One Did Survive the Wreck

now finished: Moby Dick by Herman Melville

Hurrah! I am so happy to have done it. I have conquered The Whale. I do not know what my problem was in high-school and twice in college. I would also say I don't know what my problem was when I originally launched my re-re-reading this past March/April, but I kind of do know: a)I had way too much reading and research to do for way too many things, including some time-sensitive work deadlines and b)I clearly was meant to pick it up after returning from Tajikistan instead. I mean, you know, if you're into the whole fate thing and all that.

Herman, my buddy, you rock. Think of me as putting my hand over my heart while I talk to you this way, Herman. You rock and delight my soul and I am sorry I couldn't find it in my stupid self to appreciate you sooner.

"Here's food for thought, had Ahab time to think; but Ahab never thinks; he only feels, feels, feels; that's tingling enough for mortal man! to think's audacity. God only has that right and privilege." - p. 613

I love Ishmael's whimsical rants. I love the philosophy. I love his traveling soul and I love, love, love that the world eventually came to see - as it so often does, after they leave us - the brilliant piece of art this Herman person created.

Why we can't recognize artists' genius during their lifetimes (hi, Vincent!) remains unknown. Another thing we can't seem to recognize in our or anyone's lifetimes is the damage we are doing to our planet. Melville-as-Ishmael has many Moby Dick moments in which he waxes philosophical about the ocean, and in the wake of the gulf oil gushing tragedy, some of it was quite striking. The sea is a "terra incognita," he writes. "Columbus sailed over numberless unknown worlds to discover his one superficial western one." (p. 298) He also notes that many disasters befall us mortals when we take to the sea, and yet we continue to do so. I loved that:

"...however baby man may brag of his science and skill, and however much, in a flattering future, that science and skill may augment; yet for ever and for ever, to the crack of doom, the sea will insult and murder him, and pulverize the stateliest, stiffest frigate he can make; nevertheless, by the continual repetition of these very impressions, man has lost that sense of the full awfulness of the sea which aboriginally belongs to it." -p.298

Oh, prophet Herman. However much in the future our science and skill may have augmented, you're right - we're all just pretty pathetic when we think we have really figured out how to conquer our planet. And why do we want to conquer it anyway? I don't know, Herman. I wish I could tell you it was all in the name of travel, fuel for flights to see this wide world, but unfortunately, Herman, I think too many people are drilling and consuming just so they can keep on going in circle in their own little insular lives, while further alienating themselves from the life in the land that gives this petroleum bounty. I don't understand it either, really.

The "great shroud of the sea rolled on," indeed.

Actually, you really should touch that rope-yarn

now re-re-re-reading: Moby Dick by Herman Melville

Oh, Ahab. Oh my.

Ahab, Ahab, Ahab, my friend. You had me - you really did. You were tough, and surly, and kind of dark, but you really had me. I could totally dig your ferocity, your dedication, and your commitment to a quest. I kind of liked your brooding, mysterious ways. I really liked how much you knew about the ocean, and whaling, and the fun characters from islands all over the place who peopled your ship. I was even a bit jealous of the way you had spent most of your life traveling the world instead of languishing in Nantucket.

But now - now being p. 579 in my edition - you have lost me. With your despicable "Touch not a rope-yarn!" you sent Captain Gardiner on his way and refused to help him look for the lost boat with his 12-year-old son. Sure, sure, them's the breaks in this whaling industry. Captain Gardiner knows it, too, and was tough enough to bring his son along and teach him the ways. And who knows? Maybe they will find the missing sailors even without you and the Pequod. But Ahab! You even said it: now you have to forgive yourself. While a bird of prey swoops in to snatch your hat and drop it in the sea.

You are so totally doomed, old man.

"How wondrous familiar is a fool!" muttered Ahab

now re-re-re-reading: Moby Dick by Herman Melville

You may recall that one of my new favorite hobbies is reading the 1-star and 5-star reviews on Goodreads. The non-extreme reviews on there just aren't as interesting. But the 1-star reviews of crap like Twilight or The Almost Moon? Endless entertainment! Yesterday, I checked in with some of the love and hate for The Whale, and I observed the following:

1. The five-star people need an editor. Seriously. Their reviews are, on the whole, looooooong. Just because the book you loved is long and rambly, your Goodreads review does not have to be. Trust me on this.

2. The one-star reviews for the most part were flawed! Seriously. I found a few where there was just a straight up difference of opinion, and I totally accept that. But many of them stated things that weren't quite right! For example, one person's review says: "you only read (and I'm not exagerating) like 50 pages of actual story, and the rest is biological documentation," but that is not true. The "biological documentation" of the whales comes and goes (and I think most of it is hilarious - but that's another point entirely), but that person is totally exaggerating, even though she cannot spell exaggerating.

I am now on page 538 of Moby and I am so delighted by Melville, and so sad I can't meet him and tell him he's awesome and hang out with him. Let me give you a real example of what Melville does, lest you be dissuaded by inaccurate reviews on Goodreads. In Chapter 17, "The Ramadan," when Melville-as-Ishmael waxes philosophical about religion? He says that rather than arguing with Queequeg one should let him be, because "Heaven have mercy on us all -- Presbyterians and Pagans alike--for we are all somehow dreadfully cracked about the head, and sadly need mending." So that's a digression that's too boring and philosophical for you, oh 1-star reviewer? Really?

Yeah, and all these digressions about whaling? That's another popular complaint - a lot of people even say they read the book "but skimmed through some of the whaling parts," which, ewww. Then you did not, my friend, read the book. But here's an example of a "whaling part," from chapter 94, in which Ishmael talks about the blubber-room, where the spade man stands barefoot on a sheet of blubber chopping it into portable pieces:

"This spade is sharp as hone can make it; the spademan's feet are shoeless; the thing he stands on will sometimes irresistibly slide away from him, like a sledge. If he cuts off one of his own toes, or one of his assistant's, would you be very much astonished? Toes are scarce among veteran blubber-room men." - p. 458

Dude, Herman is funny! Moby Dick is a whimsical, profound work of genius. It occurs to me that in all my questioning of myself as to the genre of the Cuba book I have written/sort-of-almost finished, I should have long ago realized it's kind of like Moby Dick. All personal-voyage-quest-fiction-yet-fact-invented-character-narrator and stuff. I can only wish that my book will end up half as awesome. Wait, who am I kidding, an eighth as awesome. A hundredth.

You get my drift.

Read Moby Dick, people!

I also recommend it to people who liked Infinite Jest. I suspect a lot of Infinite Jest readers have already read Moby Dick -- I mean, you don't get to be an Infinite Jest reader by just succumbing to the endless 40% off crap the big retailers shove down your throat all the time -- but you know, for those others like me who maybe blew off Moby Dick once or twice three times in high school and college English (major) classes but still grew up to be real-live readers and thus ended up reading Infinite Jest first. Infinite Jesters will think nothing of the length of Moby so they won't be overwhelmed, plus they clearly are a lot who appreciate a digression or two. And they will be delighted to see how very Herman-like our boy DFW is. Was. Is?

Bonus, for law school-like peoples: there was a whole bit about a fast-fish or a loose-fish and to whom either belongs. It was totally all first-day-of-Property-ish when a fox, a duck, and a whale walk into a classroom...

It's going to be over soon. I can't believe I'm going to finish soon! It really has me in the mood to read more fabulous classic novels instead of going back to presidential bios.

Mobying Along

now re-re-re-reading: Moby Dick by Herman Melville

I have just about given up on having any sort of discussion about Moby Dick whatsoever on this here blog. Normally I would say this is my fault, but it's not as if there was really a discussion happening before I abandoned paused my reading of The Whale anyway.

Now on page 332, I am really in the stretch of what I like to think of as Herman's "Wheeee!" phase, in which he's like, "Whales! Ships! ooooh, a little philosophy thrown in the mix." You've got Queequeg clutching the rope and whale, mates flying through the air, swarming sharks, and all sorts of little tidbits about life on the seas. Plus a crazy cult-like wacko who visits from another ship just long enough to foretell Ahab's doom. Amateur. Ahab's doom is so totally long since foretold.

I think I'm going to be able to read a lot again this weekend. Yay!

Private Idaho and Insular Tahiti

now reading: Moby Dick by Herman Melville

Meant to be? Perhaps it's a little soon to be using that phrase, always a favorite of mine. But it certainly seems beyond fortuitous that despite my best efforts to launch my re-re-reading of The Whale in March, and then April, I would really be best able to plunge into it now, after from my voyage to Tajikistan.

Upon returning from the other side of the world, I came home, took care of a few re-entry tasks, and then headed with Brian to his family's vacation home on Lake Michigan. I picked up Moby, a month neglected, and read those first paragraph words that I thought I had understood before:

"It is a way I have of driving off the spleen, and regulating the circulation. Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off -- then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can." - p. 3 (which is really page 1, it's totally one of those)

I have such a literary crush on Herman-as-Ishmael. And seriously, could he put it any better? I sit here thinking about him and I get a sad little rush as I think about what he would have had to say about airplane travel. Not that I would want it to take away from what he has given us about the ships and the sea and the whaling voyages. I just kind of want him to live twice, I suppose, to grace us with his philosophy about our 20th/21st century times as well. We are so damn lucky - all of us! But, I've said this before. Those of you who complain and bitch and moan about the companies that fling us around the globe in mere hours aren't worthy to even open your mouths about higher powers.

Sitting there on the sands of Lake Michigan, I re-re-re-re-read the 100+ pages of Moby Dick I had accomplished in the spring, with only a bit of skimming, and then I pressed forward, totally in the right place and mental space now to read it all. What a wondrous thing it is, this classic novel.

I think the entire process of reading it might be worth it for Chapter 58 alone. "Brit" is one of Herman's philosophical bits, with some explanation about the ocean all wrapped up nicely with a statement about humanity. He has quite a few chapters like this coming fast and furious in this section of the book. This is the one in which he thinks about the "universal cannibalism" and "eternal war" going on in the sea, then compares it to the human being, in whose soul "lies one insular Tahiti, full of peace and joy, but encompassed by all the horrors of the half-known life." - p. 299

I loved this so much that I just sat there and re-read the chapter. Brilliant, Herman. Seriously.

I spent a lot of time in both Turkey and Tajikistan talking with fellow travelers who understand my need to galavant about the world. As Herman/Ishmael rightly points out in the beginning of the book, our time is short, and every funeral ought to serve as reminder that the time to travel is now. And shut the !@%* up about the airlines already -- maybe once you've handled a whale-line from the line tub you'll get over yourself and your carry-on baggage.

Dry Spell on the Water

now finished: Crescent and Star: Turkey Between Two Worlds by Stephen Kinzer
now reading: oh hell, I have no idea

Well. I think that may have been a record for length of time without posting a blog entry. But I'm back! As you may(?) know, I was out of the country volunteering with Habitat for Humanity in Tajikistan for a while during May. I also stopped in Istanbul on the way to and from. This wreaked havoc not only with my frequency of blog posting (oops!) but also my reading. Yikes.

In the end, I had to make some tough decisions, including getting some must-do research reading done for work assignments and putting personal reading projects on hold. I know, Moby, I know. You thought it was just like old times. Just another futile attempt to conquer The Whale. You're wrong, Moby! I'm back with you! I re-launched my re-re-re-reading of Moby Dick over Memorial Day weekend at Brian's family's "cottage" on Lake Michigan. I am on page 297. It is happening, for real.

But first, I will report on the book I read while traveling. I wanted to choose one Istanbul- and/or Turkey-related book. I had thought to read fiction, but a friend recommended the non-fiction Crescent and Star: Turkey Between Two Worlds by Stephen Kinzer. It was really interesting and the perfect book to be reading while I was there. (I had precious little time for reading in Tajikistan, but it was fine there, too.) Kinzer is a journalist who has reported from many countries and was the New York Times bureau chief in Istanbul during the late 1990s. He does a great job of explaining how and why Turkey is part Asia and part Europe, geographically, historically, politically, emotionally, intellectually and spiritually.

The book is a basic primer to what's up with Turkey, so you can plunge in whether you know anything or not. As I said, it was a real value added to the stuff I learned while there, and I even discussed some of what I learned from it with our Sultanahmet tour guide.

It gives you a lot of hope for Turkey, the modern world, the Islamic world, and stuff like that. It also makes the case for how awesome and important Mustafa Kemal Ataturk is. And yet, do we learn one thing about him in the United States? We do not. I wasn't even sure on his specifics when I was booking my flights into Istanbul's Ataturk airport. What a damn shame! I think I might make it a little research project goal to read up on the people whose names show up in each country's largest airports. Seems like a good way in to at least a little info about the country. I mean, reading about JFK, for example, would be a good intro for someone who knows nothing about the U.S., yes?

Speaking of presidents, yes, I will be posting soon about Martin Van Buren and then William Henry Harrison as I continue my presidential bios quest. But Herman! Moby! I'm ba-a-a-ack!

Book Swaps Everywhere!

Not long ago, the Chicago Reader, this fair city's alternative newsweekly, hosted an amazing event that I knew I would attend the second I learned of it: the Chicago Reader book swap.

It was held in a bar. (I. Know. Books --free books -- and a bar. What more does one need?) The bar turned out to be appropriately gritty and the rules were simple: bring books, take books. Actually, you could do only one of those and not both if you so chose. They simply asked that you take no more than fifteen. It was amazing.

People (and their books) kept coming for three hours. Workers/volunteers did a quick, major-category sorting of the books, which a runner would then take into the other room, between the bar and the stage, to place on the appropriate table ("Fiction," "History," "Religion/Philosophy/Spirituality" etc.) There were good, cheap beers on tap, and the literary classics and fiction tables would be cleared within minutes of a new pile of books appearing upon them.

I was in heaven.

What I gave up:
(the first two all too eagerly)

The Memory Keeper's Daughter by Kim Edwards
The Puttermesser Papers by Cynthia Ozick
The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini

What I got:

Hardcover Fiction
Mason & Dixon by Thomas Pynchon
The Liberated Bride by A.B. Yehoshua

Paperback Fiction
The Ginger Man by J.P. Donleavy
Cereus Blooms at Night by Shani Mootoo
Songs in Ordinary Time by Mary McGarry Morris
Angelica by Arthur Phillips
The Little Friend by Donna Tartt
including a couple mass markets
Cuba by Stephen Coonts
Setting Free the Bears by John Irving

Paperback Non-fiction
The Call of Service: A Witness to Idealism by Robert Coles
To Engineer is Human: The Role of Failure in Successful Design by Henry Petroski
Captive Audience by Dave Reidy
Among Warriors in Iraq: True Grit, Special Ops, and Raiding in Mosul and Fallujah by Mike Tucker
MacArthur's War: Korea and the Undoing of an American Hero by Stanley Weintraub

Here on Earth, our Comfortable Inn

now reading: Moby Dick by Herman Melville
now also reading: a bunch of other stuff. mostly for work/projects

Totally have not been posting frequently about the Moby, but hereby getting back on the stick!

So. We had been thinking about Ishmael and Herman and religion. (Hadn't we? Who's out there reading this, anyway?) I know I'm still quoting from the first hundred pages of the book and it's high time to move along to the next centennial page grouping, but first:


"Now, as I before hinted, I have no objection to any person's religion, be it what it may, so long as that person does not kill or insult any other person, because that other person don't believe it also. But when a man's religion becomes really frantic; when it is a positive torment to him; and, in fine, makes this earth of ours an uncomfortable inn to lodge in; then I think it high time to take that individual aside and argue the point with him." --p.94

First of all, you can tell we get kind of a Melville mix in this paragraph. Ol' Herman clearly is positive about Ishmael's live-and-let-live stance, while also taking care to emphasize that in order for a live-and-let-live stance to work, those who we let live also have to let us live, an often overlooked crucial point. In other words, no freedom for your religion once you start doing crazy stuff like oppressing women and killing people. That goes for everyone - no killing. No killing abortion providers, no killing women who commit adultery or wear comfortable clothes or show skin, no killing people whose oil you want, and definitely no killing "blasphemers" who depict an image of your prophet. (Three cheers for South Park!)

But also in the quote I like Herman's layered subtext, because Ishmael does what most of us do once we outline our broad, charitable philosophies: he starts carving out an exception for himself. This just further supports Herman's point in the first place about how dangerous we are when we hold fervent beliefs. I love this man. I also, by the way, love that he was BFFs with Nathaniel Hawthorne. Would that I could go back in time to have a drink at ye olde New England pub with those two. Or meet up with them in the afterlife, in which I do not believe. Religion.

The final thing to love about this quote is how Ishmael characterizes what happens when the religious person crosses the line: his religion becomes a "torment to him." That's what's so true! The zealot himself is tormented! Let alone the people around him, since it makes the world, for the rest of us, "an uncomfortable inn to lodge in."

Since Herman said it best, I have little to add about religion, but it is fun to consider what other sorts of things/people make "this earth of ours an uncomfortable inn to lodge in." Some of my suggestions:

• George W. Bush (obvio)
• Wal-Mart
• Bill O'Reilly
• Fur coats
• Long Island(ers)
  
• Rock of Love
• Post-1990 video/images of Michael Jackson
• Also him talking
• Twi-hards
• Green Jell-O with carrots
• Tequila

I'm sure there are more. But when those things come around, it is definitely "high time to take that individual aside and argue the point with him."

I owe you one (or more)

now reading: way too many books for various projects with a long to-do list
now falling: totally behind

I know, I know, I owe you a Moby Dick entry or two or three, but you'll just have to be patient. In the meantime, content yourself with a little feminism and/or National Poetry Month celebration, won't you?

Gloria Anzaldua - the self-described Chicana/Tejana/lesbian/feminist/dyke/poet/writer

Carolyn Kizer - the Pacific Northwest's own, with lots of "Pro Femina" poetry

Adrienne Rich - Activism, anti-Vietnam war, women's liberation, gay rights, she's got it all. Plus, W.H. Auden picked her out of the crowd nearly sixty years ago!

OK, that should tide you over, my adoring fans!

The Unfinished Books of My Life

now reading: Moby Dick by Herman Melville

Well, I may have reached the page where I stopped reading in my USC English class. Page 81/82 was folded, not in the corner-folded-I-need-to-remember-this-quote way (that Joe and Jodi hate!) but in the folded-in-half-I'm-too-lazy-to-go-find-a-bookmark way. I'm sort of disappointed that I didn't read any further, but I shouldn't have been expecting much more. I know I skipped ahead and read some of the later whale/ship/climax stuff, but it appears this is where I stopped actually reading reading. So sad. At least, that time. I really don't know at all what/how much I read the other time I "read" it in college, or the time I "read" it in high school.

Anyway, it got me to thinking about other books I have started but not finished. Of course, life as an English major is different because you're reading several books all the time, but elsewhere in life I have started books and then just not finished them. I thought I'd try to remember and go over the list to see if I should go back and revisit them, too. Let's have a look; these are pretty much in chronological order, too, as near as I can remember:

Jaws by Peter Benchley
Anne Frank: The Diary of a Young Girl
(p.s. It's so weird that it's called that, when we all totally call it The Diary of Anne Frank.)
I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou
The Road Less Travelled by M. Scott Peck
Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand
Naked by David Sedaris
Harry Potter & the Sorcerer's Stone by some lady
The Virgin Suicides by Jeffrey Eugenides
Fierce Invalids Home From Hot Climates by Tom Robbins
The Elegant Universe by Brian Greene
The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay by Michael Chabon
Brick Lane by Monica Ali
White Dog by Romain Gary
Annals of the Former World by John McPhee
The Memory Keeper's Daughter by Kim Edwards
The Namesake by Jhumpa Lahiri
Don Quixote by Miguel de Cervantes
The Almost Moon by Alice Sebold

So I didn't count books that I idly picked up at someone's house and read only a few pages while waiting for them or something, because then this list would be twenty times this length. These are all books that I legitimately was reading and then, for one reason or another, didn't continue.

There were all sorts of different reasons. I was too young for it (Jaws, around age 10?), I was bored (Anne, Ayn), I was bored twice - once in English and once in Spanish (Harry), or even that I bloody detested it and wanted desperately to throw it across the room and stop all others from making the mistake of investing the precious time in it that I had (The Memory Keeper's Daughter, The Almost Moon).

I think maybe I should start a new paragraph to really drive home this point: The Memory Keeper's Daughter and The Almost Moon are two of the worst books I have ever attempted to read. I got about 50-60 pages into TMKD and 200 or so into TAM and they both were just so awful that nothing, not will power or guilt or perseverance or ANYthing could make me want to finish them. Awful awful awful. Like, majorly philosophically flawed and a deep disservice to humanity and stuff.

But the others on my list aren't that at all. Many of them -- The Elegant Universe, Fierce Invalids..., White Dog, Naked, I greatly enjoyed what I read of them but circumstances just somehow forced me to put them down.

Then there are the averages: not throw-across-the-room awful, but not exactly calling out to me to finish. Kavalier and Clay - I'm sorry, Michael Chabon, because I adored every word you had written up to that point, but comic books? Really? Ugh. I tried, but I loathe comic books, I really do, and I also loathe all the comic-book-derived art that tries to invade my mind. AND you had to go and set it all WWII-ish...and my wall...anyway, you know I'll get back to you because it won the freakin' Pulitzer, so I WILL read it - like, after I read the Pulitzer fiction winners from 1917-2000 first. (Actually I've read a bunch of those already, making my way though the rest, so this really will happen.)

Don Quixote - one of my more recent ones. Since I read about 350 pages of it, I kind of feel I should get some credit seeing as if it were a normal length book then I would have finished it! (Same goes for Atlas Shrugged, by the way.) It was really entertaining but - I don't know. I'm actually considering redoing that one in Spanish because I heard it loses a lot in translation. That will happen soon; I was going to re-read Don Quixote for my big book this year in fact, but I am "re"-reading Moby Dick instead.

So, what do you think? Which ones should I quickly get back to? Which ones am I crazy for abandoning? Which times did I make the right choice? I'd love to hear your thoughts! But if you have anything positive to say about The Almost Moon then I'm scared of you. As for The Memory Keeper's Daughter, if you buy that this jackass could or should in any way tell such a lie to his wife and build their lives on such a lie, and you find this in any way acceptable, then you can just go ride off into the sunset with Benjamin Linus right now because ewwww. Move on folks. Nothing to be redeemed here.

Sermons and Stuff

now reading: Moby Dick by Herman Melville

In my head this post has a slightly more PG-13 rated title (in which the last word starts with the same letter, but is a wee bit shorter) but I try to keep it family friendly in case my sister ever decides to read it someday.... no just kidding, that's not why. Because she probably never will. I've never used vulgar words in an entry title, though, have I? Anyway, on with the show. I suppose I'm duty bound to write about the sermon. Don't we all love the sermon? I refer, of course, to Chapter 9, in which Father Mapple prattles on about Jonah. This contains all sorts of exciting talk about whales, foreboding, God, sin, doom, and the like, plus it makes modern day readers wonder why their preachers aren't half as cool as Father Mapple.

But I guess I just don't know what to say about it. Thoughts, oh ye who are reading along? I mean, Herman keeps giving lots of little jabs to religion ("I'll try a pagan friend," Ishmael thinks a few pages later, about Queequeg, "since Christian kindness has proved but hollow courtesy.") But this sermon chapter is not so much of a jab. It's kind of an admiring mocking of preacher fervor, and congregation ("shipmates!") fervor, but without really mocking. It mostly mocks those who think they've got it all figured out, I suppose.

I even remember reading the sermon when I "read" Moby Dick in college, so I know I got at least this far before quitting. And there's a bunch of stuff underlined in these few chapters in my copy...

Meanwhile, there's a great phrase on page 62 that could slip right by you if you're not paying attention: for the nonce. It means "temporarily." Queequeg feels like he can't go back home to claim his place as a pagan king yet because he's been defiled by hanging out with all these Christians (another jab from Herman! love it!) but he'll go back eventually once he feels baptized again. "For the nonce, however, he proposed to sail about, and sow his wild oats in all four oceans."

"Sowing wild oats" lasted. Where did "for the nonce" go? I want to find this phrase. I want to read more 19th-century or 18th-century literature just to find this phrase. I want to see where I have missed it in things I have read before. I am newly in love with it. Nonce - the particular, present occasion, says Merriam-Webster, the time being. I hereby resolve to use "for the nonce" somewhere, somehow, sometime soon.

Like we didn't already know this, but everyone should read this book.

"What's all this fuss?" indeed!

now reading: Moby Dick by Herman Melville

There is something on practically every page of this book about which I could write! The "grand programme of Providence" Ishmael envisions in which Fate lists the solo "Whaling Voyage by One Ishmael" in between more "extensive performances"? The fact that Queequeg is out trying to get all his heads sold on Saturday night because "it would not do to be sellin' human heads about the streets when folks is goin' to churches"? Or, shall we just move on to Ishmael's movement from wariness through pretty well freaking out to curious observance to an actual acceptance of the situation of sharing Q's bed?

"The man's a human being just as I am: he has just as much reason to fear me, as I have to be afraid of him. Better sleep with a sober cannibal than a drunken Christian." - p. 26

Wise words, my friends.

"Grub, ho!"

now reading: Moby Dick by Herman Melville

All I know is that I have officially added this to my Life Things to Do List: at some point, somewhere, I want someone to summon me to a meal by calling "Grub, ho!"

Looming Questions

now reading: Moby Dick by Herman Melville

There's a lot going on with Moby Dick. Well, duh. But let's start with identities, shall we? The most famous three-word beginning ever, "Call me Ishmael," is both straightforward and deceptive. Call whom Ishmael? Call me Ishmael because that's your name, or call you Ishmael to assign a name to a construct of identity that will morph into an omniscient narrator while simultaneously rendering the account of a voyage through one man's reason even as he whimsically observes others' quests? Yeah, and that's just the first line. Oh, Melville.

I mean, our good buddy Herman (can I call you Herman? It's not as if anyone else does, ever. Maybe there's a reason for that? Maybe you wish you were named Ishmael?) also constructs other identities for himself/the narrator, like the "late consumptive usher to a grammar school" and the "sub-sub-librarian" who provide the Etymology and Extracts that actually come before that famous "first" line. Those are worth reading, by the way. Herman's sense of humor comes through, plus you learn about languages and get more ideas of things to add to your ever-growing list of literature to read. Or wait, maybe that's just me.

So anyway, Manhattan? I had totally forgotten about the book starting in the "insular city of the Manhattoes" with everyone gazing to the water. The last time I perused these pages I had not yet lived Manhattoes-adjacent. How can one not love taking the plunge into this novel, with our wandering narrator who's like, "Man, you know, every once in a while I just got to GO to the sea! I'm off!" Love this man. Also how he doesn't actually want too much responsibility in his job.

"For my part I abominate all honorable respectable toils, trials, and tribulations of every kind whatsoever. It is quite as much as I can do to take care of myself, without taking care of ships, barques, brigs, schooners, and what not." -p. 5

By the way, I am reading the Penguin Classics ISBN: 014-039084-7 but even if you don't own the book at all it is available online. (Although, shame on you if you have stopped buying real books and only read digital. Shame, shame.)

And, just a refresher for those who didn't get the memo, why am I reading Moby Dick? Well, you see I have "read" Moby Dick before. I have "read" it three times in fact, once in high school (hi, Ms. Freeland!), and twice in English major classes in college. And I blew it off all three times. I SUCK. So in a concerted effort to suck less, I decided to re-read/read it, and had pretty much settled on it being my Big, Classic Book of 2010. Then this past New Year's Eve, for whatever reason, someone said something I now can't recall about the whale hating Ahab. I immediately started debating this with Brian, and then via text message to several others: that's not quite right, is it? I mean, the whale doesn't hate Ahab. Right? It's Ahab who's a crazy f***er. The whale just wants to go about being his bad-ass whale self. I decided then and there to get on the Moby Dick stick ASAP, which worked out to be mid-March. And despite some minor blogging delays, here we go!

Join us!

Hot to trot, yet cool as a cucumber

now finished: The Life of Andrew Jackson by Robert Remini
now reading: Moby Dick by Herman Melville

And I must say, reading those two books together is meant to be. Remini even quotes Moby Dick about Jackson, as indicative of the country about which Melville was writing, a country where a concept of populist democracy was taking shape, thanks in large part to that "'ruffian' in the Hermitage." And the intro to my edition of Moby talks all about how Melville grew up in the land Jackson and Van Buren were redefining.

Andrew Jackson is a complex man and I had complex feelings about him while reading this book. First of all, he was a no-holds-barred war hero, and while he demonstrated all sorts of qualities that are widely praised, courage, and sacrifice, and quelling a mutiny, and all that, it's all so - violent! And don't even get me started on the frickin' duels. Jeez. I've been dealing with this while reading the first six U.S. president bios, too, and I've got to say, I find it appalling that these "honorable" "gentleman" would find it necessary to arrange a freakin' DUEL when one has been wronged, and they called the Native Americans savages? Hello?!

That said, you can't argue that Jackson was beloved of the people, and he probably would have been totally fun to have a drink with. There is in fact a scene in the book where he's just kickin' it in a pub in West Virginia while he's the President and talks to all the people who talk to him, including the drunken Irishman who staggers up and pronounces his verdict: "Folks say that you are plaguy proud fellow, but I do not see as you are." Doesn't get much better than that.

Of course, I also liked the scene where James Buchanan, who was minister to Russia, is in Washington preparing to present a noble lady to President Jackson. Buchanan wants to do it all proper royal-style, so he drops by the White House, only to find Jackson kicking back in old clothes with his feet on his desk smoking a corncob pipe. Buchanan tries to gently suggest how refined the Lady is, etc., and Jackson tells him, "I read about a man I was much interested in. He was a man who minded his own business and made a fortune at it." Naturally, Buchanan scurries away, and when the Lady arrives at the White House shortly thereafter, of course Jackson is dressed perfectly and distinguished as ever, and impresses the Lady as the most elegant gentleman she'd ever met.

So that's the Jackson who comes through in this book. As much as he pisses people off, he also gets a lot of stuff done, some of it rather well. Can I fault him for living in a violent time, especially in the volatile "western" states of Tennessee, Louisiana, and such? It's not like our generation has learned to be any less barbaric (see e.g. Iraq, Afghanistan, and the daily jingoism spewed from the idiot box about one "hero" or another).

The only thing is, Jackson hated my boy JQA. I mean, they just did not get along. I learned this when I read my John Quincy Adams bio, of course, but that was when I was discovering that JQA was my soulmate. Now, reading about someone who hated my new BFF at all times and in all things -- well, it was like Jackson hated me, in a way.

And did I mention Jackson walked around with a bullet in his arm for a good portion of his life, because it lodged there after one of the stupid duels, and they couldn't remove it until decades later when it worked its way closer to the surface one day?

All in all, this wasn't the best or the worst of the prez bios I've read, but it was good and I would recommend it. And Jackson, while not part of The Crew (Jeff, Mad, Mon) or my BFF JQA, was an interesting fellow in his own right, ushering in the next generation of politics. He totally helped and was helped by his alliance with Van Buren, to whom we turn next.

Dirty Deeds Done at Quite a Price

now finished: Dirty Diplomacy by Craig Murray (aka my new hero)
now reading: The Life of Andrew Jackson by Robert Remini

And to think that I almost had no idea who Craig Murray even is! It was in seeking out information about Tajikistan* that I stumbled upon his Dirty Diplomacy, or Murder in Samarkand as it was called in Britain before being published in the U.S. I'm not sure why the name changed for the U.S. edition: perhaps they thought we needed a more salacious, scantily clad title? Because god forbid we pick up something that sounds so worldly and international-affairs-like? We're burned out about all that, right? So they tell me. Books and movies about the wars we are waging don't go over well. Now, gee, why is that do you suppose?

Well, this book reminds you that United Statesians' "burned out" attitude may be exactly where Dubya and friends want you. Craig Murray shows up in Tashkent in 2002 as the British ambassador to Uzbekistan and is promptly horrified by the way the U.S. runs the show. To wit, the "Americans" have set up a military base, declared Uzbek president Karimov an ally in their war on terror, and proceeded to ignore his insidious, corrupt regime as it routinely totures, imprisons, and executes hundreds of its innocent citizens. Not to mention the squelching not only of dissidents but pretty much any flow of information.

You one of those anti-Commies? Well, the Uzbeks tell Ambassador Murray over and over they long for Soviet times -- that's how corrupt this regime is. When Craig Murray confronts the U.S. ambassador about all the Uzbeks in jail for their religious beliefs, the American replies, "Oh, well they're mostly Muslim."

It's surely no spoiler to tell you how this story ends: with Craig Murray pushed out of his job for daring to tell the truth, and the U.S. still merrily slaughtering people and turning the other cheek when our allies slaughter people as we all "fight terror" together.

I can't think of anything better you could be doing with your time right now than reading Dirty Diplomacy, with the possible exception of watching the documentary The Good Soldier. As for bonus fun times, Dirty Diplomacy will take you on a whirlwind tour of Uzbekistan. It features everything from bureaucrats sleeping on the job to secret-entrance strip clubs, from gigantic mining operations to the logistics of throwing a party for the Uzbek rich and famous. Plus, I learned about the Battlefield Band, a Scottish group who happened to be playing here in Chicago last Friday; Brian and I attended their fabulous concert. I wouldn't have known who they are either, but for this book. See how eye-opening learning about the world can be?

*For those who haven't heard why I've been seeking out information about Tajikistan, please click here to help Habitat provide homes in Tajikistan!

Upcoming Things!

now finished: Dirty Diplomacy by Craig Murray
now reading: The Life of Andrew Jackson by Robert Remini

I've been oh-so-busy but meaning to post about the amazing Dirty Diplomacy (U.S. title) aka Murder in Samarkand (Brit title) by Craig Murray, who is my hero forever. Dirty Diplomacy report coming soon! Since it was my desire to learn more about Tajikistan that led me to stumble upon his book in the first place, have a look at this page about my Tajikistan trip in the meantime.

For now, I'm wrapped up in the world of president #7, Andrew Jackson, who is a little on the crazy and complex side. I'll write about that soon, too.

Don't forget we're going to start (re-)reading Moby Dick in just about a week!! March 15th is the witching hour whaling day!

One Last Last Station Thing

finished, but still quoting: The Last Station by Jay Parini

Yes, one more bit of my soul placed on the page for all the world to see by Parini-as-Chertkov:

"Again I long to go away, and I do not make up my mind to do so, yet I do not give up on the idea. The great point is whether I would be doing it for my own sake if I went away. That I am not doing it for my own sake in staying, that much I know for certain ... " - p. 129

Wanting to go away, aka plotting my next big move, is sort of my m.o. in life. I may want to go away slightly less than usual because I have just gone away, which is to say I have come to Chicago and am living somewhere new. But just in general, I do still want to flee the country. And yet I stay. "...that much I know for certain."

And I really want to go read War and Peace again this spring/summer after all this Last Stationing. But I think I will reread it every five years or ten years, I haven't decided yet. Instead, this year, I am going to reread/really-actually-read-all-the-way-through Moby Dick. And you're all going to do it with me, starting on March 15 (beware!) Who's excited?!

Leo Tolstoy totally gets me

finished: The Last Station by Jay Parini

Or is it that Jay Parini totally gets me? Well, either way:

"It is not an easy thing to alter the trajectory of your life. People have expectations on your behalf. You come to believe them yourself. When I began to live my life according to new principles, my family and friends dismissed it as youthful folly. Friends and relatives turned against me when I persisted..." - Chertkov, in The Last Station p. 126

The only thing I'm not sure is whether this has more to do with my rejection of religion more than a decade ago, or my more recent cavalier attitude toward law school, or if it's equal parts of both.

The Last Station

finished: The Last Station by Jay Parini

I love me some Tolstoy! This we know. After all, we owe the existence of this blog to Tolstoy. This Literary Supplement to Linda Without Borders was born when I commenced reading The Book itself, War and Peace, a little more than four years ago now, whilst I was over yonder in Korea. I even called it Linda Without Borders: War and Peace until it outgrew the title and became a place for me to think all my literary thoughts.

So, my boy Leo Tolstoy - love him, as did many others, apparently! The Last Station takes place in and around his Yasnaya Polyana estate duing the last year of his life. He and his wife Sofya are not on the same page with regard to personal property, specifically whether he should give his personal property to the masses of Russia. Nor are they on the same page about his friend Chertkov and the Tolstoyan minions who all hang around living communally and professing Tolstoyan values all day.

The Last Station was not on my radar whatsoever until I started reading about the movie (in EW, naturally); then the movie started getting awards season buzz, so of course I knew I was going to read the book, see the flick, and enjoy one or both.

Check, check, and check - although I would say especially the film. The book is well done though. I'm not a big one for "historical fiction" - with rare exceptions - but I tried to appreciate Jay Parini's desire to write it as an homage of sorts to Tolstoy. I think he really digs Tolstoy's understanding of God-is-love. Rejection of the flawed church, but with an acceptance of the depth of religion. And there's the occasional great quote, often from Tolstoy himself, taken from real life sources, like this one:

"In recognizing Christianity, even in its distorted form as professed today, and in recognizing at the same time the necessity for armies and arms to kill in wars on such an enormous scale, governments express such a crying contradiction that sooner or later, probably sooner, they will be exposed. Then they shall put an end either to Christianity (which has been useful to them in maintaining power) or to the existence of armies and the violence they support." - p. 212-213

A few days after finishing the book, I happened upon the film The Good Soldier, a documentary that ponders that very issue of the violence in war and the injustice of a government asking/forcing its citizens to kill. Would that Tolstoy could be here to watch the film with us and comment wisely. He left us great messages, though, about such things as war, and peace. I just wish everyone would read them.

Has anybody here read my good friend Martin?

long since finished: Arrowsmith by Sinclair Lewis

Have I really not talked about good ol' Martin Arrowsmith? I finished him not that long ago, but it's starting to feel like another world now that we are in Chicago, and out of the exquisite suburban torture that was life in the GRapids. (Oh, sigh. Grand Rapids is NOT that bad, and I should stop implying to the blogosphere that it is. It was just my situation there that was that bad.)

But Martin understands! Martin Arrowsmith had his own exquisite tortures in life as he tried to make his way, not the least of which was Wheatsylvania. The scenes in the provincial prairie town of Wheatsylvania, where his wife Leora's family lives, are painfully funny! Like, to the point that the book would be worth reading just for the Wheatsylvania scenes. (But luckily there's plenty of other good stuff, too.)

I had to return my copy to the library so I can't quote you some of the Wheatsylvania dinner table goodness, but suffice it to say everyone just has to be all up in Martin's business about everything, and not because he's, you know, doing anything wrong per se, but because he's, well, Not From Around There, and he is grilled and analyzed and criticized and advised and questioned about everything and nothing. And apart from the invasiveness, they talk about so many things that Just. Don't. Matter. Except to them.

But then Martin and Leora are off to even more adventures in other cities, and the book takes you to unexpected places, much as their lives take them to unexpected places. I think that is in fact the best thing about the book, because it reminds you of what life is and what it does. Also, I did not see the ending coming at all; an unexpected ending is always fun.

As you may know, I love reading these Pulitzer winners partly because of what the fiction Pulitzer is: an award for an American novel. This means so much more than being a novel published in the U.S. by an author who happens to be from the U.S. The works that win this prize reflect and comment on what American life is. Not in a jingoistic, hyped-up way, but in a true way. That is what I like so much about the Pulitzers, how they are an award for Truth, even in the fiction and poetry categories. And Arrowsmith exemplifies that so well.

Who does this remind you of?

"And you make people nervous...You either take to somebody, or you don't. If you do, then you do all the talking and nobody can even get a word in edgewise. If you don't like somebody -- which is most of the time -- then you just sit around like death itself and let the person talk themself into a hole."
-- from Franny and Zooey by J.D. Salinger

When I think back on Franny and Zooey, I remember it as OK-not-spectacular. But I just looked at my old copy and realized I certainly did fold down a lot of pages!

Flashback Friday: Eighties Haiti

I posted about this on my main blog, too, but since it's a book I must share it here on the Literary Supplement (although "literary" is not one word I have often used to describe the Jennifer Green books). I have totally been reminiscing about In Another Land, the book that totally educated me about Haiti and put it on my radar.

It's part of a series, the Jennifer books by Jane Sorenson, a fairly cheesy series of twelve books about an eighth grader that I for some reason adored and devoured and read over and over back in the day. The weirdest thing about my reading and loving them, I think, is that they are super-Christian. What can I say? I used to be a different person. The main character is "born again" or "becomes a Christian" or whatever, but she also narrates all sorts of other things about her life, like moving to a new city, school, horseback riding lessons, friends, boys, and such.

I remember far too much about the mundane, goofy, and ridiculously sappy details of the books -- and believe me, there are many -- but one of the books actually taught me something useful. In the eighth book, In Another Land, Jennifer Green accompanies her grandmother on a trip to visit Haiti and meet the Haitian child that Grandma sponsors. They travel all around and Jennifer has all sorts of epiphanies about how lucky and rich she really is in her life back home. The thing is - it was a really interesting book! The author, Jane Sorenson, had obviously been to Haiti and been affected by it, and it is kind of cool, I think, that she wrote a book that would educate and possibly inspire adolescents to learn a thing or two about the world.

I have always remembered those books. Even my mom remembers the books; I forced her to read them and she still jokes about how silly some of them were. But the Haiti book was somewhat significant, I suppose. In the two decades since, I sometimes forget that not everyone read this random, obscure series of young Christian fiction books, that not everyone has all these vivid associations with Haiti described in Jennifer Green's trip. Needless to say, In Another Land has been on my mind this week. It's apparently long since out of print - maybe because no one besides me ever bought them?! - but I saw a few listings online for ridiculously cheap. You'll read the book in like five minutes, seriously. I'm not sure if I can recommend the series in good conscience as they are SO incredibly cheesetacular. But hey - people read a lot of crap in this world, so why not read about Jennifer Green and her family and friends? I think I related to her way more than I ever wanted to admit to myself.

And I was always very jealous of her trip to Haiti!

The things we do

now finished: Money by Martin Amis
now reading: Arrowsmith by Sinclair Lewis

"The telephone was a one-way instrument, an instrument of torture." - Money, p. 40

How am I not going to love the protagonist when he says a line like that? I don't even have to be in a drunk, drug- and pornography-addled haze to loathe the phone that way. John Self, the perpetually partying narrator of Money, says way too many things that I relate to. He's also really awesomely pithy, like when he says, "There are, at the latest count, four distinct voices in my head."- p.104 It happens. Drinking too much, going a little crazy? Hey, when you are thrust into New York City -- or New York City is thrust upon you; it can be hard to tell the difference -- it definitely happens.

The plot, roughly, involves him mostly roaming around New York trying to deal with the stars and producers of a film he is--making/about to make/starting once they can work out the script--but he also goes back and forth from NYC to London a couple times in there, and tries to figure out if his girlfriend is cheating, and tries to figure out if he is going to cheat on her, and so on. He also has to figure out if this movie, this script, these actors are going to work. There are lots of characters, restaurants, bars, cab rides, events, and streets of New York City.

John Self has a few problems with people. Sometimes it comes out in a complicated trail of who's with whom, and sometimes it comes out in lines like, "What are friends for? What are they for? I've often wondered." -p. 212 You're not meant to like him, especially, but how can you not have a little fondness for his blithe observation of and participation in all that nasty early 1980s Manhattan has to offer?

This book rubs some people the wrong way. The perceived "misogyny" and rampant pornography scare off some readers, or piss them off, or both. The character is maddening, sure, but I think they're missing Amis' satirical point. Everything is mocked in Money, especially the things on which people are willing to spend their money. Maybe it's too much for readers to ponder that people also "waste" money on going to the opera? I'm not sure.

Self does have his insights, such as "Normal girls, they aren't like the girls in the pronographic magazines. Here's a little known fact: the girls in the pornographic magazines aren't like the girls in the pornographic magazines either." -p.219 Eventually, he realizes he can't go on drinking like an alcoholic ("Only the alcoholics can. They're the only ones who can hack it." -p.250) But redemption will be tough for this one. We are just along for the ride, to see how it will all work out. He has an uncanny ability to describe all the wonderful horror of New York City, and reading this novel made me want to be back there more than just about anything else has since we left. The little New York descriptions are gems:

"Oh, for some of that New York spirit! Over there, you can look all fucked-up and shot-eyed and everyone thinks you're just European." - p. 65

"One of the subvoices of pornography in my head is the voice of an obsessed black tramp or retard who roams the Time Square beat here in New York. Incomprehensible yet unmistakenly lecherous, his gurgled monologue goes like this: Uh guh geh yuh tih ah fuh yuh uh yuh fuh ah ah yuh guh suh muh fuh cuh. I do a lot of that kind of talking in my head too." - p. 104

"New York was just how she'd always imagined it ... a stand in the Great Exhibition of the future that would one day be christened Money." -p.317

The "she" in question is his London ex-/girlfriend who has now arrived and "had been in Long Island for a week doing god knows what with god knows who: she looked tangy, rusty, with a salted sharpness of tooth." -p.317

You know I gotta love him for slipping a little bit about tangy Long Island in there! Of course, he has a line or two about California, too, including the thought as he ravaged his body that he "better get to California soon, while the transplant people still have something to work on." -p.121 Or, "In L.A., you can't do anything unless you drive. Now I can't do anything unless I drink." - p. 157 What can I say? I love this man.

The thing about the debauchery is that it's all written by Martin Amis, so it's a very literary, practically elegant, debauchery. And it's full of lots of wry commentary on media, pretension, and consumerism. The whole book asks what is going to happen to New York when the money bubble bursts. Hmmm....

"Sometimes life looks very familiar." -p. 136

Miles to go

now finished: Up in the Air by Walter Kirn

I thoroughly enjoyed reading Up in the Air. Much like the previous book I read, about John Quincy Adams, boy do I relate to the main character! I never thought I would find myself so similar to two men as I have in reading these last two books.

Ryan Bingham flies - a lot. He is more comfortable in airports and jetting from place to place than he is in conventional things like homes and families. I understand Ryan. I take it that some people don't?

In the grand scheme of things, I am so not a frequent flyer. Nor am I ever likely to be an elite member of any given airline's club: I tend to buy tickets based mostly on price, my miles are spread across a few airlines, and I can count the number of trips I've taken by redeeming miles on one hand. But maybe being a flyer is also state of mind. I tend to be pretty zen about the whole flying thing. And I most certainly do not hate the airlines. Au contraire. I hate the passengers who complain about them.

People get really impatient when they fly, but I think they are impatient about all the wrong things. They are ready to tear the airline apart if there's a ten-minute flight delay, but they have no concept of how to get their stupid bags out of the overhead bin and get off the plane in an efficient fashion. They are all convinced that The Airline is going to lose their luggage, and for some reason it is okay to complain about this theoretical possibility, but they don't like it if I complain about an actuality, such as their child screaming or kicking the back of my seat.

It would probably behoove me to get elite status on some airline, and to get some first-class upgrades. I haven't really been in a position where I've flown more than a few times a year for the last few years, so it's kind of a non-issue. But I would love nothing more than a job that has me flying around all the time. Like Ryan Bingham's. He's comfortable and happy in Airworld. I relate.

Other things I like about the book are 1)that it has an easy familiarity with U.S. geography, which you would think any American has but boy would you be mistaken and 2)it has this whole snarky observation-of-Mormons/Utah thing going on throughout which I found awesome.

The movie, which is currently playing and getting much Oscar buzz, is quite different from the book, but also good. I think if you like one you will like the other, but they are different.

One of the most interesting things about Up in the Air is that it was published around July 2001. Meaning, then September 11 happened, forever altering flying as we know it and probably wrecking the chances of Kirn's whimsical Airworld having mass appeal at that time. That's a bummer for Kirn. I hope the release of the film this year inspires lots of us to pick up the book -- a light read, but with a lot of cleverness tucked in between the lines.

JQA & I

now finished: John Quincy Adams: A Public Life, A Private Life by Paul C. Nagel

It is hard to sum up my feelings about my most recent presidential bio subject, John Quincy Adams, aka my new best friend. I wonder if this is why people read biographies? That eventually, if you read enough biographies, you are bound to come across your doppelganger and in reading an exhaustive account of his/her life, come to a greater understanding of yourself?

I seriously had to stop counting the ways I am similar to JQA -- it was distracting me from my reading. Professional dilemma, temperament, outlook. Let's see: JQA loved travelling internationally and was interested in being a diplomat, but when he got the job offer his first worry was whether the job would leave enough time for reading literature. (Hello.) He really just wanted to be a poet and read things and then think about them, but he was smart so he made it through law school, even though his heart was never, ever into being a lawyer. He kept a diary, narrating and reflecting on daily events for years. He was moody and held people, including himself, to really high standards.

"Resolved to be his own man, Adams went out of his way to demonstrate how individualistic he planned to be. From his first moments in the Senate, he behaved in a manner that sometimes amused his colleagues, frequently baffled them, and occasionally angered a number..." - p.144

He did not like the two political parties and insisted that all his actions in government came from a place of personal integrity, not blind loyalty to a party. He put off getting married and was averse to the dating scene during his college days. Of course: it was a waste of time when he could be reading! He was forever starting projects but not necessarily keeping up with them; he was just interested in so many things. Among these things were languages, of which he learned several.

He was actually quite good at his job, maybe better than his poetry, although he did write some. Oh yeah, and fashion! He took a lot of flak about his clothes, some of it from his mother, Abigail. He just didn't put that much effort into refining his dress, looking nice, or being stylish. This was a problem. When he was up for election to anything, he didn't like to talk about it or to campaign:

"The prospect of a seat in the House had such portent that Adams chose for the moment not to discuss it even in his diary. He kept mostly quiet on the matter until after he won the election." -p. 335

While quite young, he travelled by himself, happily. He came to love astronomy when he started learning about it. He sometimes suffered from melancholy. He quoted Voltaire.

Perhaps one of the greatest summings up was about some tree-planting he was doing against conventional wisdom at the family's Massachusetts house:

"It left him as a minority of one seeking to prove the universe wrong -- a position JQA found quite comfortable." - p. 350

Nagel writes the book drawing heavily on JQA's lifelong diary to structure the story. I think Nagel misses the point sometimes. He has researched the Adams family so widely that I think the breadth of his knowledge makes him miss some of JQA's depth. Nagel doesn't seem to understand that a diary is a place for reflection, reconsideration, rumination, and elaborate plans. It is a place where certain things will be discussed and others ignored, not necessarily in the same proportion that attention is given to them in the writer's daily life. Nagel goes so far as to say JQA was never content but I think he is wrong. I think Nagel just can't relate to JQA, doesn't really "get' him. So how could Nagel come to accurate conclusions?

It's not my favorite biography in terms of being a favorite work, but I loved the experience of reading it, and discovering my double in the form of the sixth president of the United States.

Holiday swap thanks

This year I participated in the Book Bloggers holiday Swap, a fun Secret Santa gift exchange among book bloggers. (And there are many of us, by the way, for those of you who lurk outside the book blogging world.)

I received two hardcovers(!) from my thoughtful Santa swapper: Amigoland by Oscar Casares and Suite Francaise by Irene Nemirovsky. These have both been on my to-read list for a while, and I am grateful for the gift. Of course, I will post my thoughts here when I read them, which I predict will be in mid-2010. What a fun thing this holiday book swap was.

Thank you, Brittany!

When E.M. Forster talks...

now finished: Aspects of the Novel by E.M. Forster
now reading: John Quincy Adams: A Private Life, A Public Life by Paul. C. Nagel

E.M. Forster: I swoon. When I first read him two years ago, I was pleasantly surprised at the sheer awesomeness of his writing in A Passage to India. I've owned a copy of his Aspects of the Novel for years, but just got around to reading it after letting it stare accusingly at me from my shelf of books-on-writing that I somehow keep ignoring while I waste time going to law school, etc. Not only was it high time I read his classic on what a novel is, but it was also time to commence my A-to-Z Literary Blog Project sequel, in which I shall read a second book from my A-to-Z top half, the thirteen authors I liked best. So, this was my second Forster.

He's just so freakin' smart. And literary. And witty, and perceptive. He puts things so well, even when he's just talking about literature and not writing it. He is a true master. I would so love to hear from people who met him or heard him speak before he died. You must be out there - share your thoughts with me! I find everything he says so impressive. Reading Aspects of the Novel, however, I also found myself in fits of jealousy as he analyzed this or that novel; I have a four-page list of reading suggestions now, thanks to him. My Goodreads "to-read" shelf runneth over.

But he did talk about books I have read also. You know, your Wuthering Heights, your Great Expectaions, and perhaps most exciting, War and Peace. E.M. Forster sings its praises, good on him. He's super matter-of-fact about it being marvelous. He even comes out and says that foreign novelists are basically better than English novelists, and he calls Tolstoy courageous and divine. As for The Book in particular, he offers this:

"Then why is War and Peace not depressing? Probably because it has extended over space as well as over time, and the sense of space until it terrifies us is exhilarating, and leaves behind it an effect like music. After one has read War and Peace for a while, great chords begin to sound, and we cannot say exactly what has struck them." -- p. 39

Soooo good. He concludes that the development of novels may well be a reflection of the development of humanity. I want to hang out with E.M. and talk about novels over a few beers. But he gets to do most of the talking.

Last Revolutionary Dude

now finished:
James Monroe: The Quest for National Identity by Harry Ammon
Aspects of the Novel by E.M. Forster
now reading:
John Quincy Adams: A Public Life, A Private Life by Paul C. Nagel

James Monroe took a lot of flak, but he was actually quite awesome. He had integrity and just honest-to-god wanted to do the right things to make this fledgling union into - well, an awesome union! As a diplomat and in all the other positions he held he worked really hard, but the partisan winds of politics weren't always blowing in his favor. This was never more true than during his presidential administration: he was the last sure-thing destined-to-be-president dude from the Revolutionary generation, and pretty much his entire cabinet plus an enemy or two in Congress wanted to be the first of the younger generation to be elected, in 1824. So they spent the whole time jockeying for position and stirring up shite, while Monroe remained unfailingly neutral but still got blamed for lots of dumb stuff.

This book gave me such a greater understanding of him. He wasn't as inherently brilliant as his buddies Madison and Jefferson, but he excelled at being a pragmatic problem solver, which they did not. And he did a lot of things well. He completely and totally saved Madison's skin during the War of 1812, for example. Another likable president who actually did quite a bit to save the day.

Ammon's book is not my favorite of the bios I've been reading; it's a little slow and convoluted at times. But even when I got bogged down, I felt bad disliking the book at all because I so much respect Ammon and other historian/biographers who have combed through pages and pages and volumes and volumes of material for, like, fifteen years to write a well-researched book. Can you imagine working on a book for fifteen years? Is there anything to which I have devoted fifteen years? Besides, say, watching baseball, or Oscar-nominated films. (Which, speaking of, it's totally awards season; check out my ramblings on my "front page" blog.)

Monroe also tried, often, to do the right thing for Native Americans and slaves. Not that he was sure what the right thing was, but he at least tried to solve those huge problems that are such a blemish on the reputations of him and his crew. Besides his attempts to get Liberia going (you know - Monrovia and stuff), he tried to stop the execution of slaves who were arrested after plotting an uprising. It was all such a mess, and I can't imagine what good anyone I know today would have done about slavery if they had lived at that time, despite how easy it is to criticize with hindsight.

I relate to Monroe a lot because he was a little self-critical but also it upset him terribly when people didn't understand him, or misjudged him or his motivations. I think the people around him might have been oblivious to how much he cared, while they were basically willing to be shallow. All in all, I am impressed by my boy Monroe. Except for the part where he enjoyed/was good at practicing law. Yuck. But I do like that initially he, as with all the others, didn't know what he should do with his life.

Next up? My new BFF JQA!

Shutter to Think

now finished:
This Too Is Diplomacy by Dorothy Irving
Shutter Island by Dennis Lehane
now reading:
James Monroe: The Quest for National Identity by Harry Ammon

Yes, I have been reading, even though I have not been blogging. Shame on me. After So Big, I finished This Too Is Diplomacy and Shutter Island, before plunging into another giant president biography -- Monroe, now -- which has consumed my last two weeks or so.

This Too is Diplomacy is something I had partially read before, in raw form, because I was in a writing group with the author, Dorothy Irving. That was my writing group in Boston, right before I went to Korea. I rejoined up with them off and on post-Korea as well, when I happened to be in Boston, but by that time Dorothy had pretty much finished her book and was working on publishing it. The book is about the life she led with her husband and their kids as hubby worked in the Foreign Service through the 1960s and 1970s. Obviously, it was interesting to me even before law school as she read excerpts to us, and now that I have my eyes on the Foreign Service it is even more interesting. Or I guess, interesting in different ways. Anyway, this was the first time I had read the whole thing straight through. If any of you are curious about what life in the foreign service is like, give it a whirl!

As for Shutter Island, it left me confused. I hate it when that happens. Not too long ago Alafair Burke blogged about why people don't like to read mysteries. At the time my gut response was that it's overwhelming for non-mystery readers to listen to the mystery genre enthusiasts; all those die-hards seem to have breathlessly read everything by so-and-so, and you feel sort of looked-down-on if you are a mere dabbler, so you just don't even bother trying to conquer the mystery section. But reading Shutter Island reminded me of another reason that I as a dabbler sometimes feel lesser than those oh-my-I've-read-all-of-her-books people. Because sometimes I straight up don't get it.

I read Dennis Lehane's Mystic River (before seeing the movie) and when I started seeing Leo as duly-appointed federal-maahshall in the Shutter Island previews I became intrigued enough to read this one, too. (I ended up having extra time because the release of the film was delayed for stupid reasons.) I really enjoyed reading the book, and I won't write any spoilers here because I do recommend it, but I literally don't know what happened at the end. I hate that! I consulted with another friend who has read it who supported me and said there was definitely ambiguity and that I am not stupid, but still, I hate it! And I remembered that another reason I'm not a mystery devotee is I hate those people who are always all "Oh, I totally figured that out so early" every single time they read one. I think I resent them. Plus, ugh, why would you want to know how things end before you get to the end? It's not as if I read the last page of a book before the first; that would be retarded. But when I do get to the end? I would like to understand it.

Well, if anyone wants to discuss the layers of mystery and ambiguity in Shutter Island, let me know. Meanwhile, I returned to my presidential bios quest, and have spent the last couple weeks plodding through Harry Ammon's James Monroe: The Quest for National Identity, which is huge and sometimes a little dull. It's a really big book. Heavy, too. I get in my weightlifting practice when I hold it. And the writing is dry, especially compared to the giant Madison tome I just read. But I can't hate on Ammon too much, or anyone who does such amazing amounts of research for these bios. It takes them like fifteen years and they sift through insane amounts of documents, all so I can read a biography of every president to see where we went wrong. Good stuff!

Hi, my name is Sobig.

Hi, Sobig. Well, actually his name is Dirk, but during childhood was nicknamed Sobig, which came from the repeated nonsense of adults asking the baby in a cheesy voice, "How big is the baby?!" and replying "Soooo big" complete with arm motions. This is the first thing that should clue you in to how awesome Edna Ferber is: she makes fun of our silly baby talking, while not making fun of the endearing sentiments people feel about children, especially your own. This all happens in the first two pages of So Big, and it only gets better from there.

I read my first Ferber a few years ago, Cimarron. Like that book, So Big features a strong heroine who deals with farming the land, eventually losing her husband, raising a child, etc. But there is also so much more in this Pulitzer-winning novel, not the least of which is a story about how appreciating beauty and art can take place on a farm, or in a painter's studio.

The themes of artist life and what "success" is resonate with me (as we all know). The magic of the book is that she plants the seeds all along the way and then when we move from the High Prairie of Illinois to WWI-era Chicago, we see the result she has cultivated. If we are smart, then we reflect on our own appreciation of beauty, and how we would answer the question of when does it become "too late" to find the life of love, art, and creation that you abandoned to make a lot of money?

Selina Dejong is a success, not because she married the "right" man, made millions, or has a mansion, but because she knows that the cabbages are beautiful. Her son knows this somewhere inside him, but will his bond-trading, car-driving, pleasure-seeking rich friends outweigh the influence of artists who hang out in Paris and really know themselves?

I think the name Edna Ferber sounds so, well, old-fashioned that we unconsciously assume we have an idea of what her books must be all about. Edna Ferber was pretty bad-ass, though, from what I can tell. It was probably like being named Britney or Taylor in the 1880s, wasn't it? (note to self: discover origins of the name Edna) She eventually ended up hanging out in the Algonquin Round Table in New York, which shows that she was witty and avant-garde-like. I for one have big plans to read even more of her books, like Giant and Show Boat. She is my candidate for author-that-needs-to-be-rediscovered.

Perpetual Union and liberty, please!

now finished: James Madison: A Biography by Ralph Ketcham
now reading: This Too Is Diplomacy by Dorothy Irving
up next: So Big by Edna Ferber

Last night I finished reading the James Madison biography with tears in my eyes.

Spoiler alert? The book ends with the dramatic telling of his death, touching tributes from John Quincy Adams and others, and Madison's final plea for everyone to value both the Union and the liberty for which he had worked his entire life.

Basically, Madison and his buddies changed the world. I think this is all too easy for us to forget, because now we take the United States for granted. But for the past month I have been swept up in the world of someone who not only was born and came of age when the U.S. did not even exist, but who was a huge part of forming the very foundation of it.

The book is superbly researched. I kind of want to be Ketcham's friend. I doubt that I would want to be his research assistant, although I steadfastly admire anyone who is. I think Ketcham read everything while writing this book -- Madison's writings, his friends' writings, his enemies' writings, Congressional reports, colonial newspapers, letters to and from just about everybody who ever knew Madison and his family.

Highlights for me included Madison's time at Princeton and his insane devotion to studying and learning, let alone figuring out what to do with his life. I've already mentioned here that my boy Madison, just like me, read the law due to interest in public affairs but never even attempted to be a counselor-at-bar. Madison was so well-respected in Virginia after his lifetime of service that multiple people praise the depths of his intellect and visited him in his old age just to chat and bask in his wisdom. Plus he came out of retirement in 1829 to be in the Virginia legislature one more time to try to head off the nullification crisis (Southern states resenting the federal government - we all know where that was headed).

A favorite scene of mine was a New Year's reception during Jefferson's presidency -- when Madison was Secretary of State -- whose guests included Native American chiefs and an ambassador from Tunis. The latter took it as a given that the U.S. hosts would provide concubines for him, but then, he did bring Arabian horses along as presents for the U.S. officials and their wives. Ah, dipomacy. He also asked the Cherokee what god they worshipped, and they said the Great Spirit. So he asked them if they believed in Mahomed, Abraham, or Jesus Christ. None of the above, said the Indians. Well, then, asked Sidi Sulliman Mellimelli, what prophet do you worship? None, they said. They worshipped the Great Spirit without an agent. Well then "you are all vile Hereticks" he told them.

How awesome is that? I love how he's so inquisitive, like, well, there must be some prophet, let me just see what category you're in, any religion would be fine. But no prophet at all? Shocking! It just goes to show - again - how much the three biggies of monotheism have in common. And how much do you love the Cherokee and the other Chiefs there who are like, we don't need some prophet. We're directly in touch with the Great Spirit, hello!

Dolley, of course, is a righteous babe. You grow up in elementary school hearing about how Dolley Madison was a "great hostess." Translation? She knew how to party! Not to mention her teenage sister who lived with them during the early years of their marriage to take full advantage of the fashions and social scenes of Philadelphia and later Washington D.C.

And the friendship, partnership, and accomplishments of Madison and Jefferson together? Astonishing. And what good friends they remained throughout their lives, just down the road on their little farms there, always visiting, and philosophizing, and revolutionizing, and whatnot.

Basically - I love this book. I think I enjoyed it as much as reading David McCullough's John Adams. It has definitely renewed my fervor for my presidential bios project. It has also cultivated in me a great respect for Madison and his ideals, including his strong belief in the Union and true liberty.

Luxuriance of Nature's Charms

now reading: James Madison: A Biography by Ralph Ketcham
now also reading: This Too Is Diplomacy by Dorothy Irving

I have spent the entire month of October reading my Madison bio. This is not entirely a bad thing, as I have rather enjoyed delving into the world of Madison ("mad about Madison," Brian calls me right now), but I am a little shocked that it's been a whole month on one book. That's kind of like being in law school again and having time for only one or two pleasure reads per semester. However, I have been doing a lot of stuff during October -- some writing project success, etc. And I have been catching up on reading a bunch of magazines and news, too. Still and all, it's nice to be getting close to finishing Madison.

I'm pretty sure my next presidential bio, about Monroe, will be long too. Most of these president bios are. One's read-a-bio-of-every-president project could easily consume all of one's reading time. I am going to make sure that doesn't happen again, having learned my Madison/October lesson, because there is just too much else to read! My Goodreads queue is getting to be like my Netflix queue!

Now, the honest truth is that Ketcham's book is always interesting, but sometimes it plods along. It's never really boring, it just gets kind of bogged down in the intricacies of the Congress or the trip to Montpelier or whatever. Ketcham doesn't have all of Madison's writings (they didn't all survive, apparently) so he pieces together this life using a lot of other people's writings and observations too.

What happens is the most fascinating little details pop up at the weirdest times. Like when James and Dolley first get married and Dolley's teenage sister lives with them in the Philadelphia scene of balls, parties, and the "social season." Diplomats from France hang out and they party non-stop, it feels like, with fashions in the French style of showing a lot of cleavage. This horrifies Abigail Adams. There's a letter from her to a friend in which she calls it an "outrage upon all decency" and goes on to describe the outrage of using the Girdle to accent the Bosom.

"Most [ladies] wear their Cloaths too scant upon thebody and too full upon the Bosom for my fancy," Abigail writes. "Not content with the show which nature bestows, they borrow from art, and litterally look like Nursing Mothers."

I find that hilarious, "the show which nature bestows." I guess there is no shortage still today of fashionable young ladies who use their clothes and other tricks to enhance that "show" of "nature" that so easily fascinates the boys. What would Abigail think of Us Weekly, for example? But I like to think she would appreciate watching the Oscars red carpet. I could see her sitting at home with John watching and commenting. She would totally give an A+ to some elegant number worn by Meryl Streep or Kate Winslet, but maybe frown at your Bjorks and your Chers over the years. Dolley and James, though, would totally be hosting an Oscar party, with snacks and ballots for their friends to fill out and prizes. It's just how Dolley rolled.