Marcus
How can you like a book when you hate almost all of the characters? I started off liking some of them, or didn't fully realize I hated them until I read third section which is told from the perspective of Jason, likely the biggest loser I have ever encountered in real or literary life. He's a self-pitying, egotistical, violent, aggressive, passive-aggressive, heartless, soulless SOB that Faulkner writes all too realistically.
As I read Jason's section, my opinion of the remaining characters deteriorated quickly. Jason is his mother's favorite child which made me hate his mother for loving him. His mother constantly whines about fulfilling the wishes of her dead husband which made me hate her dead husband. Jason hates his niece who hates herself and wants to die. His niece is named after her Uncle Quentin who hated himself so much he DID kill himself, making me hate both Quentins. Caddie, Quentin the Niece's mom, doesn't make much of an appearance (having been exiled on account of her promiscuity) but we do know that while she was helpful with her handicapped brother, she can't take care of her own daughter because her lifestyle is too wild. She is desperate and helpless and Jason hates her and hurts her at every opportunity. I thought I liked Caddie, but I don't know, she seems hatable enough.
That leaves Jason's mentally handicapped brother Benjamin and the black servants who work in the house. Benjamin is 33. He narrates for the first section of the book, ironically the only section that I found to be truly enjoyable. His doesn't speak and his predominant sense is smell. He's confused, castrated and constantly crying. Jason despises him and wants to send him to Jackson, a public mental asylum. While I liked his perspective, my feelings for Ben are neutral at best. Then there are the servants. I like them. They're the only sane ones in the book. Luster just wants a quarter to see a show (understandable), and his grandma Dilsey is the only person in the book with a mentality remotely close to my definition of healthy. I'll take their simple motives to Jason's insanity anytime.
The oft-mentioned stream of consciousness writing style was my favorite part of the book and the reason that despite the bevy of annoying characters, my overall impression of the book is positive. When I got into the flow of it, it was uncanny how easy it was to follow the frequent shifts in perspective. I felt lost at times but the narrative always ended up coalescing seamlessly. Sometimes it happened synchronous with my reading it, more often, 20 or 30 pages later.
Despite the beautiful writing, the reason I probably won't read this again, aside from the aforementioned annoying characters, is that I don't think The Sound and the Fury will have a lasting effect on me. It doesn't have the moral and philosophical insights of Dostoyevsky, the introspections of Hemingway, the historical expansiveness of Tolstoy, the humor of Cervantes or the mystery of Borges. Instead you get the dirty South. My native South is portrayed in a way that is akin to watching ESPN in some alternate universe where they only show the errors. It's painful entertainment.
Why couldn't Stegner be decent and write a book with an antagonist toward whom I could detachedly direct my righteous indignation? Instead, he wrote the Big Rock Candy Mountain with Bo, who is not one of Cormac McCarthy's depraved evil doers. Jarringly, and despite what you might believe otherwise, Bo is me, only in different circumstances. When Bo lashes out at his children or disappoints his wife or goes after another pipe dream that will have him raking in the dollars, it is me. How could he be anyone else? His emotions are mine, only amplified. His intentions, his thoughts and his dreams are also mine and yet when I look at him, at myself, it is with loathing. I want to look away, to deny that he exists and that anyone could possibly write my story, could put me in a different time, (though in the same place, much of the novel is set in Seattle) and reveal my actions so rawly to anyone who cares to read them. It is embarrassing and it hurt to turn the pages, but I couldn't stop. I had to know what I would do next. Surely I would redeem myself? Surely my heart-of-gold would be enough to save the ones I love? Could Stegner really know my feelings and failings better than even I do? He did. He wrote them truthfully and tragically and I am better for having endured reading them. The Big Rock Candy Mountain is a course correction wrapped in a brilliantly written novel that gripped me like few books ever have before.
Four stars is probably generous, but since so much of the book is set in and around Seattle, I'll round up.
Reamde moves faster than other Stephenson books, but lacks his characteristic depth. The plot is fun and fast, the characters are somewhat flat, but if you're just looking for entertainment, you could do a lot worse.
I read, struggled to read, half of The Mysterious Flame, then stopped. It's a frustratingly boring book by a nostalgic, older bibliophile about, surprise!, a nostalgic, older bibliophile. The story starts shortly after the protagonist suffers a sudden onset of amnesia. To reconstruct his life, he spends several days in an attic reliving his childhood through books and music.
The plot has potential, but the writing is so contrived and the story moves so slowly that it comes out feeling like the book is just an excuse for Eco to both rehash his past and show off his erudition by quoting the most cheesy passages from a zillion obscure books, then tying the passages into magical and mysterious flames of memory.
If you like Marcel Proust and his journeys down the never ending miles of memory lane, you might like this book. If you're a hyper-nostalgic, older bibliophile, you'll probably love this book. If you're anyone else, skip it.
For me, this book came after a long line of other books written in its vein, this despite the fact that Vagabonding was written before most of them. Having read it so late in my independent travel reading career, I found it less than revolutionary, but I can easily see how it is an oft recommended book. The content is a very good mix of practical tips, motivational stories and inspirational quotes to help young travelers with some savings work up to long term traveling. I say young travelers because while there are some token nods to families and older travelers, but younger people without kids will get the most benefit from Vagabonding. If you feel like you could use an extra boost to get the courage up to go see the world, definitely give this a read.
This is the first book I've read as a direct result of reading Cal Newport's excellent book [b:Deep Work 25744928 Deep Work Rules for Focused Success in a Distracted World Cal Newport https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1447957962s/25744928.jpg 45502249]. The problem All Things Shining addresses is that the more choice of thought and actions we have, the more we are prone to nihilistic tendencies. This is counter-intuitive but in many ways, it's true. Being free from the shackles of religion, superstition, fate, and god-ordained kings should be empowering and joyful. But it's not that simple. Freedom can be whatever we make it which, it turns out, is a problem. The paradox of so much choice can lead to paralysis. Not knowing with certainty what our role in society is, or what the future of the universe and humanity might be can leave us conflicted, anxious, and worried about wasting time and energy. As Dostoyevsky's observed, “when nothing matters, everything is okay.”All Things Shining implicates everyone from Descartes and Kant to Luther and St Augustine, luminaries usually spared much criticism, in the unfortunate spread of nihilism and existential angst in modern society.Fortunately though, we're not left to wallow in our discontent. The authors suggest that rather than endless speculation about things we can't know, or fretting over things we can't change, we should focus on the shining things. Their examples of finding the shining things come from the Greeks and their gods, the last professional full time wheelwright, Herman Melville, whose white whale graces the cover of the book, David Foster Wallace and Elizabeth GilbertWhen the Greeks were blessed with good fortune, cursed with bad, or captivated by whatever passion the gods brought them, they fully embraced it, allowing it to consume their attention until, like all shining things, it passed. There was no question about where the feeling came from, only acceptance.Today we can't blind ourselves to the fact that the Greek gods don't exist, but we can occasionally allow ourselves to be carried away in the passion of a crowd watching football or dancing together or joined in awe of any human accomplishment. We can master skills and crafts and find the hidden value in working with materials in the physical world. As we master these skills, we can enter flow states, and find lasting passion in our craftsmanship.We can feel the meditative bliss of being caught up in a moment of gratitude or acceptance. We can allow the creative muses work within us or simply appreciate the creativity of others. In short, we can find pleasure, joy, and even meaning in the realm of human action. If we work at it, enough pleasure to forget the trap of nihilism and flourish, confident in our place in the world and in the skills we've mastered.For me, this was a new way of thinking about meaning. I love the idea and I'm excited to keep going down the path of books Cal Newport mentions.[b:Rapt 6262510 Rapt Attention and the Focused Life Winifred Gallagher https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1442939057s/6262510.jpg 6445747] is next.