April 05, 2006

Book Report

After a spell of reading work-related items on the train and the occasional New Yorker, I delved into two books: In Cold Blood, by the ambitious Capote (yes, I saw the movie and had to have the book), and Specimen Days, by Michael Cunningham (of The Hours fame). If you want to read either, skip the rest of this post -- I don't want to ruin them for you.

specimen.gifI started with Specimen Days, and made it through about 60 pages before I simply couldn't take the depressing story line anymore. If I kept reading, the inevitable outcome seemed to be that every character would die or live a life of desperate poverty and hard labor. Each minor advance for the slightly deranged and deformed main character (a twelve-year-old boy) was counteracted by some awful act of pathetic stupidity on the part of the same character, and I couldn't take the stress anymore.

I came up for air and turned the book over to look at the back cover for some clue about where things were headed, but it was blank. All it had was a giant picture of the inquisitive-looking author (odd, no? A bit self-aggrandizing? Does he have a policy about back covers? My mother always said not to read them anyway...). So I flipped ahead and noticed acceptable dialogue and the presence of three separate parts. This encouraged me to finish up, and I wasn't disappointed.

The three parts take place in the past (industrial-age New York), present (post-9/11 NY), and future (post-nuclear-fall-out-Disneyesque NY). Each part has similar characters, but the roles change. A woman, a man, a deformed child, and various forms of automation and violence appear in each, but in extremely different ways. Like The Hours, this book uses the same format as Mrs. Dalloway -- three distinct narratives on the same theme. It gives you plenty to think about -- I felt kind of satisfied at the end.

incoldblood.gifAs for In Cold Blood, I'm blown away by the sheer effort Capote made to record so many small details. I have enough experience with journalism (not much, but enough) to know that it takes a shitload of careful work to get so many details and so much intimate information. Now I understand why it made such a good movie. This was hard work, and not only did Capote get the information, but he really knew what to do with it. I'm sure my reading was influenced by the movie, but the book is fantastic. Its strength lies in its faithfulness to journalistic integrity -- Capote manages to explore both sides of the story with equal intensity. Perry and Dick -- the men who murdered the Clutter family -- are fascinating characters with screws loose somewhere in their heads. The story is very well told -- you're kept in suspense as Capote changes from story line to story line in the beginning, he maintains the momentum until the end, and the prose is fantastic. I highly recommend it.

Posted by csageday at 12:05 AM | Comments (0)

September 12, 2005

Rx for Brain Rot

HummingbirdI'm afraid I (temporarily) lost the will to blog. Obviously it's not gone completely, because I'm sitting in front of my computer writing a blog post, but I have to admit that I'm doing this partly out of guilt. I feel like I should post something. I'm having a bit of trouble digging up a worthy topic, though. I wonder if two weeks in the woods might possibly have been too much time -- I seem to be suffering from brain rot. Poring over kitsch in garages, drinking Genessee from cans, and playing ping pong can do that to a person. I didn't do much reading up there. And aside from some word games and charades, I didn't really exercise my mind all that much, if at all. The New Yorker suddenly seems a bit difficult, and I'm devoting far too much time to sitcom reruns and baking.

In an effort to reverse this trend I just ordered The Box Man (recommended by Rose) and Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell from Powell's. I really want Gilead and Saturday, but I am prejudiced against hardcovers. They are expensive and heavy and the extra weight of the pages annoys me. Also on the reading list are books Derek has read: Blink and Freakonomics and Under the Banner of Heaven. I'm not a big fan of non-fiction, though ... it's doubtful I'll actually finish any of those.

While my blog languishes, entertain yourself with some nature photography. I took a many, many photos of hummingbirds and trees upstate. If that gets boring, take a look at RedKen's photos of the UK and especially this Legoland shot.

Posted by csageday at 01:19 AM | Comments (0)

April 12, 2005

Camille Paglia

WNYC's On Point had Camille Paglia on the air as a guest today to talk about her new book, Break, Blow, Burn: Camille Paglia Reads Forty-three of the World's Best Poems. Since I was sick all day (with only my radio and knitting in reach -- I couldn't quite handle sitting on the futon in front of the TV) I listened to the show.

According to the lengthy introdution, Paglia is a strong critic of the feminists of the seventies. Her 1990 book Sexual Personae deals with sexual politics in Western literature. In her latest book, Paglia has taken on the popular rise of post-structuralism and deconstructionism in the past 30 years. She calls it a "blight" on the interpretation of art. She accuses the past few generations of cynicism and excessive irony (can't argue there), saying that critics now take apart a piece of art instead of contemplating it and revering it as something beautiful and reflective of the era in which it was written. These days, we're more concered with meta-information, or the science of criticism -- we're interested in how the text cancels itself out, the death of the author, etc. Paglia is also very critical of the professors making money off of this trend.

As a student of this era, I have to say that I like the idea of deconstructionism and the power it gives me over a text, but at the same time I can understand how that interpretation might take away from the appreciation of a text on its own terms. There are themes of human nature and psychological struggle to explore. But we're all so concerned with the author/reader relationship (well, if we're English or Philisophy majors, anyway) that we're missing out on "our cultural heritage." Appreciating art is in danger of degrading into an endless intellectual exercise. I mean -- the simple pleasure you feel when looking at an Edward Weston photo is key to understanding the piece as a whole.

A similar backlash toward deconstructionism showed up in a lecture we went to recently called "Derrida and Architecture." It was acknowledged that Derrida's influence on the medium would be felt years from now, but there was also a sense of mild rebellion toward the exceedingly abstract interpretations that Derrida's thinking encourages. Architecture is at its root a functional medium that can inspire appreciation for beauty in everyday life. By exploring the experience of the audience to an unhealthy degree you run the risk of building something completely foreign.

On the other hand, I think it's important to realize that deconstructionism is a tool we can use to enhance an audience's experience. It's also inescapable these days, and its influence is undeniable in the art of the last few decades. So Paglia's wholesale rejection of it can't entirely be achieved. Irony, cynicism, and the complex reading/author relationship is going to show up in recent art and we'll have to appreciate it with that in mind. Hopefully academia will embrace more traditional interpretation along with a lighter course on post-structuralism and Derrida -- there is a happy medium there somewhere.

If it's as wordy as her last book, Break, Blow, Burn may not be too pleasurable to read, but the survey of major authors -- Dunne, Dickenson, Plath, even Joni Mitchell -- would be a nice tour. I also liked Paglia's take on religion -- she's an athiest but belives religion is a great "complex system of symbols" worth extended study. Here's hoping I can stay awake long enough to read her book.

Posted by csageday at 12:40 AM | Comments (2)

February 24, 2005

Procrastination

We're off to Zihuatanejo (Pacific coast of Mexico) in 30 hours and we don't really have much of an idea of what we're doing for the first three days and nights. We haven't packed either. We're cranky. Derek is spiralling into some sort of silent pre-trip panic. I finally made it to a bookstore to buy a decent Mexico book, but stress-induced procrastination kicked in and instead of reading it, I found other books to buy and read. I hate planning.

Books added to my list as a result of this irresponsible behavior:

Picked up Life & Times of Michael K again and while it's still very dark (the characters are vulnerable, the world is cruel and unforgiving, etc), it is easier to read now. I feel more of a connection with Michael K as he becomes more disconnected from everything around him. Also found a list of books to look forward to this year.

And finally, this kitchen item fits my personality nicely.

Posted by csageday at 11:45 PM | Comments (0)

February 21, 2005

Stocking the Bookshelf

Picked up Jonathan Franzen's How to Be Alone and Haruki Murakami's The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle today at the very friendly little bookstore Three Lives & Company on West 10th in the village (on my way to E&C). Have also just finished The Stranger (Albert Camus), which was great -- somewhat like Kafka. I've been reading Life & Times of Michael K (J.M. Coetzee) but it's so damn depressing that I've put it down for now and picked up Murakami. For kicks, two lists...

Recommended, if you haven't already read them:

On my list:

Also, for quick takes on this year's new fiction, and to see literary bloggers pair them with each other in a kind of boxing match, visit the TMN Tournament of Books.

Posted by csageday at 09:37 PM | Comments (1)

February 20, 2005

The Last Thing He Wanted

Every once in a while I sit down to write a blog entry and what comes out is an English-senior-thesis-style mini term paper and there's not much I can do about it. All those years of bullshitting about modern fiction have made me into a MONSTER. Sorry.

Just finished Joan Didion's The Last Thing He Wanted. It's about a journalist investigating an old story about illegal arms dealings, but the plot serves as a method for Didion to explore the relationship of the reader and writer to the story and to each other.

The beginning of the novel reads like a writer's rambling exploration of a theme before a plot and style are settled on. It's a fascinating approach -- the reader is aware that there is story and that the narrator hasn't figured out how to tell it, so the reader starts to piece it together independently based on the information available. The narrator has a similar dilemma: She is not satisfied with the events as they were recorded by other authors, and is struggling to present the story "straight" -- an impossible thing to do. The plot -- an investigation of a historical event -- becomes a metaphor for the reader's effort to piece together the story from the disjointed narrative. Both efforts are inherently flawed, but Didion uses them to explore her readers' and characters' selective memories and vulnerability.

This line could refer to either struggle: "There were hints all along, clues we should have registered, processed, sifted for their application to the general condition." Details are mentioned early on, but only in reference to writing and investigative difficulties. The reader can start to speculate about the story in general ways. For instance, Didion writes, "Let me give you a paragraph from my notes. Not interview notes, not raw notes, but early draft notes," and then includes several slightly different versions of a standard introductory paragraph about one of the characters. These are "notes worked up in an attempt to get something on paper that might open a way to a lead". This approach puts the reader in limbo -- we experience the narrative with uncertainty and are forced to piece together the story ourselves instead of relying on the author to do it for us.

Eventually the story becomes more clear and we learn that the main character, Elena McMahon, faces a similar struggle in an unfamiliar environment. Elena is a victim -- constantly rejected by more informed figures that seem to be part of a story she doesn't fully comprehend. She struggles to fit in as a Beverly Hills mother and then as a journalist, but she can't find her place. When she ends up playing a part in her father's shady arms-dealing business, the coping mechanisms she has developed are useless. Didion uses repeated phrases, in italics, to reintroduce plot points at different moments, and we see how Elena remembers each detail and starts to piece together the story herself. As readers we feel the same lack of control that she does in each of these situations, but we're trying to figure out the "puzzle" Didion presents.

It reminds me of Pynchon's The Crying of Lot 69 -- the style is very different but the effect on the reader -- helplessness, suspicion of conspiracy, plot invention -- is similar. This seems to sum it up: "For the record this is me talking. You know me, or think you do. The not quite omniscient author."

Posted by csageday at 11:58 AM | Comments (0)

January 27, 2005

Grammar Lesson

Started reading Eats, Shoots & Leaves today. It's funny, especially for someone who grew up having her grammar corrected constantly, mid-sentence, by her mother. The book states the case of "sticklers" who fight tirelessly for the correct use of apostrophes, commas, and "full stops" (it's British). Despite the humor, the author has a point -- punctuation is important, but so is fast, short, online communication.

I was an English major. I have a pretty good idea of how punctuation is meant to be used (my mother would disagree). But since work is always fast-paced and my primary form of communication is electronic (emails, IM), I notice myself leaving punctuation and good grammar out for expediency. It's just faster to say "launch pls, thx... btw, did you do such-and-such" than "Thank you. Please launch this file. By the way, ..." Even in emails to supervisors or large groups, it doesn't bother me much if I use "informal" language (read: sloppily punctuated, not well-formed, possibly misspelled). I would be mortified if anything in print appeared in that form. But I justify it online by thinking "It's this new medium thing, new rules apply, people understand, they even respect it."

Maybe we need to classify the use of English into multiple categories? Formal, informal? IM vs. published?

The problem is, I'm forgetting how to use good grammar and punctuation, and so is everyone else. (Kindly disregard egregious errors of grammar and punctiation in this blog -- I'm clearly using the new, informal version of the English language here.)

Posted by csageday at 01:07 AM | Comments (0)