Sunday, October 12, 2008
A Little Sunday Reading v. 17
I recently finished F. Scott Fitzgerald's This Side of Paradise. It took me forever to get through. In part, I moved slowly to take in all the decadence, expression and beautiful language. In part, I moved slowly because the plot did. I attacked this book when I first started. I was immediately taken with Amory Blaine and his sadness, introspection and curiosity. I was totally with him through his last year of college. And then. In that last year, he got a bit...needy and whiny. And I'm not sure if this is an indict of Amory or Fitzgerald but he had no point. In part, I think it was the point. But I don't think it was Fitzgerald's idea that Amory have no insight other than what others saw in him. But I could be wrong.

The truly lovely parts of the book came when Amory was in love. And he was in love often. Amory in love was the redeeming part of the book. When I was reading those sections, I was convinced I was going to read the book over and over! But then....imminent doom would descend upon his relationships and, in turn, the plot! And perhaps that is where my discomfort lies--with the fact that I only liked Amory when he was in love. I didn't like him on his own terms.

However, the writing was breathtaking. Wanna see? Ok.

I know I'm not a regular fellow, yet I loathe anybody else that isn't. I can't decide whether to cultivate my mind and be a great dramatist or to thumb my nose at the 'Golden Treasury' and be a Princeton slicker.

He had a snapshot of Isabelle, enshrined in an old watch, and at eight almost every night he would turn off all the lights except the desk lamp and, sitting by the open windows with the picture before him, write her rapturous letters.

No, I'm romantic--a sentimental person thinks things will last--a romantic person hopes against hope that they won't. Sentiment is emotional.

As long as they knew each other Eleanor and Amory could be 'on a subject' and stop talking with the definite thought of it in their heads, yet ten minutes later speak aloud and find that their minds had followed the same channels and led them each to a parallel idea, an idea that others would have found absolutely unconnected with the first...Oh, she was magnificent--pale skin, the color of marble in the star-light, slender brows, and eyes that glittered green as emeralds in the blinding glare.

We can't possibly have a summer love. SO many people have tried that the name's become proverbial. Summer is only the unfulfilled promise of spring, a charlatan in place of the warm balmy nights I dream of in April. It's a sad season of life without growth...it has no day.

He was in an eddy again, a deep, lethargic gulf, without desire to work or write, love or dissipate. For the first time in his life he rather longed for death to roll over his generation, obliterating their petty fevers and struggles and exaltation. His youth seemed never so vanished as now in the contrast between the utter loneliness of this visit and that riotous, joyful party of four years before. Things that had been the merest commonplaces of his life then, deep sleep, the sense of beauty around him, all desire, had flown away and the gaps they left were filled only with the great listlessness of his disillusion.

He pictured the rooms where these people lived--where the patterns of the blistered wall-papers were heavy reiterated sunflowers on green and yellow backgrounds, where there were tin bathtubs and gloomy hallways and verdureless, unnameable spaces in back of the buildings; where even love dressed as seduction--a sordid murder around the corner, illicit motherhood in the flat above.

Usually, on nights like this, for there had been many lately, he could escape from this consuming introspection by thinking of children and the infinite possibilities of children--he leaned and listened and he heard a startled baby awake int he house across the street and lend a tiny whimper to the still night; quick as a flash he turned away, wondering with a touch of panic whether something in the brooding despair of his mood had made a darkness in its tiny soul.

In other bookish news, I want to share a few links you may find interesting:

Interesting inscriptions
by interesting people. Totally love this.

Bill Clinton recommends some books.

Feministing talks about their ten fave feminist books.

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Tuesday, October 07, 2008
Giveaway: Josh Henkin's Matrimony

Ya'll! I have exciting news! I'm happy to announce a very special giveaway today: an inscribed copy of Josh Henkin's Matrimony which has recently been released in paperback. The novel was a New York Times Notable Book, a Book Sense pick and selected as a Borders' Original Voices.

Matrimony tells the story of a young married couple, Mia and Julian. The story weaves in the love, loss and struggles that define all good marriages. The best part of the book for me is how well Henkin understands life in Michigan. While I no longer live there, I still consider myself a Michigander. He gets every detail right...the gray weather, the great people, the academic endeavors at U of M. Truely charming account of the great state! You can see Henkin talk about the book here.

Henkin is a huge supporter of book clubs. In a recent interview, he said "I'm a novelist and a professor of fiction writing, so my life is a book group." Awesome. Check him out. Recommend the book to others. Select it for your book club. Perhaps you'll have a super, duper fancy book to bring to your book club meeting!

I'll select a winner at random. All you have to do is COMMENT by Friday the 10th at 8:00 a.m. Be sure to leave your email address!

[edit] CONGRATS TO ANDI and sorry about the delay! I'm bad at giveaways!

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Sunday, August 17, 2008
A Little Sunday Reading v. 15
My leisure reading has slowed considerably as the dissertation work has picked up, so no book reviews. But here are some fun bookish links from around the web.

Photographer André Kertész's On Reading has been re-released. The collection features individual readers in every imaginable location. The New York Times takes a peek at some of the images. Totally dreamy.

The First Book organization asks "What Book Got You Hooked?" Their website has lots of charming answers from all kinds of people. Great organization, great question. For me, Charlotte's Web turned me into a reader and The Babysitter's Club inspired me to write. I wrote my first story in 4th grade. It was loosely based on my favorite BSC character--Claudia. Since then I've been inspired by countless authors and books. And, I'm pretty sure, my writing style has evolved accordingly!

The great blog Critical Mass asked reviewers what books they reviewed over the summer. They also talk about books they're still looking forward to reading. Lots of great suggestions. What was the best book you read over the summer? I've read some great ones....my favorite reads this summer were Scott Spencer's Endless Love and Sylvia Plath's The Bell Jar. Be my goodreads friend. Do it!

Happy weekend everyone!

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Wednesday, July 09, 2008
Weekly Geeks v. 2

This week's theme is magazines! I almost didn't participate this week because to do so means admitting just how much of a problem I have. Yes. My name is Kristen and I'm a magazine addict. Truly. But the first step in recovery is admitting you have a problem, right? Right. On with the therapy.

My first must read every month is Real Simple. There is nothing bad about Real Simple. I love their charming articles, the helpful organizational tips, the great pictures, the easy recipes. I love the way the magazine feels in my hands. I love that they include a bookmark with each issue. I love this magazine. And they have a great website as well.

Next up is In Style. Each month I flip through the pages and imagine myself leading a ridiculously chic and stylish life. Of course, I'll never have the money to consume all they try to sell me but it is fun nonetheless.

Glamour and Marie Claire are my guilty pleasures. While you may occasionally find a powerful story on a feminist issue or an opinion piece written from an interesting perspective, these issues are for fun and occasionally fill me with feminist guilt.

To make myself feel better, I read Bitch every time it comes out. I wish it was published every month but such is the life of a feminist. Bitch has great media criticism and their articles are timely and funny. The publication really helped me teach my Women's Studies classes. My students loved every article I selected for their class reading. Many of them now subscribe as well. In fact, one of my great teaching moments happened when a student brought in a copy of her recently purchased magazine. She had highlighted articles and placed tabs on things she wanted to re-visit. Feminist victory!

My mom sends me all her issues of The Week. The Week is a great publication that features all the top news articles from the week. It also has great book, movie and music suggestions. A quick read that will fill your brain with great information.

There are two magazines that I don't subscribe to but end up reading every issue either because I buy it, borrow it or read it while browsing at a bookstore. Everyday with Rachael Ray is helpful in finding easy meals that we use each week. Plus, you don't have to deal with Rachael Ray while you read. Win win! And Harper's is pretty much the best political magazine out there. When I'm through with grad school, I suspect I'll start a subscription.

Last but not least, my hubby gets Paste magazine every month and I almost always browse through that. Paste is so awesome. Each month, you get a mixed CD filled with featured artists and songs. The reviews are always really good and they also have lots of interesting stories (like the best record stores). It is a must read for music junkies.

Rest assured, we recycle all the magazines so I'm a responsible reader!

Phew. I feel better now.

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Friday, December 07, 2007
Some words about keeping and reading diaries
This week's [The] New Yorker has an article about why we read diaries. The article also delves into the reasons we keep (or try to keep) diaries as well.

My own journaling has really fallen off in recent years. I attribute it to a variety of things but mainly to the fact that I have to write so much day to day that I can barely bring myself to blog let alone chronicle my life on a daily basis. So my moleskines are filled with lists of books I want to read, movies I want to see or have enjoyed, and tasks I need to complete. Oh! And reflections and notes to myself when I fail to accomplish the tasks. And as Louis Menand reminds me--"Diary-keeping, on this account, is just neurotic, since the last thing most people want to do with their unconsummated longings and petty humiliations is to inscribe them permanently in a book."

Well, I am nothing if not neurotic.

But I really appreciated the insight about why we read diaries of people who are long gone. I've often wondered this same thing and assumed it had something to do with looking to people smarter than me for insight on a life far more complicated than me. The reading experience was simultaneously depressing and hopeful. I'd become depressed that my diaries were not anything near this complex but I'd be hopeful that the reading would inspire me to become an actualized person.

I prefer Menand's reflections:
The obvious assumption is that we read diaries because we want to know what the diarist was really like as a person, but how plausible, even in the case of famous diarists, is this? It’s true that we read the diaries of Virginia Woolf because they were written by Virginia Woolf, who, in addition to being an interesting novelist, was an interesting character. But (a paradox of representation) we would actually feel that we had a more intimate sense of Virginia Woolf if we read about her in someone else’s diary. Woolf described from the outside by another person is likely to give us a more vivid picture of what Virginia Woolf was really like than Woolf described from the inside by herself. Introspection is not as reliable as observation. (That’s why we have shrinks.)

Inside, everyone sounds, more or less eloquently, like the same broken record of anxiety and resentment. It’s the outside, the way people look and the things they say, that makes them distinct. We read Woolf’s diaries so that we can see other people through Woolf’s eyes.

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Thursday, May 31, 2007
More words about reading
Ok, I know I've been talking a lot about reading and writing. I think I'm about done. I'm pretty much through this phase. I have one more book about reading and writing beside my bed but I may return it to the library without even reading it. I need to get reading for my dissertation* and writing things of educational relevance rather than living in my fictional "leisure reader and writer" world.

Anyway...I almost held back on this post for fear you all are sick of reading about reading. That would make sense. But then I was typing up my favorite quotes from a recent read (a strange habit that I'm glad I have...I love looking back at little gems I've picked up from a variety of authors) and I realized that I have a passage too beautiful not to share.

I finished Anna Quindlen's How Reading Changed My Life a few weeks back. It was fantastic. She does a nifty thing at the end--she lists a variety of "top ten" books. 10 Books Recommended by a Really Good Librarian. 10 Good Book Club Suggestions. 10 of the Books My Exceptionally Well-Read Friend Ben Says He's Taken the Most From. But the best! thing from the book was this passage:

Yet in her sorrow there was joy, the remembered joy of someone who had been a reader all her life, whose world had been immeasurably enlarged by the words of others. Perhaps it is true that at base we readers are dissatisfied people, yearning to be elsewhere, to live vicariously through words in a way we cannot live directly through life. Perhaps we are the world’s great nomads, if only in our minds. I travel today in a way I once dreamed of traveling as a child. And the irony is that I don’t care for it very much, I am the sort of person who prefers to stay at home, surrounded by family, friends, familiarity, books. This is what I like about traveling: the time on airplanes spent reading, solitary, happy. It turns out that when my younger self thought of taking wing, she wanted only to let her spirit soar. Books are the plane, and the train, and the road. They are the destination, and the journey. They are home.

I. LOVE. THAT. I wish desperately that I had written it.

Of course, Quindlen broke my heart when she suggested that my life-changing book (The Heart is a Lonely Hunter) is a bit of a cliché.

And more than a few were like one woman, who said of The Heart is a Lonely Hunter, “I read it when I was fourteen, when I didn’t feel like anybody understood how I felt. And here is this book about a fourteen-year-old girl who had the same feelings I did.”

Apparently, I'm predictable. *sigh*

A lovely work. You should pick it up.

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Saturday, May 05, 2007
Some words about reading and writing
Last weekend we watched a rather unremarkable movie The History Boys. I found the movie incredibly boring save for one line--

Hector, the aged and weary teacher, told a student the best thing about reading:

"The best moments in reading are when you come across something - a thought, a feeling, a way of looking at things - which you had thought special and particular to you. And now, here it is, set down by someone else, a person you have never met, someone even who is long dead. And it is as if a hand has come out, and taken yours."

I loved that. Very much.

I've been thinking a lot about reading lately as I'm currently reading Jonathan Franzen's How to be Alone and Anna Quindlen's How Reading Changed My Life. Both are fantastic and should be very easy to get through but my reading has been interrupted a lot by life recently. But, in a way, I appreciate the slow way I am working my way through. It has read to a very meditative look at both works. I've had lots of time to dwell on the words and the messages.

I've always liked reading. Can reading be a skill? Because if it is, I have that skill. I read my first "novel" in second grade--Charlotte's Web. I very vividly remember sitting in our large yellow rocker and when I read the last word I yelled out to my mom that "I was done" and she smiled a proud smile. It was in that moment that I became a bit of a...um...reading snob. I connected reading to a proud smile. Connected reading to goodness. Connected reading to superiority. I devoured books. I locked my sister in our room when she was a mere toddler and taught her to read. I know now that she was merely memorizing the words I said and repeating them back to me but I felt proud that I shared the gift of reading with her at a young age. It was also convenient that I really only had one friend and she was a reader as well. I spent a lot of time in my room reading. Alone. I wasn't shy. Not at all. Quite the contrary-- as evidenced by my propensity to offer to read aloud in front of the class. And (I'm quite embarrassed about this now) correct my fellow classmates' reading errors publicly and loudly. Not shy. Never been shy. But I do like to immerse myself in a good book. I like the solitude a book provides. A sense of escapism. A sense of simultaneous closeness and distance from life.

How convenient, then, that I would choose a profession that demands a tremendous amount of reading and writing (which I'm beginning to finally conclude go hand in hand as interests). Further, it demands a tremendous amount of silence and voice. A connection to people yet the space to analyze on your own. I struggle with the amount of solitude connected to my writing. Long days in front of the computer, alone, being contemplative does horrible things to a psyche. At least to my psyche. I crave companionship and conversation. But it is also very romantic. And there is nothing like a great day of writing to make you feel like you've had a very rewarding chat with the ultimate conversationalist.

Anyway, I digress...the History Boys quotation... Jonathan Franzen speaks my feelings exactly. I know I was hard on his 27th City but this work of collected essays is fantastic. Truly fantastic. The type of fantastic that means I am dreading coming to the last essay...

In particular, when I read his generalizations about readers I felt he had very clearly grown up with me and was actually featuring me in his essay. He wrestles with the idea that reading is a bit of a socially isolated experience but not one necessarily dependent on social isolation.

Pride compels me, here, to draw a distinction between young fiction readers and young nerds. The classic nerd, who finds a home in facts or technology or numbers, is marked not by a displaced sociability but by an antisociability. Reading does resemble more nerdy pursuits in that it's a habit that both feeds on a sense of isolation and aggravates it. Simply being a "social isolate" as a child does not, however, doom you to bad breath and poor party skills as an adult. In fact, it can make you hypersocial. It's just that at some point you'll begin to feel a gnawing, almost remorseful need to be along and do some reading--to reconnect to that community.

Arguably, I'm a bit of a nerd as well...but I prefer to think of myself as hypersocial who craves alone time.

And speaking of writing as a profession....phew....

Writers and readers have always been prone to this estrangement. Communion with the virtual community of print requires solitude, after all. But the estrangement becomes much more profound, urgent, and dangerous when that virtual community is no longer densely populated and heavily trafficked; when the saving continuity of literature itself is under electronic and academic assault; when your alienation become generic rather than individual, and the business pages seem to report on the world's conspiracy to grandfather not only you but all your kind, and prince of silence seems no longer to be obscurity but outright oblivion.

There are so many great things about this work...his description of his father in the first essay (which may very well be my favorite thing that Franzen has ever written), his critique of our political world and his complete honesty about his limitations and weaknesses as a husband, writer and citizen. But I want you to read it for yourself and pick out the good parts. The parts at when you feel Franzen taking your hand.

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