Taking Account

Checking in with goals I made at the beginning of this year.

1. Ancient Greek and Roman lit.  I’ve read The Odyssey by Homer, Medea by Euripides, and The Birds by Aristophanes.  I’m still hoping to get to The Aeneid, Symposium, and (potentially) Anne Carson’s translations of Euripides.  I doubt I will make it to Aristotle’s Poetics.
2. Shakespeare.  I’ve read Othello, The Taming of the Shrew, and The Merchant of Venice.  Also working my way through his sonnets.  Planning to read Macbeth (a reread) and The Winter’s Tale before year’s end, which would bring me to five Shakespeare plays this year.
3. Woolf. No progress, started the diaries, but got distracted.  May still read The Waves.
4. Joyce.  No progress.  Reread “The Dead”.  Hoping to read Portrait… soon.
5. Dante.  No progress, wanted to read The Aeneid first.  Moving this to next year?
6. Proust.  No progress, read a bit of Swann’s Way, got distracted.  Next year.
7. Nabokov.  Read his complete stories and Mary, his first novel.  Planning on reading King, Queen, Knave later this year.
8. Authors I feel I will love. No progress.  Still hoping to get to Perec this year though…
9. A few lady classics.  Read Jane Eyre, Villette, and Sense & Sensibility.  Attempting to make time for Wuthering Heights this winter.
10. Short stories.  I did read the Munro and Carver I wanted.  Also a few others I don’t feel like listing now.  Currently reading Yates’s stories.
11. NYRB Classics.  Read a few, will try for more, but I am satisfied as is.

So.  Not as much progress as I had hoped for, but I have read amazing books this year, more than a few gaps filled.  A few detours on the way, including a Les Liasons dangereuses inspired reading list and a little digging into detective fiction origins.

Fall List

(Because reading lists are what I make.)

Tradition authors:

1. The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins
2. House on the Strand by Daphne DuMaurier
3. Affinity by Sarah Waters
4. The Sundial by Shirley Jackson
5. The Murder of Roger Ackroyd by Agatha Christie
6. The Hound of the Baskervilles by Arthur Conan Doyle

Mystery authors:

1. Patricia Highsmith
2. Gaudy Night by Dorothy Sayers
3. The Maltese Falcon by Dashiell Hammett
4. The Big Sleep by Raymond Chandler
5. Brat Farrar by Josephine Tey

A re-read:

1. Macbeth by William Shakespeare

Others that are definite:

1. Practical Magic by Alice Hoffmann
2. The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde
3. Nightmare Alley
4. Simenon
5. Poe (tales and poems)
6. The Vistor by Maeve Brennan

Maybes, we’ll see:

1. The House of Seven Gables by Nathaniel Hawthorne
2. Miss Peregrine’s
3. The Leavenworth Case
4. Flann O’Brien
5. In Cold Blood by Truman Capote
6. Kate Atkinson
7. Tana French
8. The Weird Sisters
9. The Night Circus
10. The Magicians

 

Ivan Turgenev’s First Love

There is something so simple, but so satisfying in Turgenev‘s work.  Every word seems to matter, every scene intentional.  Perhaps this is because I’ve only read his shorter works, this novella, First Love, and his ‘short stories,’ Sketches from a Hunter’s Album.

It opens at the end of a dinner party. The host decides the remaining guests, all men, will tell the tale of their first love.  Most of them claim to have uninteresting experiences of first love, but Vladimir Petrovich allows them hope for a good story, saying, “My first love was certainly not at all ordinary.”  But he refuses to tell it aloud then and there, promising within two weeks to write it down for them.  What follows is the fulfillment of his promise.

He begins at his family’s summer home, when he is sixteen, and barely beginning to take notice of girls:

I remember that at that time the image of woman, the shadowy vision of feminine love, scarcely ever took definite shape in my mind; but in every thought, in every sensation, there lay hidden a half-conscious, shy, timid awareness of something new, inexpressibly sweet, feminine . . . This presentiment, this sense of expectancy, penetrated my whole being; I breathed it, it was in every drop of blood that flowed through my veins — soon it was to be fulfilled.

Soon neighbors (a Princess! and her daughter!) move in next door, and Vladimir catches a glimpse of her.  He loves Zinaida almost instantly, even when he sees her for less than a perfect creature (in her own words: “I am a flirt: I have no heart: I have an actor’s nature.”), he loves her no less, only his jealousy increases.

As with many first loves, this one does not end so happily, I might even call it tragic.  First Love is short, about one hundred pages, and I read it in one sitting, which was perfect.  Turgenev always reminds me of Chekhov’s stories, even though Turgenev was writing before Chekhov was born.

Villette: Week One

These are thoughts half-formed, nascent, and wholly mutable as I delve further into Charlotte Brontë’s final novel, Villette, along with the rest of the readers in the Villette readalong.

Five chapters into Villette, and my question is: who is Lucy Snowe?  She’s the main character and narrator of the novel.  But I know little else of her.  In fact, I feel better acquainted with six year-old Polly and the “rheumatic cripple” Miss Marchmont.

The concrete facts are slim.  There’s no mention of her family, save her godmother Mrs. Bretton.  “Troubles” sum up the eight years between her departure from Bretton and her employment to Miss Marchmont.  It’s hinted she’s wearing a mourning dress and seems “a worn-out creature,” a physical display of these “troubles.”  Lucy has “not yet counted twenty-three summers,” she is twenty-two (the same age as I am).

But, I’ll attempt to read between the lines.  Lucy is calm, wise, and has so far seemed to act mature.  Even her trip to London was well thought out, with a mission.  (Although the Aurora Borealis was somewhat the catalyst for this decision.)  Observant may be her most prominent characteristic so far, always watching, always listening, always thinking.  And here, I identify with her.  This observance tells me of Polly and Miss Marchmont in exacting detail.  This observance also blocks me from learning more of Lucy Snowe herself.

Lucy seems to feel a strong connection to, and a strong belief in the power of, nature.  During the storm on the last night of Miss Marchmont’s life, she anxiously recalls three previous times when “events had taught me that these strange accents in the storm–this restless, hopeless cry–denote a coming state of the atmosphere unpropitious to life.”  She allows the Aurora Borealis lighting up the sky to spark a possible change in her life, a new location: London.

So, onward to London, until next week!

Impressions: January Edition

It would be impossible for me to post singly on every book I read in a month.  This is my attempt to make sure no books slip through the cracks.

Exercises in Style by Raymond Queneau (translated by Barbara Wright) is the result of Queneau observing a fairly banal scene on a bus one day and writing the story of it ninety-nine different ways.  Some of the stories are inventive and imaginative and others are either confusing if you’re not familiar with different linguistic tricks (somewhere in the middle of the book are three stories which when you put the letters together properly form one story) or slightly boring.  All in all though, I enjoyed this, my first Queneau and am curious to discover what his work is like when it’s not so limited in scope.

Oh, Ishiguro.  It seems we’re not meant to be.  I was unimpressed by your Never Let Me Go (although I am intrigued by the trailer for the new movie), but decided to give you another go with Remains of the Day, possibly your most beloved work.  I don’t mean to say I disliked it, because I didn’t, but I didn’t like it very much either.  Something in your style irks (and frustrates) me, preventing me from caring about the character(s), which I’m noticing is pretty important if one is going to enjoy an Ishiguro novel.

I adored Steve Martin‘s 2000 novella, Shopgirl, so very much.  It’s quirky, but it has a lot of heart.  Mirabelle is the titular shop-girl, who is working at the glove department of a department store, when she meets a rich, older gentleman who can give her everything but his heart, truly.  But even so, they develop a deep affection for one another.  It’s very quote-able, but I’ll only pick one:

“I’m fixing myelf.”

“I’m fixing myself too,” says Jeremy.

And they know that they will forever have something to talk about.

I actually finished Mariama Bâ’s So Long a Letter the first day of February, but I read most of it during January for the Year of Feminist Classics.  It’s an epistolary novel comprised of letters from a recently widowed woman to her friend, a divorcée.  While both women were forced to deal with their husbands’ decisions to take another wife, they took different paths.  I was fascinated by the glimpse into the lives of these two women, and the wrap-up for the selection is here.  On friendship and love:

Friendship has splendours that love knows not.  It grows stronger when crossed, whereas obstacles kill love.  Friendship resists time, which wearies and severs couples.  It has heights unknown to love.

Open Secrets by Alice Munro is a collection of short stories mostly set in the fictional small Canadian town of Carstairs.  As with So Long a Letter, I read this mostly in January, except for the last story.  While there’s veins of brilliance running throughout all the stories, my favorites were “Carried Away”, “The Albanian Virgin” (during which I had my “Munro is amazing!” epiphany), “Open Secrets,” and “The Jack Randa Hotel.”  A major element in these stories was letter writing, as almost all of them had an epistolary component.  I think the reason Munro is so beloved is because she knows people.  She knows how they act, why they act that way, the pieces of their inner lives that manifest themselves outwardly.  She knows the strange people, the outcasts, the damaged, those geographically cut off from main society.  Two quotes, both from “The Albanian Virgin”:

A dermatologist sees grief and despair, though the problems that bring people to him may not be in the same class as tumors and blocked arteries.  He sees sabotage from within, and truly unlucky fate.  He sees how matters like love and happiness can be governed by a patch of riled-up cells. (pg. 127)

My connection was in danger—that was all.  Sometimes our connection is frayed, it is in danger, it seems almost lost.  Views and streets deny knowledge of us, the air grows thin.  Wouldn’t we rather have a destiny to submit to, then, something that claims us, anything, instead of such flimsy choices, arbitrary days? (pg. 147)

February Plans

I am addicted to list making.  My desk, purse, notebooks, cell phone are littered with lists on note cards, post-its, receipts.  Some of these (okay a good number) are lists of books.  I like seasonal reading, and I find joy in making lists of the perfect books for each month, or period in my life.  This doesn’t mean I stick to them, of course.  I’ve been known to possess a wandering eye.  I also tend to over-stuff my lists, making it impossible for me to finish all of them in the given time period, so I don’t worry about reading them all.  I view them as guidelines or options, not a strict syllabus.  So instead of leaving my February list on a note card, I’ve decided to share it (with pictures!).

The above three I very much want to get to this month.  I’ve had Swann’s Way by Marcel Proust on my To Read list for years.  I think it’s time to start.  Virginia Woolf’s The Waves I’ve been meaning to read for about a year, and The Diary of Virginia Woolf: Volume One 1915-1919 I want to begin reading, although I don’t know that I expect to finish within the month.

These, and the following, were selected with the loose theme of love in mind, with a few deviations.

• The Pursuit of Love by Nancy Mitford
• Sexing the Cherry by Jeanette Winterson
• Giovanni’s Room by James Baldwin
• What We Talk About When We Talk About Love by Raymond Carver
• Sputnik Sweetheart by Haruki Murakami
• Eros the Bittersweet by Anne Carson
• Tender is the Night by F. Scott Fitzgerald
• What I Loved by Siri Hustvedt

• First Love by Ivan Turgenev
• Light Boxes by Shane Jones (Takes place during a perpetual February)
• The Lost Books of the Odyssey by Zachary Mason (Retelling of the recently finished The Odyssey)
• Sense & Sensibility by Jane Austen (I’ve been wanting to read more Austen.)
• Song of Solomon by Toni Morrison (Also been wanting more Morrison)
• Birthday Stories edited by Haruki Murakami (My birthday is in February.)
• A Small Place by Jamaica Kincaid

Others I considered that didn’t make the cut this time: The History of Love by Nicole Krauss, Geek Love by Katherine Dunn, Liars in Love by Richard Yates, and Chilly Scenes of Winter by Ann Beattie.

So, have you read any of these?  Which should I start with?

February Group Reading

There are a few group readalongs I’m participating in during February.

I’ll be finishing Naguib Mahfouz‘s Cairo Trilogy with the final installment of Sugar Street, hosted by Richard of Caravana de Recuerdos.

I so enjoyed my first experience reading with The Wolves, because even though the selection wasn’t necessarily my favorite, the discussion surrounding the work was very enriching and fun!  The February selection is Rosalind Belben’s Our Horses in Egypt (selected by Emily of Evening All Afternoon), a book I’d never heard about before, but I’m excited to give it a go.

The readalong of Charlotte Brontë’s Villette, hosted by Wallace of Unputdownables, runs through February and March, with a post every week.  Most likely, I won’t be able to post every week, but I’ll be reading and checking in with participants.

Bookworm Meets Bookworm is hosting an Age of Innocence Readalong.  I’ve recently fallen head over bookends for Edith Wharton and am happy to have an excuse to read more of her.

Claire of Paperback Reader and Verity of Cardigan Girl Verity are hosting Persephone Reading Weekend from February 25th-27th.  I’ve yet to read a Persephone, but I’ve got three in the queue.  Any suggestions on which to read first?

Naguib Mahfouz’s Palace of Desire

Translated by William Maynard Hutchins, Lorne M. Kenny, and Olive E. Kenny.

Honestly, my feelings for this trilogy so far mimic those felt among members of a big family.  Sometimes you love being around them, other times you want to scream, “What the what are you doing? Stop!” but you always like (well, love) them.

Palace of Desire, the second in Naguib Mahfouz‘s Cairo Trilogy, is filled with just that: desire.  How powerful it is, how it makes people act, what happens when two persons’ desires intersect.  Al-Sayyid Ahmad, while slowed down by his grief and his age, is still as lustful as ever, taking a lute player as a mistress.  Yasin is a man almost completely controlled by his desires and continues to chase after women no matter how many wives he’s taken and divorced.  Kamal’s desire is more genuine (if over-inflated) than that of Yasin and his father.  He falls for Aïda (“the beloved”), but she’s unattainable and perhaps not even that special.  Some parts of his laments over her were relatable for me, but it just when on a bit too much.  (I got it, she’s everything you want.  And more.)

I miss the women.  So much.  Or maybe I just miss the coffee hour scenes, since later in the book the coffee hour has dwindled to Amina, Kamal, and Umm Hanafi.  There was a scene early in the book when both Khadija and Amina’s families were over to the al-Sayyid Ahmad residence which I loved.  There were even moments of true tenderness from al-Sayyid Ahmad to his grandchildren.  I’m thinking that the absence of women from the novel may have to do with  the Muslim precept that when women marry, they belong to their new families (I think this is correct, but if it’s not let me know!).  Maybe since Khadija and Aisha married into new families, their lives don’t contribute a central component to their original family, and thus the novel.  But this doesn’t really explain Amina’s absence, but perhaps her thoughts, mostly mourning Fahmy, aren’t that relevant?  Also, a lot of my enjoyment (if that’s the right word…) of Palace Walk came from the thoughts of the suppressed female characters.  The narrowed scope results in a somewhat less interesting narrative.

It was more prevalent in the first novel, but Mahfouz often makes some bizarre metaphors and comparisons.  I noted a few while reading:

…for an argument may improve a relationship like cayenne pepper, which adds zest to food…  (pg. 575)

He had been a stone with obscure inscriptions carved on it, until love had come and solved the riddle.  (pg. 582)

Affection is an ancient melody but seems marvelously fresh in each new rendition.  (pg. 724)

He was like a vaulter who keeps trying to go just a foot higher only to find himself soaring high into the heavens. (pg. 802)

Maybe it’s a cultural/translational thing?

While the ending of the novel is tragic, I’m very interested (and happy about it?) to see what happens next, as I assume their would be a greater focus on the women characters, especially Aisha as her life will be changing dramatically.

I read this as part of The Cairo Trilogy Readalong, hosted by Richard at Caravana de Recuerdos

Aristophanes’s The Birds: Welcome to Cuckoonebulopolis!

Something fanciful . . .
A touch of clouds and airy spaciousness
And lightness.

The Birds is an Old Comedy classic by Aristophanes, which according to Wikipedia, was originally performed in 414 BCE at the City Dionysia (major yearly Greek drama festival) where it won second prize.  It’s regarded as a “creative fantasy,” an assessment I agree with.  I think this is the first time I’ve been exposed to an Ancient Greek or Roman work in which the events could not possibly happen in their reality (by which I mean the the existence and meddling of the gods are accepted ideas).

When the play begins, Pisthetaerus and his friend Euelpides are wandering around the outskirts of Athens searching for a new place to live.  They complain of the over legislation in Athens:

A splendid city, Athens, rich and free,
Denying none the right to . . . pay a fine!

They decide to talk to the Hoopoe, who is really Tereus (a real jerk and an ex-Thracian king who I had to refresh my memory about by reading the section on him in Ovid’s Metamorphoses).  Basically, Tereus was transformed into a Hoopoe, a really gorgeous bird, and now lives among the other birds, teaching them English in his spare time.  In Aristophanes’s version of events, the transformation didn’t go so well and leaves the Hoopoe comically missing feathers, for which he gives the excuse of birds molting in winter.

The “happy idea,” a requirement in Greek Old Comedy, occurs when Pisthetaerus decides that the birds should build a city in the sky (“Unite, and form a bird metropolis”), called Cuckoonebulopolis (or Cloud Cuckoo Land, don’t you want to go?), which would make birds the kings of everyone, including the gods.  However, getting a meeting with the birds proves difficult, as the birds are mistrustful and hostile towards humans, causing the men to defend themselves against the bird attacks with kitchen utensils.  But once the birds listen to the men, they agree to the plan, and construction of the city in the sky is completed quickly.

There’s a lot of comedy involving various characters that attempt to take a stake in the new city or to profit from it, including a surveyor, an inspector, a statute salesman, and a lawyer (shyster lawyer jokes have apparently been around since Ancient Greece).

The vase above is thought to be depicting a scene from the play.  I’m glad to have found it, since the Chorus is composed entirely of birds (from flamingos to owls), and I was curious about their costuming for much of the play.

I read the R. H. web translation.

I read this for The Ancient Greek Classics Circuit, touring now.  Other stops today include A Striped Armchair and Cousins Read.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Birds_%28play%29

Anzia Yezierska’s Bread Givers

Sara Smolinsky is a young Jewish immigrant living in a poor area of New York City with her family in the early 20th century.  Her father, a scholar of the Torah, rules his house like a “tyrant more terrible than the Tsar from Russia,” using quotes from scripture to justify his every decision and personal belief (on women being allowed admittance into Heaven: “Only if they cooked for men, and washed for men, and didn’t nag and curse the men out of their homes, only if they let the men study the Torah in peace, then, maybe, they could push themselves into heaven with the men, to wait on them there.”).

Sara’s three sisters are weak-willed in the face of their father’s tyranny and bend eventually to his desires (mostly concerning marriage), and as Sara grows up in this environment, she deeply senses the unfairness and the cruelty of her father and sees the unhappiness that stems from his decisions.  While she is a good, hardworking, (mostly) dutiful (she has a habit of back talk) daughter, she finally finds the strength to break free from her father’s reign and his Old World values and attempt to transition into a daughter of the New World, an educated woman, not in fear of being labeled an old maid.

Skimming through the introduction, I learned that this novel is partially autobiographical, which I had assumed, but had had doubts about it.  I never really connected with Sara.  Of course I wanted her to achieve her dreams, but I never doubted she would escape her father and find her place in the world.  And I cringed at a great number of things her father said to his family.  But these characters never felt real to me, I couldn’t feel them breathing, they were predictable and almost stock-like.  Perhaps this is because of the over saturation of these types of tales in society today: parents are unreasonable and stuck in their own ways, so child rebels and starts out on his or her own.  Perhaps it’s because I’m not Jewish or very well versed in that culture.  (However, I can see that this novel would lend itself particularly well to a teaching setting, from middle school up.)

I read this as the January selection for The Wolves, hosted by Eileen.