (this often impossibly fucked up) country in a way that's remarkably close to the way I see it—remarkable, among other reasons, because Vowell's experiences are mostly based around living in Oklahoma, Montana, and Chicago, and mine around Vermont and California. It's nice to think that there are still some aspects of American life that can be seen as inclusive, red state or blue, and though Vowell (quite rightly) doesn't gloss over any of the nation's nastier aspects, she treats all her subjects with respect and humor—qualities we could certainly use more of.
9. Shampoo Planet, Douglas Coupland — An early Coupland (his second novel), I probably didn't pick the best time to read this as a lot of it deals with money worries. In fact, there's a whole 'Down and Out in L.A.' section and—yeah. Bit close to home, that. I don't know if it's the result of my trying to subconsciously distance myself, but this book didn't reach me as much as some of his others; there were sequences I loved, like the bits about 20-year-old protagonist Tyler's trip to Paris, and his visit to Père Lachaise Cemetery (burial place of Oscar Wilde and Jim Morrison, among others, and a place I visited when I was 17), but I couldn't get into it as much as some of Coupland's other books, even the insane ones. However, as is often the case with Coupland's novels, the closing scene is—almost atypically in relation to the rest of the book—beautiful, serene, and moving.
10. Eleanor Rigby, Douglas Coupland — I loved this one. As could probably be inferred by the title, this is a book about loneliness—a reoccurring theme for Coupland. The narrator, Liz Dunn, is the type of anonymous, forgotten woman described in the Beatles' song, wonderfully fleshed out—I found her incredibly believable and moving. (Coupland in general writes women very well—in other words, like any other character, male or female.) Aside from a bit of weirdness involving some radioactive material and a German prison, this is actually an incredibly realistic, plausible narrative, which, as much as I enjoy wackiness, was much more appropriate to the subject matter (thus making the pair of weird events I mentioned above seem somewhat inappropriate and out of place, but it's a relatively small misstep, so whatever). There's a very deep undercurrent of tragedy in this book, but still hope, still wonder—Coupland does bittersweet amazingly well.
11. 253, Geoff Ryman — I can't even begin to speak coherently about this book. It's an experimental novel: 253 portraits of 253 passengers on a London tube train that's about to crash. Ryman gives the reader brief insights into these ordinary people's lives, some of which are interconnected, some of which are funny, tragic, etc. Ryman himself is a passenger; so's a pigeon. And some of the people live, and some of them die. Part of the interest, one would think, would be to see who falls into which category when you reach the end, but actually I found that after absorbing so many histories in a relatively short amount of time (about a week, interspersed with other reading) I couldn't always remember who was who, who did what, said what, thought what. The deaths seemed pointless and arbitrary—which, of course, they were.
None of the above is meant to be a criticism; as an experiment, this one is, in my opinion, radically successful, as it never seems gimmicky, and is consistently fascinating. Yet one gets the feeling that it's probably not at its best in bound book form; as much as I disdain e-books in favor of something I can actually hold in my hand, can smell and feel, I think this may have been more effective as an interactive experience on the web, because then you could click back and forth between the various passengers and better experience how they're related (not to mention who lives and who dies). Luckily, it seems that the website is still operational, so you can check it out for yourselves: 253.
12. Caesar, Patrick O'Brian — I feel weird critiquing this, as it's something O'Brian wrote when he was 12 and which was first published, under his birth name (Richard Patrick Russ), when he was 15. Because, wow, for a 12-year-old it's remarkably good—already you can see the smooth beauty of his prose. It's also, for a story with an animal (specifically, a panda-leopard—more on that in a minute) as its protagonist and narrator, refreshingly unsentimental and even quite brutal—Caesar's mother and siblings are quickly dispatched by various harsh acts of nature, and Caesar spends a lot of time calmly killing other creatures of the world. It also has moments of being emotionally affecting; when Caesar is captured and "tamed" by humans, I was really quite desperate for him to kill everyone and escape. Yet the tone remains flat and the narrative doesn't amount to much; it goes out on sort of a "huh" note, if you know what I mean. Plus, the aspect that I kept waiting to see explored—that Caesar is a panda-leopard, an essentially fanciful creature whose father is a panda and whose mother is a snow leopard—is never touched on at all! In the end, this is much more interesting in light of O'Brian's later work than on any merits of its own. (Though he did write remarkably well for a 12-year-old!)
Total Books: 12
La la la, let's talk about something else. (And yes, these book posts are really a weekly way of asking for recommendations.)
Week 2: 8-14 January 2007
8. Take the Cannoli, Sarah Vowell — Reading Sarah Vowell always inspires in me the same reaction as watching/listening to a really cool kid did in high school (or, okay, now): I desperately want to hang with her. (Especially because she's also friends with fellow essayist David Rakoff, whom I adore; one of the pieces in this collection is about the two of them going to DisneyWorld, and I had resist the temptation to leap up from my couch, waving my hand and crying: 'Ooh, take me! Take me, too!') In these essays about growing up/living in America and trying to make sense of American history and culture, Vowell captures the spirit and soul of (this often impossibly fucked up) country in a way that's remarkably close to the way I see it—remarkable, among other reasons, because Vowell's experiences are mostly based around living in Oklahoma, Montana, and Chicago, and mine around Vermont and California. It's nice to think that there are still some aspects of American life that can be seen as inclusive, red state or blue, and though Vowell (quite rightly) doesn't gloss over any of the nation's nastier aspects, she treats all her subjects with respect and humor—qualities we could certainly use more of.
9. Shampoo Planet, Douglas Coupland — An early Coupland (his second novel), I probably didn't pick the best time to read this as a lot of it deals with money worries. In fact, there's a whole 'Down and Out in L.A.' section and—yeah. Bit close to home, that. I don't know if it's the result of my trying to subconsciously distance myself, but this book didn't reach me as much as some of his others; there were sequences I loved, like the bits about 20-year-old protagonist Tyler's trip to Paris, and his visit to Père Lachaise Cemetery (burial place of Oscar Wilde and Jim Morrison, among others, and a place I visited when I was 17), but I couldn't get into it as much as some of Coupland's other books, even the insane ones. However, as is often the case with Coupland's novels, the closing scene is—almost atypically in relation to the rest of the book—beautiful, serene, and moving.
10. Eleanor Rigby, Douglas Coupland — I loved this one. As could probably be inferred by the title, this is a book about loneliness—a reoccurring theme for Coupland. The narrator, Liz Dunn, is the type of anonymous, forgotten woman described in the Beatles' song, wonderfully fleshed out—I found her incredibly believable and moving. (Coupland in general writes women very well—in other words, like any other character, male or female.) Aside from a bit of weirdness involving some radioactive material and a German prison, this is actually an incredibly realistic, plausible narrative, which, as much as I enjoy wackiness, was much more appropriate to the subject matter (thus making the pair of weird events I mentioned above seem somewhat inappropriate and out of place, but it's a relatively small misstep, so whatever). There's a very deep undercurrent of tragedy in this book, but still hope, still wonder—Coupland does bittersweet amazingly well.
11. 253, Geoff Ryman — I can't even begin to speak coherently about this book. It's an experimental novel: 253 portraits of 253 passengers on a London tube train that's about to crash. Ryman gives the reader brief insights into these ordinary people's lives, some of which are interconnected, some of which are funny, tragic, etc. Ryman himself is a passenger; so's a pigeon. And some of the people live, and some of them die. Part of the interest, one would think, would be to see who falls into which category when you reach the end, but actually I found that after absorbing so many histories in a relatively short amount of time (about a week, interspersed with other reading) I couldn't always remember who was who, who did what, said what, thought what. The deaths seemed pointless and arbitrary—which, of course, they were.
None of the above is meant to be a criticism; as an experiment, this one is, in my opinion, radically successful, as it never seems gimmicky, and is consistently fascinating. Yet one gets the feeling that it's probably not at its best in bound book form; as much as I disdain e-books in favor of something I can actually hold in my hand, can smell and feel, I think this may have been more effective as an interactive experience on the web, because then you could click back and forth between the various passengers and better experience how they're related (not to mention who lives and who dies). Luckily, it seems that the website is still operational, so you can check it out for yourselves: 253.
12. Caesar, Patrick O'Brian — I feel weird critiquing this, as it's something O'Brian wrote when he was 12 and which was first published, under his birth name (Richard Patrick Russ), when he was 15. Because, wow, for a 12-year-old it's remarkably good—already you can see the smooth beauty of his prose. It's also, for a story with an animal (specifically, a panda-leopard—more on that in a minute) as its protagonist and narrator, refreshingly unsentimental and even quite brutal—Caesar's mother and siblings are quickly dispatched by various harsh acts of nature, and Caesar spends a lot of time calmly killing other creatures of the world. It also has moments of being emotionally affecting; when Caesar is captured and "tamed" by humans, I was really quite desperate for him to kill everyone and escape. Yet the tone remains flat and the narrative doesn't amount to much; it goes out on sort of a "huh" note, if you know what I mean. Plus, the aspect that I kept waiting to see explored—that Caesar is a panda-leopard, an essentially fanciful creature whose father is a panda and whose mother is a snow leopard—is never touched on at all! In the end, this is much more interesting in light of O'Brian's later work than on any merits of its own. (Though he did write remarkably well for a 12-year-old!)
Total Books: 12
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2007-01-27 12:06 am (UTC)It was like looking at a scrapbook made by a 40 year-old man.
*curious* In a good way or a bad way?
(no subject)
Date: 2007-01-29 09:22 pm (UTC)Thanks so much for sending out the book! Please let me know if there's anything I can send you, as well!