I confess, I’m jumping on board: The Great Gatsby, the movie.

I do have some reservations; but I am cautiously excited about the new Gatsby movie.

I bought a second paperback copy of the novel and gave it to my movie buddy Justin to read before we go. (Husband doesn’t do movies.) I had to buy Justin a copy because it turns out that my copy, which dates from high school, is hideously marked up: one of my high school English teachers had us turn in our books to be graded on how entirely we had defaced them with highlighter and margin notes. I got a 100 on The Great Gatsby, which means it’s entirely unacceptable for me to hand over to a first-time reader. I’m just glad I noticed before he took it home with him. [I’ve discussed marginalia here before. In a nutshell, I’m not a big fan.]

So, Justin has a copy of the book, and we will be seeing the movie. I’ve read that it’s not a perfect match – and when is a movie ever a perfect match to the book? The right strategy, I think, is to know and accept that going in. Hopefully we can do this, and enjoy Leonardo DiCaprio and all the glitz and glamour.

gatsby

It does look very pretty.

As an added bonus, Shelf Awareness published a fun piece the other day, in honor of BookExpo America: Gatsby’s New York. Great fun there.

So stay tuned for a movie review to come! Ideally I would have found time to reread the book myself. But I’ll just have to go on the strength of multiple rereadings of years ago – and Justin’s recent experience.

Anybody else excited about this one?

book beginnings on Friday: The Social Conquest of Earth by Edward O. Wilson, from Pops

Thanks to Rose City Reader for hosting this meme. To participate, share the first line or two of the book you are currently reading and, if you feel so moved, let us know what your first impressions were based on that first line.

wilson

Today’s book beginning comes to us courtesy of my father, who in the spirit of Derrick Jensen’s Endgame and Daniel Quinn’s Ishmael is reading The Social Conquest of Earth, by Edward O. Wilson, with whom Pops is impressed. He writes to me:

This is Harvard biologist Edward O. Wilson explaining the human condition and our impact on the world, using his background in biology (esp. evolution) as well as philosophy, psychology, neuroscience, creative arts, religion, etc. After a unique and compelling preface evoking Gauguin’s “finest work,” this is just the 2nd paragraph of the book.

Writes Wilson:

Humanity today is like a waking dreamer, caught between the fantasies of sleep and the chaos of the real world. The mind seeks but cannot find the precise place and hour. We have created a Star Wars civilization, with Stone Age emotions, medieval institutions, and god-like technology. We thrash about. We are terribly confused by the mere fact of our existence, and a danger to ourselves and the rest of life.

Like Jensen’s writing, this both rings true and terrifies at the same time. At least that’s my reaction. What’s yours?

Endgame, Volume 1: The Problem of Civilization by Derrick Jensen

endgameHow to write about this book for you here? Derrick Jensen fearlessly assesses the terrifying state of our world, for us as people and as not-the-only inhabitants of a globe that is sick with our presence and practices. It is difficult to write about what he has to say and my reactions to it; it’s very personal, because I and/or people I love may or may not be trying to follow some of Jensen’s teachings even as we speak. What I really want to say in this so-called “book review” is, go read Jensen now, and then do something about it.

The concept of endgame is familiar to me from chess. The idea is that we’re trying to get to a final outcome of this chess match, trying to establish a winner and a loser, and there’s no sense hanging on to all these pieces and stretching things out. Instead, I will happily give up my bishops (knights, rooks, queen, all of ’em) in exchange for yours, in order to hurry up the desirable end of the game. Endgame takes the same concept – a desirable hurrying of this game onto its inevitable finish – and applies it to our world, or rather, to civilization. He tells his reader why and how our civilization or culture is hopelessly, insanely f*cked up. He argues that we ARE headed for an end to civilization – and quite appropriately and desirably so – and that we should be hastening this end, the sooner that we can then begin living more sanely (if there’s any “we” left), and the healthier that the planet and anything left on it will be post-endgame.

This may very well sounds nuts to you, if you haven’t given things like global warming, mass extinctions, water shortage, and worldwide social injustices much thought. But it might make a great deal of sense – especially if you let Derrick Jensen tell it, which I really recommend, as he does a far better job of it than I do. Perhaps my first surprise in reading Endgame is that there were no surprises. Jensen makes these arguments so incredibly articulately, cleverly, even funnily, and backs them up so solidly, that I am wowed; but nothing he had to say was entirely new or surprising to me (sadly). He does a really fabulous job of expressing clearly what I already knew, suspected or feared. He also presented some new angles that I hadn’t much considered; and he expands the scope and scale of our problems in a way that I appreciate and found thought-provoking. Make no mistake: Jensen is a philosopher, a thinker, a cerebral guy who has clearly done copious research and spent time talking with some of the smartest people out there. Would that we all had time to do this kind of research and thinking! (Since we don’t, read Endgame.) My father has noted that even climate change experts like Bill McKibben stop short of the dire predictions Jensen posits. I think considering these scary truths is useful, instructive, and constructive, even while it’s sad and terrifying.

If you believe that we just need to drill for more oil; that those with lots of money have the right (and the duty) to protect what’s theirs; and that poor people in poor countries that still have some trees (oil, etc.) left should just move over for those of us that know better – Jensen is unlikely to convince you otherwise. He doesn’t really bother with you, in fact: you are not his audience. (“I was going to suggest those who think the U.S. invasion [of Iraq] has nothing to do with oil should put the book down, but realized they’ve probably already tired of the big words.”) And maybe that’s as it should be, too. Convincing those people is a big job – possibly an impossible one – and there’s other important work to be done. I don’t know that we should be wasting our Derrick Jensens on convincing the hardline fans of civilization that they’re wrong.

Aside from the clearly central issue that I appreciate what he had to say, see the wisdom of his arguments, and applaud his articulations, I also really enjoy Jensen’s conversational style. He can somewhat ramble, but is abundantly coherent for all that; maybe it was just my deep interest and passion for what he was saying (I’m nodding and saying “yea, yea!” as I read), but it all flowed very well even while jumping around a little. Of course I must say too that I loved his love for parentheticals (he mentions how much this frustrates his editor!) because, can you tell, I share it. I believe it was on his website that I read that he completes each page (or several), completely, before moving on to the next: that is, when he’s writing page 11, pages 1-10 are done. I find this fascinating. (I’m always interested in the mechanics of my favorite writers.) And it allows for a journal-like feel: he’ll break off from an argument he’s making to tell an anecdote, like “tonight I gave a talk, and at the end a woman said…”, and the reader is right there in the present with him. He wrote that paragraph on the night that that woman said that thing.

I would also like to make a contrast to yesterday’s DNF book, and say that a key piece of Jensen’s structure here is in stating at the start 20 premises he believes in. He writes,

I want to lay them out as clearly as I can, for you to accept or reject. Part of the reason I want to do this is that the questions I’m exploring regarding civilization are the most important questions we as a culture and as individuals have ever been forced to face. I don’t want to cheat. I want to convince neither you nor me unfairly (nor, for that matter, do I want to convince either of us at all), but instead to help us both better understand what to do (or not do) and how to do it (or why not). This goal will be best served by as much transparency – and honesty – as I can muster.

He then spends 450 pages proving his premises.

I appreciate this clarity. Frankly, I was already on board with his assumptions, but agree wholeheartedly that this is far too important a problem to make assumptions about; the intellectual exercise of questioning our assumptions is absolutely necessary. I like that he is so reflective, asking questions he can’t answer, reconsidering. This is too important a moment for blustering false positivity. Therefore, even though I was willing to buy into premises like, “The culture as a whole and most of its members are insane. The culture is driven by a death urge, an urge to destroy life,” I still value having them proven to me. Jensen questions himself and his own motives. And that’s something I respect.

A solid ‘A’ for style, then, but the real ‘eureka’ for his thoughts and arguments and philosophies. I can’t wait to read Volume II: what we’re going to do about it.


Rating: take note: 10 salmon.

did not finish: Bonhoeffer: Pastor, Martyr, Prophet, Spy by Eric Metaxas (audio)

bonhoefferI’ve gotten better at putting down books I’m not enjoying. As I keep repeating to myself & others, there are far too many excellent books in this world for me to ever read them all, so why would I spend my precious, limited reading time on less-than-excellent books? But I guess I’m still working on applying this same policy to audiobooks. They are fewer, and a little harder to get my hands on, so I find myself taking more chances with audiobooks. But somewhere between a third and halfway through Bonhoeffer, I gave up.

This is the biography of Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a German pastor and theologian who lost a brother in World War I and was more prescient than many during Hitler’s rise to power. He was already involved in “the church,” but as Hitler’s government worked to take over the German church establishment, Bonhoeffer became even more active. I didn’t get this far, but apparently he also acted as a spy (for the anti-Nazi Abwehr), and was involved in a plot to assassinate Hitler.

As a non-Christian, I thought I would be able to appreciate this as a work of history and biography. But I found myself too much irked by the unspoken premises: that Bonhoeffer, as a good Christian, was a good guy; that he could do no wrong; that the Christian church was inherently good. Christian readers of this book (who I can only assume are the majority, and its target audience) will naturally not be offended by these assumptions; but I am bothered by premises being treated as fact. Bonhoeffer comes off as a good and likeable man, and I may even miss him; but he’s presented as a totally good man, and I just can’t buy that about any human being. In other words, I don’t think Metaxas treats him objectively, and that tends to bother me a great deal in my reading. The religious bias, combined with copious quotations from the Bible, proved too much for me. In a shorter book, I would have hung in there: I made it 8-10 hours into its 22 hours! But I could go no farther.

I am happy to accept that Bonhoeffer was, on balance, a force for good against Hitler’s evil; but in a lengthy biography I would expect a little more objectivity, and would prefer a nonreligious starting point for study. I found his life interesting and would read another book about him. But not this one.


Rating: 2 sermons.

Teaser Tuesdays: Endgame by Derrick Jensen

Teaser Tuesdays is a weekly bookish meme, hosted by MizB of Should Be Reading. The idea is to open your current read to a random page and share a few sentences. And try not to include spoilers!

endgame
Derrick Jensen on whether we should just go along because it’s easier that way…

…I’ll tell you something important: the Jews who participated in the Warsaw Ghetto uprising, including those who went on what they thought were suicide missions, had a higher rate of survival than those who went along peacefully. Never forget that.

This is a thought-provoking and rather mind-blowing book. Stay tuned; although I don’t know how I’m going to do it justice when it’s time to write my review, not least because my reactions are so strong and so personal. Better yet, go get yourself a copy. You can buy it at the link above.

Ishmael by Daniel Quinn

ishmaelIshmael comes recommended by my father, and that’s enough for me.

It’s an environmental novel published in 1992. So, dated? Or prophetic? I’m afraid it stands firm today; we can debate whether it’s overly alarmist (ha) or overly optimistic (sigh), but I didn’t run across anything that dated it especially for me. The premise is: our narrator (who, I’m pretty sure, remains nameless) is a disillusioned 30-something who, as a teen, had looked for someone to guide his idealistic, revolutionary, 1970’s-style environmentalism, and come out disappointed and cynical. Now that it’s “too late”, he’s frustrated to find the following advertisement in the newspaper:

TEACHER seeks pupil. Must have an earnest desire to save the world. Apply in person.

(Is “newspaper” the term that dates this story?) Narrator responds jadedly, assuming this is a charlatan, a scammer; but still he goes to the address listed, because he has to satisfy his curiosity (and presumably because some part of him hopes that someone out there can really teach him how to save the world). In this anonymous retail space, he finds… a gorilla. A big, scary gorilla behind a glass wall; and on Narrator’s side of the wall, a chair. He eventually sits, and our gorilla – Ishmael – “speaks” telepathically to him. Ishmael relates his life story, and they begin discussing What’s Wrong With The World And What We Can Do About It.

Leaving aside the rather strange element of the telepathic and exceptionally well-read gorilla, the structure of this story is much like Sophie’s World, a novel I read pre-blog (thus no review here, sorry) and really, deeply loathed. It is credit to my faith in my father that I picked up Ishmael, knowing it was at all like that other. The structure I’m referring to is part of what I disliked about Sophie, although it works slightly better here: there is no plot, no action in the story, and no character development, because our characters don’t do anything. They form a didactic construction that allows Quinn, in ill-disguised fashion, to voice his own thoughts. If he were doing this in dialogue form, it would make a little more sense; but unfortunately the dialogue mostly consists of many paragraphs by one character, punctuated by the occasional “yes,” “true,” or “I don’t quite understand that part; can you tell me more?” from the other. Now, I liked what Quinn had to say, and I frankly liked the gorilla Ishmael, and so this framing element bothered me far less than it did with Sophie (shudder). But I still felt that it was unnecessary, distracting, and ill-concealed. I’d rather Quinn had just written a manifesto frankly stated as his own.

Quinn’s thesis in a nutshell is that our world is badly f*ed; humans have done it by behaving badly; and we need to change quickly if we hope to salvage the earth itself, its very deserving fellow occupants like butterflies, tigers, flowers and rocks, and any of ourselves. I find this thesis abundantly easy to follow. For decades we’ve known that we were badly screwing up this planet (unless you’re Big Oil and have found a way to put your head under the sand (to look for more oil) in which case you’re probably not reading Ishmael, or this blog). Actually I found the third part of the thesis – that we need to hurry up and change so that we can save the world – hardest to follow, because I think things are worse off than Quinn paints them to be. Of course, I’m writing this more than 20 years later, so I’ll give him a pass there.

That said, the friendly gorilla and the simply stated philosophical approach that he shares with our Narrator make an accessible argument. I could see this being a good entry-level discussion piece – or a jumping-off point for further discussion in a reading group or classroom setting. Ishmael is likeable, and the philosophy is mostly sound (at least until the part about how we can change; I am less hopeful than Ishmael is), and readable.

I am not sorry I read this. But I like Derrick Jensen’s Endgame better, even though it doesn’t have as happy an ending. More on that book to come.


Rating: 5 sessions.

book beginnings on Friday: Ishmael by Daniel Quinn

Thanks to Rose City Reader for hosting this meme. To participate, share the first line or two of the book you are currently reading and, if you feel so moved, let us know what your first impressions were based on that first line.

ishmael

This novel looks to be one of those lesser-known classics, with sort of a cult following but not generally known to the public consciousness. (My local public library does have it shelved under Classics.) Have you heard of it? I only recently did, but it comes recommended from my Pops, so here we are. It begins:

The first time I read the ad, I choked and cursed and spat and threw the paper to the floor. Since even this didn’t seem to be quite enough, I snatched it up, marched into the kitchen, and shoved it into the trash.

Strong feelings, no? I like that our attention is grabbed right at the start!

Happy Friday and happy reading, kids!

The Lost Summer of Louisa May Alcott by Kelly O’Connor McNees (audio)

louisaThis is a fictionalization of one season in the life of Louisa May Alcott, author most famously of Little Women. Louisa and her family are very like her famous fictional creations in many ways. The eldest daughter, Anna, clearly models for Meg of LW; then there’s Louisa/Jo, then Lizzie/Beth, and then Amy/May. Louisa’s mother Abba does go by Marmee, as in the book; the first glaring departure from Alcott’s novel in her real life is that her father, Bronson, is not away at war. Instead, Bronson was a transcendentalist scholar and friend to the likes of Thoreau and Emerson, disinclined to work for a living (being principally opposed, you see); he founded a Utopian commune in which his family lived for a time, and otherwise they scrimped, borrowed, and got by how they could. [I know this is confusing: I am writing a review of a fictional book, about a real-life woman, who wrote a fictional book, about her real-life family. So far, in these bare details I’ve named, I am referring to the real-life Alcotts as well as the Alcotts represented in Kelly O’Connor McNees’ novel.]

In The Lost Summer of Louisa May Alcott, McNees sets the six Alcotts in Walpole, New Hampshire, living for the summer in a home that belongs to relatives, because they are poor and hungry and have to go where they can. The premise is that Louisa May Alcott – in real-life a confirmed spinster – had a brief love affair that summer that informed the rest of her life. History yields no indication that such an affair took place, so this is where the fiction begins.

The plot is simple and uninteresting, certainly not the strength of this book. The family is new to Walpole; Anna has recently decided that she is interested in getting married (as any good girl of her era would be) and works to make herself presentable to the town’s young men. Louisa is, as ever, hot-headed, passionate, interested mostly in her writing, and does not intend to marry because it would disrupt her freedom (to write, and otherwise). She is firmly a feminist, and deeply interested in her father’s friends Emerson and Thoreau, and in a new book of poetry called Leaves of Grass by somebody named Walt Whitman. Lizzie is sickly and fussed over. May is obnoxiously free from the privation that the rest of the family feels; Marmee is rather frustrated with her lot in life; and Bronson is thoroughly exasperating in his refusal to get realistic and provide for his family. Anna meets a boy. And Louisa meets a boy, and in stock romance-novel style, finds him unbearable right up until she falls in love with him. They are thwarted.

The strengths of The Lost Summer are in its subjects: lovers of Little Women will be charmed by the fictional-real-life models for Meg, Jo, Beth and Amy. The setting is rather charming, as well, and Joseph Singer (Louisa’s love interest) is likeable. But unlike the characters in Little Women, Anna, Louisa, Lizzie and May are underdeveloped. To be fair, it is a shorter book, and spans a much briefer time than its more famous model, so perhaps this should be excused. But I’m not really that forgiving, as I’ve seen masterful character development in mere pages (see: short story masters like Hemingway and de Maupassant). To be further fair, I’m not a fan of romance novels. (Maybe I should never have picked this book up?) That said, I was impatient with the plot line that had Louisa grumpy toward this man she simultaneously felt pulled towards – she went weak in the knees, etc., etc. – and then suddenly sick with love. It’s just too familiar, ho hum. And finally, too many of these characters were unlikeable (May, Bronson, even Marmee; Louisa for her bullheadedness; minor characters Margaret and Catherine, ugh!) for my tastes. I sort of felt that this story had misplaced its heroine.

Of some interest was the opportunity that McNees took to outline Louisa’s feminism and her limited options. I confess I did buy into the romance enough to wish that Joseph and Louisa could be together – could marry, or simply cohabitat – which latter option I realize is my modern-woman’s solution, and wasn’t really available to Louisa at all. Louisa talks and thinks through their options and what they would mean to her: how, for example, marriage would mean endless drudgery and housework for her, and the loss of her ability to write. This is a message that needed communicating, and I found it interesting and instructive to consider the limited options of a woman of this era. So a few points were regained here. However, these musings were only thinly veiled as dialogue or internal thoughts of the characters; I felt I could see McNees holding the strings.

For a quick, superficial, comfortable visit with the beloved Alcotts, come on in to Lost Summer; but if you’re looking for more, look elsewhere.

Audio edition was fine but unremarkable.


Rating: 4 oh-so-important ribbons.

Yellowstone, Land of Wonders: Promenade in North America’s National Park by Jules Leclercq

An unprecedented English translation of a travel narrative from the early years of Yellowstone National Park.

yellowstone
In 1883, a well-traveled French lawyer, writer and judge named Jules Leclercq explored the newly designated Yellowstone National Park on horseback. Three years later, he published a book praising the area’s strange and wondrous marvels–but the book is not simply a lovely appreciation of natural scenery. Leclercq also researched the history of the region and its people in order to write a scholarly study, a snapshot of a place in time. And yet there has never been a complete English-language translation of his original text until Janet Chapple and Suzanne Cane’s Yellowstone, Land of Wonders.

Leclercq is most fascinated by Yellowstone’s geysers: “The mind is so occupied with the extraordinary geological phenomena bursting upon one at every step,” he writes, “that one views the scenery only abstractedly.” He does, however, turn his pen to Yellowstone Lake and Falls; he considers the latter far superior to Niagara. He also includes a chapter on the park’s wildlife, and warns that whole species will be exterminated if hunting continues unchecked.

Leclercq’s narrative is imperfect. He sometimes quotes without attribution from contemporary sources and gets geological details wrong. But Chapple and Cane meticulously keep readers informed on such points. Their translation and editing–with copious notes–is thorough in confirming and expanding Leclercq’s points, offering commentary not just on Yellowstone but on the author and his era. The result has more than just historical value; as Leclercq concludes (and as is still true today), “All this grandeur inspires grave and religious thoughts.”


This review originally ran in the May 10, 2013 issue of Shelf Awareness for Readers. To subscribe, click here, and you’ll receive two issues per week of book reviews and other bookish fun!


Rating: 6 geysers.

Other Voices, Other Rooms by Truman Capote

othervoicesOther Voices, Other Rooms was Truman Capote’s first novel, and I have picked it up because it was referenced in The Used World. Such is the power of Haven Kimmel.

This is a strange, spooky, sad tale, beginning with an unwanted child: we meet 13-year-old Joel as he’s hitching a ride en route from New Orleans to a crumbling estate in Mississippi. He had been living with his aunt following his mother’s death; now he has been summoned to his father, who he’s never met. Upon arriving at Skully’s Landing, he finds no father, but an odd stepmother and her even odder cousin, Randolph. Approximating friends are a neighbor tomboy named Idabel and a black servant named Zoo. Eventually Joel’s father is revealed, mute, bedridden, and as horrifying as everything and everyone else at the Landing. Among these horrors are a ghostly woman in a window where no woman belongs; a cottonmouth “thick as his leg, long as a whip”; and a mule who hangs himself.

Randolph is clearly gay, and a model for the effeminate Joel to consider, for better or for worse – sexuality aside, Randolph has a dubious moral code. He relates (among other things) the story of how he met Joel’s father, in an episode that rather reminded me of The Sun Also Rises, in which a motley mismatch of characters in a debauched setting (here, New Orleans) are remarkably frank about who wants who sexually. Later, when Joel attends a country fair with Idabel, things turn more towards Alice in Wonderland, in its sinister moments. But Capote is in his own class here, regardless of my literary comparisons. He evokes a startling, ghostly, creepy, sleepy yet stark atmosphere, and for me, that atmosphere was the great accomplishment of this novel.

Plot-wise, Joel’s story is one where not a great deal happens but a major life change takes place, anyway. This is a coming-of-age story, in which Joel starts off decidedly a child but finishes – just a few months later – a young man with a somewhat clearer picture of himself. (But, I think, no happier.) Part of that coming-of-age regards his sexuality, but only in an unstated, amorphous way, which is a fair description of the whole book, really. In fact, I have to admit to some trouble following things, as so much is unstated and wavering and strangely expressed from varying and unreliable viewpoints. That this novel is at least vaguely autobiographical I guessed; that there were themes of understanding one’s sexuality and coming-of-age was clear to me. But the rest was less clear. In fact I was reminded somewhat (to drop another literary name) of Faulkner, a la The Sound and the Fury. I won’t bother regurgitating it for you here – they are not my own interpretations – but even Wikipedia (for example) gets way more out of this story than I got. Go figure.

I think Other Voices, Other Rooms is likely to be another great candidate for a “close reading” with a knowledgeable guide – I picture my high school English teacher, Mrs. Smith – to direct related readings and fill me in on the background. Without such assistance, I still enjoyed a creepy, weird tale of cobwebbed, forgotten Southern grandeur and depravity. Take it as you will. If nothing else, Capote’s talent shines through and foreshadows his future success – but I still prefer In Cold Blood.


Rating: 6 bluejay feathers.