Books: Last Book You Read and Rate It

[Thucydides]

I had a big review of this typed out, but got so lost in it, i didn’t realize my phone was about to die and lost it, so this is the condensed version.

After a month of reading, some days putting in 5-6 hours a day, I finally finished Infinite Jest.

It was at times a slog to get through, and after about 150 pages I was asking myself what the point of reading this was, but not wanting to give up on it again, I continued reading. At page 200 (of the paperback version with cover pictured above) I got to a passage that made me think that Wallace might have something important, or “profound” to say with this book and I bravely soldiered on.

I am typically a pretty fast reader, but thirty pages in, I knew that wouldn’t be the case here. Once I accepted this, I settled in and just enjoyed the ride. There’s so many themes, plots and characters it can be overwhelming at times , but the writing is so good you can’t help but marvel at it. It is all things at once : clever, hilarious , sad, dark and brilliant . It should also be noted I needed a dictionary. His vocabulary is like nothing I’ve read before.

It’s not too often I read a book that I have a very “personal” experience with, but I did here. That’s the mark of a great writer, when you can see yourself in the book, and it’s characters, for better or worse. It’s also not too often I finish a book and feel like I came away from it a different, and I hope better person.

Despite the book being known for being “difficult” or overly complex , what it’s showing the reader is what it means to be human. When one of the characters ghosts talks about the futility of the extras lives on the TV show Cheers, and how he wants to give all the characters an audible voice , you begin to understand Infinite Jest for what it is : Wallace’s attempt to tell us we are all important, we are all desperate, and messed up, our parents are the roots of all our pain , and our addictions are overwhelming .

But then he will hit you with something like :

“ But you never know when the magic will descend on you. You never know when the grooves will open up. And once the magic descends you don’t want to change even the smallest detail . You don’t know what concordance of factors and variables yields that can’t-miss-feeling, and you don’t want to soil the magic by trying to figure it out, you don’t want to change your grip, your stick, your side of the court, your angle of incidence to the sun.”

And it’s right as rain.

I’m going to be thinking about this long after I’ve finished it. It really is , like the back cover blurb says “ a work of genius”. I honestly don’t know how he wrote it.

It’s late and I’m tired and rambling. Great book.

10/10

P.S. - the plot of the book revolves around a tennis prodigy named Hal, and a halfway house, and though I guess it’s important, they are really just vehicles for what he’s truly trying to say, if that makes sense.

 

[Spring in Fialta]

I had a big review of this typed out, but got so lost in it, i didn’t realize my phone was about to die and lost it, so this is the condensed version.

After a month of reading, some days putting in 5-6 hours a day, I finally finished Infinite Jest.

It was at times a slog to get through, and after about 150 pages I was asking myself what the point of reading this was, but not wanting to give up on it again, I continued reading. At page 200 (of the paperback version with cover pictured above) I got to a passage that made me think that Wallace might have something important, or “profound” to say with this book and I bravely soldiered on.

I am typically a pretty fast reader, but thirty pages in, I knew that wouldn’t be the case here. Once I accepted this, I settled in and just enjoyed the ride. There’s so many themes, plots and characters it can be overwhelming at times , but the writing is so good you can’t help but marvel at it. It is all things at once : clever, hilarious , sad, dark and brilliant . It should also be noted I needed a dictionary. His vocabulary is like nothing I’ve read before.

It’s not too often I read a book that I have a very “personal” experience with, but I did here. That’s the mark of a great writer, when you can see yourself in the book, and it’s characters, for better or worse. It’s also not too often I finish a book and feel like I came away from it a different, and I hope better person.

Despite the book being known for being “difficult” or overly complex , what it’s showing the reader is what it means to be human. When one of the characters ghosts talks about the futility of the extras lives on the TV show Cheers, and how he wants to give all the characters an audible voice , you begin to understand Infinite Jest for what it is : Wallace’s attempt to tell us we are all important, we are all desperate, and messed up, our parents are the roots of all our pain , and our addictions are overwhelming .

But then he will hit you with something like :

“ But you never know when the magic will descend on you. You never know when the grooves will open up. And once the magic descends you don’t want to change even the smallest detail . You don’t know what concordance of factors and variables yields that can’t-miss-feeling, and you don’t want to soil the magic by trying to figure it out, you don’t want to change your grip, your stick, your side of the court, your angle of incidence to the sun.”

And it’s right as rain.

I’m going to be thinking about this long after I’ve finished it. It really is , like the back cover blurb says “ a work of genius”. I honestly don’t know how he wrote it.

It’s late and I’m tired and rambling. Great book.

10/10

P.S. - the plot of the book revolves around a tennis prodigy named Hal, and a halfway house, and though I guess it’s important, they are really just vehicles for what he’s truly trying to say, if that makes sense.

Awesome review. I'm one of those buttholes who owns a copy of the book but never read it, due to a mixture of fear of the commitment and lack of time to properly dedicate myself to it. Your review probably won't change anything as of now, but damn, it's the type of sentiment that makes books (and art in a general sense) completely worth the challenges when they appear.

 

[Thucydides]

Awesome review. I'm one of those buttholes who owns a copy of the book but never read it, due to a mixture of fear of the commitment and lack of time to properly dedicate myself to it. Your review probably won't change anything as of now, but damn, it's the type of sentiment that makes books (and art in a general sense) completely worth the challenges when they appear.

Thanks. I was the same way, had the book kicking around seemingly forever , but never wanted to commit to it, and although it is a slog at times, it’s really not too bad once you get going with it.

Having said that, I’m pretty pumped to finally read something else.

 

[kihei]

Origin of Species, by Charles Darwin

After struggling with this book for about a month, I've decided to throw in the towel. I've gotten about half way through, and I have neither enough knowledge or interest in biology and botany to continue further. Plus, I suspect, my main take-away from the text will not alter with greater familiarity. It cannot be emphasized too greatly what a marvelous achievement Darwin's evolutionary theory is. It is not as though he were alone in exploring the history of plant and animal life on our planet--he carefully credits dozens of his colleagues as he builds his various arguments. But no one else went to the degree of trouble to learn about earth's species than he did, both through copious first-hand research and through careful reading of his contemporaries' papers. His knowledge of just about any obscure plant or animal one could name is astounding--a knowledge that it would seem must take at least a half-dozen human lifetimes to acquire. Equally impressive is the academic rigour of his arguments in support of his many assertions about evolution. These well supported arguments are presented carefully and dispassionately and they are like exemplars of the value and power of the scientific method. Darwin did a mind-boggling amount of field research, going to the ends of the earth (and his own garden) to collect his evidence. But what is really impressive is what Darwin did with all the material he collected and with all the secondary research he contemplated. He created the basic model of evolution out of his own head--no computers, no math, no government support, no modern technology. Relying on his own brain power, he brought about one of the most important and far-reaching discoveries known to humankind. His work stands as testimony as to what one human being can accomplish with his/her intelligence, tenacity and imagination.

 

[Spring in Fialta]

The Middle Stories by Sheila Heti (2001) - I finished this a couple of days ago. Oh boy, I've rarely come across as writing that tried so hard and mostly failed. Credit to the author, she could at least (mostly) construct a story with an interesting premise, however short many of them are (and it often appeared like she was out of steam), but it truly felt like some sorta interesting beginner writer lucked out and was able to get a bunch of short stories published. Many of the stories felt like they were too much. I adore surrealism and the absurd, but many stories felt like Heti was trying to conjure up the most non-sensical and zany plot point and working within it and then pausing and thinking " Where am I going with this? " and then rapidly finishing the story without much of a reward or...anything, really. Some of them I forgot as soon as I read them. The latter half of the book offers some better stories (the edition is from 2012 and claimed that 9 stories were added...I've got to think my favorites are part of those 9). Spiky to the point of excess, it feels like the author is trying to rub the reader's nose into how smart, funny and hip she is which is a death sentence for me when it comes to a work of art (and to be fair, she was 24 when most of those stories were published so I'm not overly surprised). The dialogue and flow of the stories were often off, and read like a bad screenplay for a Netflix original geared towards the upper middle-class. There's the odd knockout, but mostly, I'd encourage to steer clear of this. I didn't have the courage to tell my girlfriend how little I liked most of the works, though. She's the one who recommended it. It's a breezy read, though.

Anyone has suggestions for great female authors though? I haven't read a lot of works written by women and what I have has been fairly underwhelming - the only book that I thought was legitimately great was Joan Didion's Play it as it Lays - and I'd be interested in broadening my palette a little bit. I think we've got Mrs. Dalloway at home somewhere. Might go with that.

Favorite stories: The Accident, Mr Jones' First Outing, The Man From Out of Town, The Man with the Hat

 

[GB]

Which female authors have you read?

 

[kihei]

Anyone has suggestions for great female authors though? I haven't read a lot of works written by women and what I have has been fairly underwhelming - the only book that I thought was legitimately great was Joan Didion's Play it as it Lays - and I'd be interested in broadening my palette a little bit. I think we've got Mrs. Dalloway at home somewhere. Might go with that.

Margaret Atwood, Margaret Laurence, Alice Munro--don't even have to leave Canadian borders. As you are impressed by Didion, The Year of Magical Thinking is an absolute must; Blue Nights, too. I would also throw in Arundhati Roy's The God of Small Things, among my most favourite contemporary novels.

 

[Spring in Fialta]

Which female authors have you read?

A very small amount. My memory feels foggy today but I've got Sylvia Plath, Sheila Heti, Joan Didion off the top of my head but I know there's been a few more...although nothing recent. Agatha Christie...

Wow, that's pathetic.

 

[Spring in Fialta]

I've got a love/hate relationship with Vladimir Nabokov as a writer but his humor and public persona has always been up my alley. Here's an hilarious list of Nabokov judging other writers. It's mostly insults but it's perfect.

Nabokov's Recommendations - Wm Jas

 

[Thucydides]

This is the first book in a long time that I gave up on. I reached the 40% mark and tapped out.

A fantasy novel that really didn’t make much sense. The writing is really awkward, almost halting and off putting.

Really disappointed with this one, considering the hype & the fact I paid for this book. Luckily it was on sale .

No rating .

 

[Oscar Acosta]

The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao - Junot Diaz

It was entertaining enough, I don't regret reading it at all. I just feel like it's a highly rated piece of media that just didn't resonate with me like it does to others.
Told from the point of view of a "friend" who dated Oscar's sister, recounts his life and so on. Again it's interesting enough, but just kind of came across to me like an episode of Family Guy. Completely littered with pop-culture references, at first you're like "Aha, I get that" but then next paragraph, I get that too, and so on until you're at the point of ok, stop.
Felt like it focused far more on Oscar's extended family, which how the hell would this guy know any of that - unless he was a family historian, when in the book he's entirely self centred and indifferent to Oscar. When Oscar was the focus it was cliche what a nerd would be, and how he would act.

I don't know man. I feel like I'm trying to review Lord of the Rings here. Something people loved but I don't know why.

4/10

 

[Oscar Acosta]

Hiroshima - John Hersey

Not sure I can call this a book, as the paperback form you can find now is really a reprint of the August 31, 1946 issue of the New Yorker. But it takes a while to read, both because of length but mostly due to it's nature that's hard to stomach.

No history lesson needed here. It's a first hand account a year after the Americans detonated an Atomic bomb over the city of Hiroshima, luckily instantly killing 80% of the population, because the other 20% that survived - here's their story. Every depiction of Hell as a place being in a pit of fire and wailing people - well, they lived it. People being obliterated before their eyes, and after, walking out of fire with skin melted off, mothers having to leave their children to burn alive, watching as survivors drank radiated water... and at the time the story was written they still didn't know the long lasting devastating effects of those who "survived".

All so Truman could show the American might, as the Japanese had already tried multiple times to discuss surrender terms. Debatable whether it was worth it now that the world is too afraid to use this power on each other.

Speechless is about all you can say about it, one of the books that stick with you.

9/10

 

[Oscar Acosta]

Tampa - Alissa Nutting

Another book I have a hard time reviewing. Basically it's the story of a pedophile, and told by their point of view. The I guess twist is that it's a female teacher who wants to seduce young boys.

I almost quit reading this book early on because it seemed unnecessarily graphic. I'm not a prude by any means but I also don't need two paragraphs about a teacher's moist slit. It's not the book you want to be reading while eating Cheerios in the morning.

Also follows the media campaign that the teacher of course is supposedly insanely smoking hot. Like we're talking a PornHub video starring someone like Paige Spiranac (not sure why she popped in my head for this), but basically someone way too hot to be resisted by anyone. Which undermines the entire point of a pedophile taking advantage of a youth. The book reads like a Penthouse Forum from the point of view of a teacher - and the effects it has on the kid. Which I'd get into but the spoilers are all over it, as well as the foreshadowing of the teacher and her husband's gross advances on her that she doesn't see in reverse.

I'm all over the place like the book. It'll stick with you after you read it, but at the same time it's not worth reading.

3/10

 

[GB]

That's the perfect review for Tampa.

 

[Spring in Fialta]

Mrs Dalloway by Virginia Woolf (1925) - Gave up on this 30 pages in. The narrative approach is very creative but I just...can't. Despite its vividness, the pages I read were descriptive to the point of overkill and I just don't see the appeal in describing a London street for pages on end, or how the flowers smell, or what every sap on the block is thinking (however brief, shallow or deep). In contrast to We, the constant jump from character to character felt garish (perhaps We being broken up in distinct episodes helps it there) and exhausting. I can appreciate what Virgina Woolf went for there, but it really did nothing for me. Some of the philosophical musings were interesting, but that's all I got out of it. If I open the book with a sigh, I think it's time for me to move unto something else. Unfortunate. I despise the feeling that comes with giving up on a book, especially a classic.

 

[Ceremony]

I wrote the following review before reading about an attempt at Woolf. If I can dig up a quote from Lemony Snicket...

PS: Regarding literary allusions, remember the advice of "never under any circumstances allow the Virginian Wolfsnake near a typewriter" or the cautionary tale of Clarissa Dalloway, "who did not seem to have anything wrong with her but was staring sadly out the window," and smile smugly.

Anyway.

A Disaffection by James Kelman is the third of his books I've read and follows the same focus. A Glaswegian man experiences an existential crisis for a few days, and we get to hear every word that runs through his head.

Patrick Doyle is 29, a school teacher with a profound resentment of every aspect of his job aside from his pupils and his colleague Alison, who he thinks he is in love with. While outside relieving himself against the wall of the social club he's drinking in he finds some pipes which he takes home, paints, tries to play music on and obsesses over for several pages. I say pipes, it was about halfway through the book before it was made clear that these were made of papier mache, I think Patrick's explanation was that an electrician would use them when wiring up a house, or something. Either way, the pipes and the possibility of playing music on them recurs frequently. He fixates on people I'd never heard of like Goya, Hoderlin, and Hedel. He feels the insecurity of not achieving anything like they have, which is what he hopes the pipes will give him.

Although much of the book is focused on Patrick's spiralling sense of purpose and self-worth, there's generally a bit more action in this than the other Kelmans I've read. Similar to The Busconductor Hines he fixates on the banality and other problems of his job, but he at least seems to get something out of it, even if it's the apparent adulation he can get from being drunk in front of a class and swearing at them. I think the defining feature of the novel though is the greater extent to which the stream of consciousness style is employed, meaning greater both in terms of quality and scope.

Much like before, there's not much you can do to rate of describe stream of consciousness other than say it's relatable. For a character written like this to be enjoyable they either have to be interesting or realistic, and they all have to rational. P. Doyle MA(Hons) manages this. He's repetitive, and it seems to be a feature of Kelman that his dialogue can be quite clunky at times, but I think in this case it's pretty fitting. He's awkward around Alison when he's somehow taking her on dates and she's just... there, or when he's visiting his parents, or his brother and sister-in-law. Each of these situations are things he's fixated on before and when he experiences it in real life it's like he doesn't know what to do. Which, I suppose, is the point of the book.

I don't think I need to say anything else. On a personal level I find fiction set several years ago (published 1989, I'm assuming set around then given references to corporal punishment and the prevalence of drink driving) in the place I'm from interesting, and it's nice to have that paired with what comes across as an authentic, sincere voice. With that in mind, I'll leave you with a passage I actually made note of, which isn't a thing I've done for its own sake in years:

Two or three days, that's all he would have been able to take of Eric. No more. Then they'd be at each other's throat. At least Pat would. Eric would just be slightly taken aback then conciliatory. They were all like that, these middle-class bastards, lying f***ers, so absolutely hypocritical it was a way of being, they never even bothered reflecting on it, all these lecturers and students, so smugly satisfied and content to let you say what you wanted to say and do what you wanted to do, just so long as it didnt threaten what they possessed, and what did they possess why f***ing everything, the best of health and the best of f***ing everything else. It was a joke, just a joke. But it was pointless being bitter. It was pointless being bitter. Being bitter was f***ing silly. Patrick had stopped being bitter. What it did was just f***ing stopped you from doing things. At uni it stopped him from doing things. If he had stopped being bitter he might have done things. What might he have done? He might have done things. Obviously he canni be expected to say what exactly these things are. But there are things he would definitely have done and that means he would not right at this f***ing moment be a f***ing damn bloody bastarn schoolteacher, one who does f*** all in the world bar christ almighty nothing at all. It was them wanted him to go to uni and no him, his parents and his f***ing big brother. It was all so stupit. Really, so stupid. He had not wanted to go. And even once he was there it was something else he was after. Something else altogether. But how do you explain that to your family. What - explain what? Explain what you had wanted to do. Patrick had wanted to do something. That was f***ing definite. But what had it been? What actually had that thing been, the thing he wanted to do. Something massive, that's all, something massive.

 

[kihei]

Casey Stengel: Baseball's Greatest Character, by Marty Appel

So much for nostalgia trips. This book is a perfectly acceptable but also perfectly bland biography of the New York Yankee's most successful manager. Appel has written more than a dozen books related to baseball, most of them about the Yankees. Obviously he hasn't accomplished this task by pissing off his sources. The book is something that the colourful Stengel never was: dull.

 

[Spring in Fialta]

No Country for Old Men (2005) by Cormac McCarthy - I paused my reading of Cat and Mouse and devoured this one in a little over a day. Cormac McCarthy doesn't make sense. Outside of The Counselor, no works I've read of his have felt like anything less than an outright masterpiece. No Country for Old Men is another one. What to say but that no writer seems to invoke matters of life and death as vividly as McCarthy. He exemplifies how passion should be read: Fast, enthralling and without compromise. This book is a perfect example of it. It is entirely unique and distinct in its prose, even amongst other McCarthy works, as this one feels less epic in scope and more like a compact novel. McCarthy creates a horde of fabulous characters who bounce off of each other in both endearing and terrifying ways. The themes of the book counter each other in interesting ways, without a clear answer ever been given (i.e. if you were to base yourself off the novel only, I think it'd be hard to pinpoint where McCarthy himself would stand within their philosophies) and the interactions are fast-paced while offering explosive insights in such few words. It never feels heavy-handed, or like a grumpy old man who's lashing out at the world (he seems endeared by his character's struggles). Anton Chigurgh is a perfect figure. Similarly to Blood Meridian's The Judge, the creative choice is perfect in making a sort of one-dimensional figure who's scope and aura feels limitless. It would cheapen the character to saddle him with a background story (and I like that during the 2007 shooting of the film, McCarthy visited the set and the reason he gave for the name when peppered with questions about the meaning was that the name just sounded cool. Which is reason enough.) To compare across artforms, I'd say that this novel feels like a pulsing jazz song who's rhythm picks you up right from the first page and sweeps you along to the finish line. Man, I know it's corny but whenever I finish reading McCarthy and wish I could ring him up just to say " Great job and thanks " even if he'd dislike it. But how can one not be blown away by passages like this?

" He shook his head. You're asking that I make myself vulnerable and that I can never do. I have only one way to live. It doesn't allow for special cases. A coin toss perhaps. In this case to small purpose. Most people don't believe that there can be such a person. You see what a problem that must be for them. How to prevail over that which you refuse to acknowledge the existance of. Do you understand? When I came into your life your life was over. It had a beginning, a middle, and an end. This is the end. You can say that things could have turned out differently. That there could have been some other way. But what does that mean? They are not some other way. They are this way. You're asking that I second say the world. Do you see?

Yes, she said sobbing. I do. I truly do.

Good, he said. That's good. Then he shot her. "

 

[Spring in Fialta]

Cat and Mouse is pretty good too so far but with my recent purchases, I'm kind of in a hurry to finish it. I think I will go with Nabokov's Pnin next. It looks hilarious.

 

[kihei]

Gauguin's Intimate Journals, by Paul Gauguin

Gauguin is an important post-Impressionist artist with an interesting back story. For eleven years he was a successful stockbroker in Paris But he gave everything up, including his wife and children, to pursue a career as a painter in Tahiti and elsewhere in the south Pacific. While some see his commitment to his vision a sign of his genius, others could equally well argue that he was a complete dick for doing what he did to his family. So I thought his journals might be a revealing read--and they are. Gauguin touches on many subjects--the venality of critics, his many bouts with authority figures, government or otherwise, his distaste for the bourgeoisie, his philosophy of life, and his time spent with Vincent Van Gogh, to whom he thinks he might have taught a thing or two. He even throws in the odd fencing and boxing lesson. Much of the writing seems like rants of one kind or another. He certainly comes across as a man with strong opinions and a high regard for himself--a bit of a dick, in other words. It is always something of a conundrum for me how great art is so often produced by unlikable people--it's the sort of juxtaposition that can make my head spin if I think about it too much. As is often the case, though, the beauty of the art produced covers a multitude of sins.

 

[Hippasus]

Forty Little Pieces: in progressive order for beginner flutists 500

Some of the songs were pleasant or recognizable. A few of the songs, at least in parts of them, seemed strangely unmelodic for elementary-level compositions from classical composers. Overall, it is probably the strongest melodic flute book I have read so far by a narrow margin from the four I have gotten through to this point. The book is okay for learning, but not as a first flute book. One of the reasons is there is no textual information, it is just sheet music.

Student Solutions Manual for Stewart's Single Variable Calculus: early transcendentals 600

In short: Attempting to go through this monograph was the best thing I've done since graduating from college. I have a fair number of mathematics books, but ones with reasonably worked-out solutions are less than common in my collection. I've heard the best way to learn calculus, or mathematics on general, is by doing, as opposed to just reading, and this book gave me an opportunity to do that. I found what I thought to be a few typos, but nevertheless the presentation and notation seemed to be clear and precise. There is a fair bit of algebra and trigonometry. Transitions between inferences aren't typically explained at all, but it is up to the student to understand them. With the primary text as well as having brushed-up on precalculus, this was within reach, but only with ample effort.

200: distasteful and pathetic
300: mediocre or subpar
400: average, but decent
500: very good
600: superb
700: transcendental

 

[Spring in Fialta]

Cat and Mouse by Gunter Grass (1961) - I am ambivalent towards this one. Recounting the story of Joachim Mahlke, a German oddball, through the eyes of an old schoolmate, this one doesn't feel like much of a story at all. Nor does Mahlke seem like much of an oddball. Quirky, for sure, but not in any way that felt particularly compelling. And this is why I'm not so positive about the book. Because it completely dedicates itself to a description of Mahlke, without much of anything ever happening. I'm not against books where not much happens, but at least have it stand out in style or thoughts. I think Cat and Mouse fails at both, despite technical excellence (brilliant use of vocabulary and the pace is flawless). Perhaps it went over my head, because there were certainly moments where I was enthralled by the writing. But it simply never went anywhere interesting. Constant (mostly good) description is a killer for me if it doesn't help the story take the next step, which is what I feel happened here. It rarely lead anywhere, and soon felt like it was description for description's sake. That's detrimental to shorter works, where efficency becomes particularly important. It's distinct enough that I'll end up giving it another shot someday. But this book felt like a beautiful sports car that's constantly stalling. It's nice to be inside, but you walk away with a certain bitterness.

 

[Thucydides]

Warren Buffet is an interesting guy- folksy, genius, and ridiculously rich.

The book was well written , in depth, and fun to read the whole way through. It was an interesting journey to see Buffet go from child to what he is now. The guy seems to have been in on every big stock deal in the last 50-60 years .

Buffet got to where he was by hard work. He reads a lot, books, magazines and financial statements. There is no magic trick to what he does. It’s a great motivator to know that you can pretty much do whatever you put your mind to.

I did feel at times throughout the book that Buffet may be a little too lost in his work , as his family life suffered as a result. His kids felt distanced from him and his wife eventually left him.

I’d recommend this book to anyone interested in business , or finance . Lots of good life lessons in it as well.

8.8/10

 

[Spring in Fialta]

Pnin by Vladimir Nabokov (1957) - A fantastic stylistic work. Narrated by Vladimir Nabokov himself (this is never explicitly stated, but becomes quite obvious through a number of cheeky hints, such as the usage of his full Russian name, and refences to a distinguished novelist and " brilliant lecturer ") the story shares the comical misadventures of the hapless Pnin, a Russian professor of literature who's quirky demeanor and mannerisms, obliviousness and lack of mastery of the English language converges to create a series of highly entertaining episodes of which Pnin is consistently the losing victim. The knowledge of linguistics (and their contrasts between languages, particularly English and Russian) are a constant source of amusement for Nabokov and he uses them to great effect to create an enthralling sense of style that never lets up throughout the story, and make for interesting cultural tidbits. Books such as Pnin are the perfect example as to why good literature does not have to be didactic or impart wisdom to be extraordinary. Similarly to his Lolita, there is no moral value to Pnin. It is simply a damn fine story, told perfectly. It also has a lot of heart. Through a sly and delicate use of words and references, it is quite obvious that Nabokov is deeply endeared by his bumbling creation and he goes to great lengths to portray poor Pnin as a character worthy of the highest admiration (Nabokov, as a character, cleverly takes revenge for Pnin against his despicable ex-wife). I think this is the first Nabokov novel or short story that I have absolutely no reservations about and would call a masterpiece. The vivid descriptions of New England felt completely appropriate and never dull and the slapstick quality of the work was incredibly amusing. In fact, I have no idea why this book isn't as beloved as his other more famous works. Next to John Kennedy Toole's Ignatius J. Reilly and Dostoyevsky's The Underground Man, Nabokov's Pnin might just be the greatest comic character I've had the pleasure of reading.

 

[Spring in Fialta]

Cosmopolis by Don DeLillo (2003) - Before reading this book, I was mostly aware of Don DeLillo by reputation as he's considered part of that elite group of American writers who came upon success in the 60s and 70s (Pynchon, Roth and the likes). I had attempted to read Point Omega a few years ago and given up a few pages in. It came as a surprise to me to see that the reviews for Cosmopolis aren't particularly high. It reads like catnip for critics and New York intellectuals. That's not to say I did not like it. I liked it enough. But it's certainly a novel of ideas, ideas that take precedence over anything else, to the detriment of story-telling. The set-up is simple yet very imaginative. The novel follows Eric Pecker, a 28 year-old monetary superstar who decides he wants to get a haircut across town, on a particularly busy day (the president is in the city, there's a massive anti-capitalist protest and the funeral of a rap superstar Pecker is particularly fond of) which consistently causes traffic and allows Eric Pecker to freely leave his limo for food gorging, philosophical sex and attempts at transcending his calculating self. These can also happen within his limo, so yeah. There is also a credible threat on Pecker's life, which he's aware of. Of course, the book ends up taking a brutally nihilistic turn and Pecker (of course) ends up being enthralled with the idea of someone being after him and ensures that his potential murderer can confront him without obstacles because he wants to be a human being and feeeeeeeeel things. The simple reason (which DeLillo takes a while to get to) is that because to be human is to feel things (like snot after sneezing) and that as much as some of us want to, we can't converge with technology and have nature retain it sense of self. So, as you could easily imagine, Pecker almost willingly blows his entire fortune (and in a very funny moment, robs his heiress wife and blows her fortune too in about 10 seconds) to rid himself of everything that he thinks holds him back from himself.

If this sounds like it's up it's own ass, that's because it is. Or maybe I think that it's up it's own ass because some of it went over my head. I don't know. I'm not sure that I particularly care. The book could be very annoying by moments, particularly in the first half. A big reason is that DeLillo is so obsessed with his articulate ideas, that all of his characters (despite a wonderful pie thrower in the second half of the book, amusingly called the pastry assassin) end up speaking exactly the same way: a vocabulary for the ages, nihilistically and completely somber. One is the same as the rest. You know one, you know them all. All equally intelligent (in fact, there's nothing to suggest that Pecker is more intelligent than the others, even if it's clearly supposed to be the case).

With that said, I thought the structure of the narrative was incredibly well-done and he's a phenomenal writer of prose. I cannot deny that there were moments where I felt an electric tingle reading him followed by that sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach when you know you're reading a good wordsmith. Also, when DeLillo actually allowed himself to tell a story, it became a lot more interesting. This is mostly present in the second part of the book. There's a particularly fantastic passage that describes the funeral of a beloved Sufi rapper and Eric Packer's feelings and interaction within in that shows how ideas can be a part of story-telling and not removed from it. And despite the contrived Let The Chips Fall Where They May storyline, the way Pecker makes it happen through action was unpredictable and well-described. The book was well-thought and I think could have been elevated to great heights if DeLillo had put in a little more work in the actual telling of a story and avoided going a little bit of those hokey nihilistic cliches that we've seen a lot before (they reminded me a lot of Paul Auster's City of Glass, although they were a lot more organic in that book and never felt cliche but completely appropriate). I'd still recommend the book, it gets the brain going and is well-written, but there's definitely a sense of lost potential there.