Category: Books

I finished the second of the books  in Stephen King’s Dark Tower series, The Drawing of the Three and it was quite good, better than the first I think.  Here Roland is joined by companions, but as in the first book, things are not always what they seem and nothing is obvious or clear cut.   Roland himself is also expanding and evolving as he "draws" his companions.  Everyone in this book as a long way to go on their quest and this does not involved just the physical journey.

As you know I get well wrapped up in a good story, and this is a good story.  It is also complicated and thought provoking, modern and archetypal all at once.  I am not going to discuss the plot, it is a straightforward quest, but as in all quests there are many subplots, distractions, and sink-holes along the way.  I do love the way Roland’s course, and the lives of his companions are all inter-related, even though they do not yet know this, and all quests merge into the one quest.  And yet, we don’t really yet know what that quest is, even though we have an inking of this, after all they are seeking the "dark tower".  But what is the dark tower?  Where will the journey take them?  Why are these people chosen?  Is there redemption from the choices we make in life?  There are no obvious answers to these questions, just as there are no obvious answers in life.

Leave it to me to take a simple fictional story and start pondering metaphysics. 

Needless to say it is a good book and an enjoyable read.  But there are no easy answers and no easy escape here.

I finished Stephen King’s The Gunslinger today and enjoyed it immensely, enough in fact that I was half tempted to get the second volume of the series and run back to the exercise bike so I could read some more.  This first volume of the DARK TOWER series was short, not 300 pages and the reader slides right through it.  I finished it in less than 2 ½ hours, but I am a moderately fast reader, especially when fully engaged in a book, or chained to it by the rotating wheels of a bicycle.  Further, faster, further, faster, seems to be the mode of bicycle reading at its best.

But back to the book.  I had read one of the volumes in this series once before, the third one I believe.  It left me completely confused.  I believe my mom had sent it to me in a consignment of old books she was passing on.  I read it before realizing that it was part of a series, or that I would become so involved..  At first I thought the western theme did not appeal; but it does.  It is archetypical after all, as the story of the journey or the quest, and the whole issue of good and evil.  King approaches the story in an interesting, at times confusing, intelligent and gripping way.  At first off-putting, you are drawn in.  Nothing is clear in this world.  But then nothing is really clear in our world either; one begins to feel at home even as one is uncomfortably aware that one is lost and out of place.  I am not going to tell you about the characters.  I do not yet know them, if ever I will, and am still confused at the end of book one, but I think this is part of the point.  Knowledge is always partial.

A good story.  I have always liked Stephen King.  He is obviously a literate and good writer.  His stories are good as stories and I am partial to good stories.  The best make us think about ourselves a little differently, but the best stories always do.  He is literate but does not write literary fiction, a plus in my book, because literary fiction seems so often to be too heavily bound up in its own existence.  Give me a good story any day.  I am looking forward to the next volume.

I will have to read the end again tonight again before bed.  There are things to ponder. 

But not quite at the end, and not the ponderous subjects I intend to contemplate later, this line resonates with me now:

“despite a tremendous increase in available facts, there were remarkably few insights”.

Of course you will recognize why this appeals.  Have I not rambled on and on about this very thing far to often?

Digging to America was a joy to read, as I would expect from any novel by Anne Tyler.  There is no great action, no great turmoil, and in fact very little self-analysis, although more in this book than some.  But Tyler’s novels of everyday life and everyday people are so well drawn, so personal that the reader is pulled into the characters, feeling themselves a part of the family, as if these are people we know and care about on an intimate level.

It is a fairly complex story a story about culture, community, family, and fitting in.  The truth is we all feel that we don’t fit at some point or another, or many of us, any way, but Tyler explores the ins and outs of family and cultural difference with a deft ear.  The juxtaposition of two families, each adopting Korean infants, leaves room for a generous and tender exploration of American-ness, both through the Donaldsons, an American family in all its variations, and the Yasdans, an Iranian-American family. The book really made me think about culture and assimilation, foreign-ness and exclusion, and even what it means to be an American and what assumptions Americans tend to make no matter from where on the political spectrum they hail.

The writing is straightforward and simple.  This is not a book you savor for the beauty of its prose, or for transporting you away to an imaginary place away from real life.  And that is not to say that it is poorly written and not a joy to read.  The spare simplicity is very evocative and effecting. It is a very well written novel.  It is certainly not a literary novel though, and I don’t mean that as a critisism.

In some sense it is different than most books I love.  I tend to love books for the writing, a true luxury that is, like slowly savoring the finest chocolate, or I love books for the story itself, the way it draws me in to a world of its own and takes me to some other place, outside of real life, a place were visions can become reality.  These books are a necessity of sorts; we all have times when we need to escape from life as we know it into some fantasy world, be that a world of espionage and adventure, romance, beautiful clothes and expensive real estate, or just plain old fantasy.  By being able to indulge in some fantasy life we are able to more easily accept and tolerate real life.

This book does not really provide that escape; it is a book that draws you in to the details of life, and perhaps, but only perhaps requires that you look at the people that make up that life a little differently.  There were times I was exhausted and annoyed by each of the characters with their assumptions and beliefs and negative values.  But we are all like that.  We all blunder through life sometimes more successfully than others.

And yet the book was enjoyable in its own quiet, reflective sort of way. I finished the book hoping the characters will get a little closer to getting it right the next time, and perhaps hoping that I too, might be a little closer to that elusive goal.

In the end it is the story that I always fall for, and this story is no exception.  Highly recommended.

I finished reading Resistance  by Anita Shreve and it was a nice enjoyable book with a good story.  After the last couple of books, even on the bicycle, this was quiet a releif.  Good story, enjoyable read.  Happy.  It is not profound.  It is not the next great novel.  But it was a very entertaining diversion for several hours; and that, sometimes, is a little slice of heaven.

I am amazed at the number of Harlan Coban and James Patterson fans out there, at least if the last two novels, which I read this week are any indication.

If I hadn’t been desperate to pass the time, I wouldn’t have even bothered.

4th of July  was entertaining enough for a short flight of less than 2 hours duration. The writing was nothing thrilling, but the story kept me awake.  It was certainly not something I felt like lugging the rest of the way home and therefore was probably the perfect travel book:  read it, toss it, forget it.  Probably no more a waste of money that countless movies that we spend money to see and promptly forget.

The Innocent  was of less interesting.  Compared to Coban, Patterson was a really good writer.  I suppose I have read worse.  The story was of some interest but the writing really held it back.  If I had not been mired in an interminable wait in a doctor’s office, faced with The Innocent or back issues of Parents Magazine, I might have given up.  It passed the time.  The tale has some interesting complexities, the characters enough development to make them interesting as well.  It certainly passed the time.

I miss the writing of Elizabeth George, probably because I just finished With No One As Witness  recently.  The writing is certainly better, although perhaps some might complain about how she meanders through the irrelevancies of her character’s lives.  This one was not as complex as some but still eminently enjoyable.  Perhaps if I had not just finished the George, which is more to my taste, I would have enjoyed the other two books more.

I was given a series of small books, part of a series called Great Ideas, published by Penguin Books.  They are nice because they are small and easily carried in a pocket or handbag.

I have started reading one of them, Why I Write  by George Orwell. The title essay is short but very interesting and well-written, as should be expected from Orwell, of course.  It is nice because he reminds me that all writing is political, in that all writers have something to say, and having something to say is political.  If someone has nothing to say they would not and certainly should not write.    Of course I know this but sometimes forget it when I get all up in arms over a book that I find to be so overtly politically one-sided that it becomes more diatribe than fiction.  At first thought, I would have said my objection is that I object with the author’s politics, but that is not the case.  I don’t care if the point is liberal or conservative; nor do I care about whether or not I agree with the point being made.  I suppose I care more that the point is well made, with elegance and finesse.  I appreciate good writing even though I will also admit to enjoying a good story even when the writing is poor. I find however, that one thing that truly antagonizes me, other than truly awful writing, is writing which is so obviously political that it browbeats the reader, makes no attempts at subtlety or objectivity, and takes the reader on a ride that is so obviously one-sided as to be almost rabidly so. Good writing leads you to its point through considered argument.  I dislike being beaten about the head and shoulders by the message before I have even had a chance to begin to enjoy the book.

I am in the middle of the second essay now, The Lion and The Unicorn.  It is interesting in several ways, most notably so far in Orwell’s analysis of the English temper and character, as well as the way he defines the character of a people, English or other.

I am most amused at the moment by the section on the “left-wing intelligentsia” and the acknowledgment that there was, at that time, “no intelligentsia that is not in some sense ‘left’”.  Although Orwell is writing of the English Intelligentsia of over 50 years ago, he could in many ways be describing American Intelligentsia today.  It is quite humerus.  As you know, I despise fanaticism, be it religious, cultural, intellectual, or political.  I am having great fun with this essay.  Of course, since I am not at the end I have no idea where Orwell will take me next and what, finally, will be revealed.

I have not finished, this is a good book for picking up in dribs and drabs, and each section aside from being entertaining, rewards reflection.  There is therefore no need to rush as this work will be slow to be assimilated.

I picked up this book:

and absolutely love most of the patterns!  It has been moving around the house, sewing room, by my knitting chair, bedside, wherever it can be available for constant browsing.

At the moment the design most on my mind is this one:

Which is knit in one piece and looks like it has an interesting bias affect determined by how you shape the armholes.  I am not sure about the details, not sure if I understand everything, and am wondering if I can add sleeves, or if that will throw the entire line out of whack.  I guess I better haul out Knitting Languages  and see if I can figure it out.  I am envisioning this in wool, so it is not a pressing concern, who knows something else might catch my fancy before I get started. 

Meanwhile, as we approach the first weekend of May I am thinking about Maryland Sheep and Wool, or more specifically I am thinking about how I am not going.  I planned to go, I had planned to take an extra day or two, visit a friend, shop a favorite fabric store in Baltimore, poke around here and there, but cancelled my plans a few weeks ago when I thought the deck would be in process right about now.  I’m really not comfortable going away while people are tearing apart parts of my domicile.  The deck is still on hold, however the masons are here, there is scaffolding in front of the house and a hole in the roof where mud is being passed down and empty buckets are being hauled back up to be refilled while course after course of bricks are being laid.

Ah well. it is probably for the best.  There is too much going on.  I was completely overwhelmed at Rhinebeck and perhaps need another year of Rhinebeck under my belt before I tackle anything bigger.  Besides I am still on my mission to "support your local yarn shop" and am planning to go down to Yarn Central, probably Thursday after the masons leave.  I need to call and check on the hours.  It might have to be Friday instead.

Very interesting novel.  Suspenseful til the end (and I tend to read the end in advance but the suspense remained).

Tucson was
lovely, warm and sunny. I had less
reading and knitting time than I had anticipated because G’s courses ended at 12:30 rather than 6 as he had originally
thought. This gave me less time for
personal pursuits, but more time for hiking, touring, and sitting with my
beloved. Who can complain about that?

I did get some reading completed; the bulk of it at the gym
on the exercise bicycle. I picked up a
trashy novel on the way out to Tucson,
Danielle Steele’s newest paperback, ImPossible. It was perfect bicycle reading; it kept me pedaling. I would probably have grown bored and started
skimming if I were sitting by the pool or in the room reading this but on the
bicycle it was just enough to keep me going, and easy and mindless enough to
prevent my having to stop and think.

I admit to a closet addiction to Danielle Steele novels;
they are not the kind of thing an intelligent, discerning, rather
intellectually bookish woman is supposed to admit to reading. But then I have always believed that the
mingling of the high-brow with the low is what makes life bearable and
interesting so I suppose I should not be ashamed. I believe I have read them all, since the
first one, read when I was in college. They aren’t, for the most part, keepers, and it is kind of embarrassing
to admit that I love them so… the sappy romantic in me coming out, even though
I have little tolerance for most romance novels.

After the romantic escape I moved on to SELF MADE MAN by
Norah Vincent. This was also good for
the bike, and also good for just sitting and reading. It is both a very entertaining and thought
provoking book. Ms. Vincent’s
observations made me reflect on men and women and how we perceive and
mis-perceive each other. It made me
think a lot about men, but it also made me think a lot about women, not always
in a flattering light, but not negatively either. It is a very interesting book. I think everyone should read it just because
it will make them think and each person’s reactions to Ms. Vincent’s points
would be an opening to a more understanding world. I can’t even say that women especially
should read it, because men could find points to ponder here as well. I am not sure that these are points that all
people are ready to ponder however.

As for more serious reading, I am still slowly working my
way through Fast Food Nation, and I started Collapse. Both of the books require a truck-load of
thinking and reflection time and are slow-going, not because they are slow
reads, but just because I find my mind wandering and thinking about so many
points. This discussion is probably best
put off until later however.

I’ve not been reading much, but I did finish The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion.  It is really a fine example of a memoir; I am glad I read it.  As you know by now, I don’t really review books, I just write down what I think; sometimes notes, sometimes general musings, sometimes more, and sometimes less, related to the major themes of the book.

The opening lines, oft repeated, stay in my mind:

Life changes fast.
Life Changes in an instant.
You sit down to dinner and life as you know it ends.

The book was touching and beautifully written, gripping, even though one knows the outcome.  Of course I usually know the outcome having been long been of the habit of reading the endings of books before the beginnings.  If knowing the outcome ruins the book, it probably was not worth reading to begin with.

I keep thinking about grief and Didion’s thoughts and words on grief, especially her references to written books or writing about grief and the grieving.  I was especially struck by her comments about how we, as a culture, increasingly hide or suppress grief and hide death and grieving away, as if by ignoring it we can pretend it does not exist.  Although we all do this, try to put on the strong public face, there is something somewhat chilling about a culture that celebrates those who can go on in the face of tragedy as if nothing had happened.  We cannot escape the realities of life, no matter how technologically and socially advanced we become.  I am not sure this denial of the reality of grief and grieving, of death itself, and of the inherent tragedy that marks so much of life, really helps us any.  Instead, like anyone in a state of denial, our suppression of this whole darker side of existence, makes us more vulnerable and less resilient.