The Great Gatsby. A literary classic. So I am supposed to like it, right? And it’s not as if I didn’t enjoy it, I guess I was just expecting something...moreThe Great Gatsby. A literary classic. So I am supposed to like it, right? And it’s not as if I didn’t enjoy it, I guess I was just expecting something more. I was also surprised by just how short it is! A mere 180 pages.
This was my first time reading it, having somehow avoided it being assigned as required reading in high school and college. The character of Gatsby is sort of shrouded in secrecy for the majority of the narrative and I found myself quite curious to learn more about him, to discover those secrets. So when I did discover those secrets, well, it just turned out to be rather anticlimactic. Sad and hopeless, but anticlimactic nonetheless.
The most interesting thing about this book, for me, was the narrative style. While it is told in first person, the first person narrator, Nick Carraway, is little more than observer. He is sidelined from the action and is delegated more to witnessing the drama of his wealthy–what to call them?–companions. And that is an odd way to tell a story and few novels, in fact, use this technique. But it works here. It would be such a different story if Daisy or Tom or even Jordan were telling this tale. Somehow Nick is privy to information that other characters are not and as such, we learn more about the world and its characters than we would have otherwise. And it’s a neat way to sort of discover and experience things as Nick does.
I can appreciate the novel for its artistic merits as well as its subjacent commentary of American excess, decadence and disillusionment. Fitzgerald has a skilled hand and his prose is often quite lovely and also haunting, with the capacity to linger in you. (In fact one of my favorite quotations of all time comes from his Fitzgerald’s first novel, This Side of Paradise: “I don’t want to repeat my innocence. I want the pleasure of losing it again.”) And the ending sentences of The Great Gatsby are among some of most beautiful.
All that said (or more appropriately wrote,) I much prefer Fitzgerald’s This Side of Paradise to this one. (less)
I’m not a huge Stephen King enthusiast; I don’t care much for the horror genre. But to be fair, I haven’t actually read much of his catalogue. In fact...moreI’m not a huge Stephen King enthusiast; I don’t care much for the horror genre. But to be fair, I haven’t actually read much of his catalogue. In fact, before re-reading The Stand I hadn’t picked up one of his books since I was a kid. I’ve read Misery, Cycle of the Werewolf, Eyes of the Dragon, the short story compilation Four Past Midnight and perhaps one or two others. In my admittedly myopic view of King’s work, I think his talent lies in creating characters and seeing how they react in extreme situations. That’s what keeps me turning the pages.
I didn’t remember much of The Stand: The Complete & Uncut Edition though I did read it when I was 14 or 15 and also saw the miniseries. (I even have it on DVD.) But since it is such a huge influence on Lost and I am a crazy Lost fan and this is the final season, I thought I would give it another go.
Wow. This is one of my favorite books of all time.
Book I. “Captain Trips” — It starts with a sneeze here and a cough there and within weeks, nearly everyone is dead. As the world is dying, chaos reigns. The military attempts to maintain order but even those in charge are unable to control themselves. People scramble to flee cities and die from the flu, creating massive traffic jams and pile ups. The reader is introduced to various characters, most of which we follow on their journeys toward the end. Each watches in terror as everyone dies around them and they are bewildered as to why they don’t become sick themselves. When all the world seems dead they have strange dreams and venture out to seek out the truth of them.
We follow several different characters as they trek across the country, most using motorcycles because it’s the most efficient way to travel as it allows them to circumvent all the backed up traffic. They find other survivors along the way. And sometimes, that’s not always such a good thing. The epidemic leaves more tragedy in its place. There are brutal people out there. Guns and other weapons are just waiting to be picked up, as is the food on all of the grocery shelves and clothes in a department store, drugs in the pharmacies. Anything you want, it’s yours. The world as it once was is gone.
There is a chapter in this section that succeeded more than any other in painting Stephen King‘s new world view, one that illustrated what becomes of the people as the world they know disintegrates and to those who are left behind. It’s a chapter without any of the main characters. It’s a chapter that in concise and heart-wrenching vignettes shows us little peeks across the country. Of suicides. Of accidental drug overdoses. Of lost and alone children who die because there is no one to take care of them, like a 5-year old boy who strolls along picking and eating berries until stumbles into a deep well and remains there, helpless with a broken legs until he dies because there is no one to rescue him. It’s these tiny stories–some a few paragraphs, other a single sentence–that effectively show the scope of this story, of how far-reaching and impacting it truly is. In other words, it shows us a world outside of the characters we have so far come to know.
Book II. “On the Border” — The most lengthy of the sections, finds the survivors coming together in small packs as they venture across the country. Generally the story follows the “good” guys, though we do at times meet up with those aligned with the dark man. Along the way, there is camaraderie and fear, mistrust and genuine affections. Eventually they arrive at their destinations. One of the characters, Glen Bateman, was a sociology professor and through him we are familiarized with the concepts and theories he has about societies and how they are formed. His ideas are interesting and often correct as well.
It’s here we follow what is happening in what the survivors have dubbed the Boulder Free Zone. They clean the community of dead, return the electricity, move into homes and create new lives and relationships, where the new government forms. Some become complacent; this reality is better than thinking about Randall Flagg who they know rests just over the Rocky Mountains. Others, the new government (which is really just a committee at this point,) is constructing a plan about how to handle the dark man. It’s in the back of everyone’s mind and they know something must be done to stop him.
Book III. “The Stand” — This section finds the story pushing toward the final confrontation. It takes place largely in Las Vegas where some of the “good” guys are heading to see Randall Flagg. To do what, they are not sure. The final battle is, to many readers, a disappointment as well as unsatisfying, but this epic story is not about this final “stand” so much as the journey toward it. And the way I see it, just how can you write a satifying climax? In a sense, Stephen King wrote himself into a bit of a corner. When everything leading up to the moment is so powerful and thoughtful and compelling, how could he top himself? So I can easily forgive this minor issue. It only lasts a few pages out of 1100 plus pages anyhow.
One of the profound successes of The Stand is in the characterization. Stephen King manages to create a compelling and believable cast. One of the difficulties in crafting a tale that basically comes down to good and evil is in making the characters identifiable. There’s two instances that impressed me where he nailed this task. One is in Harold Lauder, a teenage kid who was picked on relentlessly. He’s in love with Frannie Goldsmith who is not in love with him. She’s taken up with Stu Redman. He is also overlooked in being chosen to take part in the new government. He feels a deep sense of betrayal and an utter desire for revenge. He becomes seduced by the idea of aligning himself with the dark man. Yet through it all–despite his irrational behavior and failure to amend his outlook–you understand his rage because his inability to simply “let go” and start anew–his hubris, in other words–has been properly attended to in the writing. By being burdened by his past, despite the fact that his past is now irrelevant, Harold has doomed himself.
Trashcan Man is the other example. A schizophrenic pyromaniac, “Trash” has nothing but supreme devotion to the walking dude (aka the dark man, Randall Flagg.) Ostracized, abused and discarded his whole life, the walking dude accepts him, praises him, has a place for him. It’s a feeling he has never known. When he meets up with other folks in Las Vegas, they accept him too. It’s a happiness he didn’t know was out there for him. Because Stephen King has given proper weight to this character’s past and his struggles, his loyalty to side of evil is easily understood. In a sense, you can’t see Trash anywhere but here.
Many say that this novel is an examination of the struggle between good and evil, the war of all wars. But I don’t see it that way at all really. It’s allegory, something I am learning Stephen King seems to like a lot. The Stand is a powerful narrative, a very rich and poignant story with a deliberate profundity peppered with both nuance and flair. It’s about the human condition, the psyche of individuals and the pathos of a society when the world has fallen away. And how fitting. I suppose you only know who really are when you are put under such fear and stress. That’s the real you. It will bleed out whether you want it to or not. And The Stand is an examination of that more than it is of “good and evil.”
An 1100+ page book may seem a daunting read to some. And it certainly could be. But if the story and the characters are riveting and complex, page count doesn’t mean a thing. This is an incredible novel and I would recommend it to anyone.(less)
The only real knowledge I had about Chuck Palahnuik was though the film Fight Club. (Which a terrific flick and excellently directed and photographed....moreThe only real knowledge I had about Chuck Palahnuik was though the film Fight Club. (Which a terrific flick and excellently directed and photographed. It’s gotta be in my top 25-50 of all time.) I had never read one of his books before. Until now. I checked Lullaby out of the library as I was browsing around looking for something new and interesting. The librarian who checked me out remarked that he is one of her favorite authors and she owns all of his books. So I was intrigued. And this book?
Imaginative, bold, and seething with scathing commentary on contemporary American society and its willingness to be governed by consumerist culture, and content in its indifference and ignorance, Lullaby is a richly padded and darkly nihilistic parable about morality and power, with a dash of hopelessness sprinkled in.
It may sound like a downer but Chuck Palahnuik‘s charm lies in his use of language. He has a gifted hand, aided by a thoughtful mind. Reading it, each word seems deliberate. The book isn’t so much nuanced as it is direct. Carl Streator tells it like it is. How he sees it. How he feels about it. Unusual in its tone and unapologetic in its message, Lullaby is narrative that is strangely pleasurable despite the nightmare it weaves.
The novel is also peppered with repeated phrases, slightly altered each time it appears. They begin to take on a sort of sing-song quality in and of themselves. And how appropriate for a story named after a kind of song. “Sticks and stones may break your bones but words _____.” — “These _____-oholics. These _____-ophobics.” — “For whatever reason, I thought of _____.” Another repeated technique is that as Streator describes color–what someone is wearing for instance–he assigns it the color of a fine dining dish. It’s really kind of cool.
Since the film Fight Club was about all I knew about Chuck Palahnuik, I must admit that the themes and overt messages of Lullaby are familiar. Like the narrator in Fight Club, Carl Streator rants on about people. Their irritating manners. Their rude behavior. Their sick minds. But it still feels fresh and relevant. You respect the viewpoint because you can understand it. Streator is a lonely man, a bitter man. He does little more than exist until his life is forever-changed by the power a single poem holds. This story is an adventure.
There’s a high body count. He can’t control himself. But he wants to. All he has to do is think the poem the person that has inflamed his annoyance drops dead. He practices counting exercises to direct his death wishes away from unknowing victims. “Counting 345, counting 346, counting 347…” Hmm, yet another repeated phrase.
The book is a lot of things. Thrilling. Depressing. Satisfying. All at once, and not necessarily in that order. The ending leaves you contemplating the new world order that now exists in the Lullaby world and I found myself thinking, now that would be an interesting television show! This story is filled with a variety of vividly imagined characters, each with their own views on modern life and morality. And they are all chasing the power of magic, hoping to wield it for their own uses.
This was a fascinating read. Even a fun one. The words themselves are lyrical and flitter off of the page in a wonderful melody.
Sticks and stones may break your bones but these words are quite astounding.(less)
Agatha Christie‘s The Body in the Library, published in 1942, is a light read, but sprinkled with a variety of unlikable characters, most which can be...moreAgatha Christie‘s The Body in the Library, published in 1942, is a light read, but sprinkled with a variety of unlikable characters, most which can be considered suspects. They are greedy, or indifferent about the murder of the poor young woman found dead in the library of Mr. & Mrs. Bantry.
The story flip-flops between characters. For awhile we follow the Inspector and then we will follow Miss Marple and/or Miss Bantry. This back and forth isn’t necessarily jarring but it seems to slow the action down. And I often found myself confused because there are just too many characters, and too many similar ones, at that. The police investigators are rather interchangeable, for example. Though there are points of interest, however, one being a man, Conway Jefferson, who lives with both his daughter-in-law and son-in-law. His children, who were married to them, were killed many years back and so he has taken to the two as a kind of surrogate family. In turn, the two eventually become somewhat irritated with their situations, feeling obligated to assume roles they no longer feel comfortable in. I can’t help thinking that this is a more profound and fascinating story. The examination of this splintered, makeshift family. Forget the murder mystery! The real substance lies in the exploration of life going on after death, following the spouses once they have migrated from coping to moving on and how Conway remains clingy and territorial. In fact, the murdered girl was one that this bereaved man chose to show an interest in, taking her on a daughter of his own. He was even about to go through the formalities of adopting her and adjusting his will.
As for the murder mystery itself, I must admit there was a certain predictability about it. I certainly didn’t guess all of the particulars but I did form a somewhat hazy conclusion early on. I suppose I found that strange “family” so interesting because the mystery came out as a dull.
I have only read one other Agatha Christie book–And Then There Were None–and I found that so much fun! I am certain to give her another try at some point because The Body in the Library seems to be one her lesser referenced novels and therefore, one can only assume that she has better stories out there because those are talked about so much more frequently, such as Murder on the Orient Express, or her other Hercule Poirot and Miss Marple mysteries.
I also read that Christie herself regarded The Body in the Library as a parody of sorts, since a body in a library is a most cliché storytelling technique. So I guess she just wanted to see if she could break through the cliché. I don’t know. I didn’t detect a cliché exactly, just a certain boredom. Though perhaps, that’s just the letting itself be known.(less)
To be honest, it took me like 3 weeks to get through the first 300 pages of the 1000+ page novel, Under the Dome. But after that, I finished up the ne...moreTo be honest, it took me like 3 weeks to get through the first 300 pages of the 1000+ page novel, Under the Dome. But after that, I finished up the next 700 in a mere 2-3 days. I was compelled to read this mammoth of a book after recently re-reading The Stand. (Review of that to follow.) I was so thoroughly impressed with The Stand that I thought perhaps Under the Dome might impress me equally. (If you’re wondering, it doesn’t quite measure up.)
What took me so long to get through the first fourth of Under the Dome is paradoxically why it took me no time at all to get through the entirety of The Stand in almost no time at all: the constant juggling of the huge cast of characters. As The Stand begins, we are introduced to the main characters one by one; they don’t yet know one another and so their journeys and experiences are easily distinguishable from one another. Under the Dome takes place in the small New England town of Chester’s Mill, and as such, the characters are already interacting with one another and have established relationships we are not already privy to. So as you read, it is easy to get everyone confused; you have to kind of pause and think about who is who as the scenes shift and alliances form. But after the initial 300 pages, I started to know the characters myself and the story became more interesting.
The greatest fault I can find in this novel, however, is actually in the characterization. It’s rather black & white with little shades of gray. Either a character is “good” or “bad.” Shades of gray are what make people interesting, if you ask me. For example, while the big villain of the story, Big Jim Rennie, often rationalizes his behavior or tries to justify his actions to even himself, he still recognizes an inherent quality within himself: he just wants what he wants, that he is an unapologetic and selfish power monger. Simple as that. Without any redeeming quality he–and most of the other characters–has very little dimension and thus, he doesn’t seem all that believable.
On the other hand, if the novel is viewed as largely allegorical–which it most certainly can be–the black & white tendencies of the characters become understandable. After all, allegory is a way of illustrating a message–whether it be political, religious, environmental, or otherwise–about the state of circumstance and choice, about human nature. Stephen King himself stated that he wrote Under the Dome with his view of the failures of Bush-Cheney administration in mind, as well the state of the environment. (If there is one thing the Dome in the novel demonstrates, is how quickly the air becomes polluted and contaminated when it is enclosed, much like the atmosphere encloses the Earth.)
Much like The Stand, the climax of Under the Dome fails to be as compelling as the events that precede it. But that’s okay. The joy of reading both books lies in the journey of the characters, in their struggles and their triumphs.
If you are wondering about the “secret” of the Dome, I won’t spoil it for you here. Is it a fascinating reveal? That’s up for the reader to decide. This reader was sort of apathetic to it because that’s not what the story is really about. The Dome is merely a device to get the characters in this situation. A MacGuffin of a larger sort. Is it worth the read? Sure. I really enjoyed it once I was able to get acquainted well enough with the characters. But if you are a slow reader, this one may not be for you.(less)