book beginnings on Friday: Touch by Alexi Zentner

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.

I’ve just begun Touch, and I’m not entirely sure what I’ve gotten myself into – I was recommended this book, by whom I do not know, and am not sure yet even what genre to put it in. But I can say for now that it is, well, touching. It begins:

The men floated the logs early, in September, a chain of headless trees jamming the river as far as I and the other children could see. My father, the foreman, stood at the top of the chute hollering at the men and shaking his mangled hand, urging them on.

I love the setting, the woodsy northern (Canadian?) feel.

And what are you reading this weekend? Do share.

The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller

I read this book in a day, rapt and tearful and awed. Madeline Miller, I love you. Write more, please.

I expect that most people are at least vaguely familiar with the story of the Trojan War, even if you never read the Iliad, yes? The Greeks sail to Troy in pursuit of Helen, “the face that launched a thousand ships” (that’s these ships!), the most beautiful woman in the world, stolen from her king-husband Menelaus by the Trojan prince Paris. They fight at the gates of Troy for ten years before Odysseus’s characteristically clever notion of the big wooden horse (the Trojan horse of idiom) wins the war for the Greeks. Achilles is a hero of the war, on the Greeks’ side. He had been sitting the war out in protest against an offense to his pride when his close friend (and, most scholars agree, lover) Patroclus goes into battle and is killed. In the opening scene of the Iliad, Achilles is mad with grief and rage, about to rush into battle, kill Hector, and be killed by Paris.

That’s the background. Miller, a scholar of ancient languages (including Greek) and theatre has written a novel from Patroclus’s point of view. This gave her quite a bit of leeway, since Patroclus is not given much coverage in Homer or in ancient myth generally; she got to do what she wanted with him. Here, we see him grow up from a boy: he was a disappointment to his father, then was exiled in dishonor and sent away to be fostered in another kingdom, where Achilles is the prince and heir. The two boys form a decidedly unlikely friendship, with Patroclus the dishonored and weak following in the footsteps of Achilles, whose future is prophesied to be something enormous: he will be Aristos Achaion, the greatest of the Greeks.

Patroclus joins Achilles in his studies and their bond grows closer until they become lovers. They are not eager to join the Greeks and sail to Troy to fight for another king’s wife, but circumstances (and Odysseus, the crafty one) conspire to see them off. From there, you can revisit my synopsis of the Iliad, above – except that we keep Patroclus’s perspective, which actually made the Trojan War that I thought I knew so well spring fresh from the page.

And that is one of the several strengths of this book: that an ancient myth that is familiar to many readers, like me, becomes so real, new, crisp & juicy in Miller’s hands. It definitely made me want to go back and reread the Iliad, as well as other cited works. (Check out the Character Glossary, whether you think you need it or not, for background as well as mentions of other books you’ll want to go find.) The myth of the Trojan War comes alive with Patroclus as it hasn’t before.

Another great strength is the emotional impact Miller achieves. This book is moving, sweet, heartfelt, powerful, in its tragedies as in its loving moments – and the tragedies are plentiful. There is visceral wrath in Achilles’s mother Thetis and her hatred of all mortals and Patroclus in particular; that emotion comes through just as strongly as the love that makes Patroclus put aside jealousy and envy, makes him put Achilles’s needs before his own. I noticed that the first-person voice of Patroclus rarely uses the name Achilles, but just refers to his lover as “he” – thus emphasizing the extent to which Achilles is the center of his world.

As I said at the start of this review, I want more of this! It’s so well done. If you’re taking requests, Ms. Miller, I would like to read a book about what happened to the happy family of Odysseus, Penelope and Telemachus following the conclusion of the Odyssey: how does Odysseus manage to gracefully step down from power and transfer to Telemachus without sacrificing any of his machismo? Reading The Song of Achilles raised this question for me – how a king could step down and preserve his dignity and quality of life. I wonder, too, whether Penelope ever gets grumpy about all the philandering Odysseus did along his homeward journey, while she was standing strong against the suitors.

In a nutshell, this retelling of the Trojan War and the relationship between Achilles and Patroclus is lovely, loving, sweet and deeply emotional; it preserves the grand, sweeping scale and feeling of humanity and drama in the original, but brings it freshly alive in an appealingly different format. The Song of Achilles made me sigh and think and cry, and I wanted more when it was all gone. This may very well be the best book I’ve read in 2012.


Rating: a rare 10 loving caresses.

two literary lists for fun & discussion.

I just wanted to share some of those classically fun argument-inducers: lists. Thanks to Shelf Awareness for sharing.

First, The 50 Most Influential Books of the Last 50 (or so) Years. This is right up there with, you know, The 100 Best Books of All Time or 100 Great Classics or 100 Books Everyone Should Read. We’ve done this before. It’s not so much that I take major issue with the list as whole – there are lots of books I feel belong on the list that do show up there. But inevitably, I could nitpick here and there. I missed The Monkey Wrench Gang (or Desert Solitaire); and what about Barbara Ehrenreich’s Nickel and Dimed? On the other hand, I was glad to see The Autobiography of Malcolm X, Unsafe at Any Speed, To Kill a Mockingbird, Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee, Silent Spring, and The Feminine Mystique get well-deserved spots. I didn’t think Fast Food Nation or The Purpose Driven Life necessarily belonged on the list, but there’s room for personal opinion here. And there were a number of others that I either didn’t recognize at all or wasn’t so sure about, but that predate my literary awareness (or my birth) by enough that I dare not judge. What I want to know is, what are your impressions? What books are you glad to see on the list? Which ones do you see that you don’t think belong? And what’s missing?

On a more fun note (and hopefully fueling fewer disagreements), check out Literary Drinks: 10 Famous Fiction Writers and Their Cocktails. I was immediately gratified (though not surprised) to see Ernest Hemingway’s image at the top of the page. He’s an easy choice for a list like this, because he was famously a drinker, and also because of all authors and literary figures he has to have one of THE very most well-known faces. He is, without exaggeration, an icon. Perhaps equally unsurprising are F. Scott Fitzgerald and Raymond Chandler (the gimlet! I will abstain from telling my Chandler-inspired gimlet story; it didn’t end well; Husband stop laughing), Ian Fleming and Truman Capote, and Tennessee Williams. I’ve said too much; click the link for the rest, and tell me what they missed.

And finally, purely for grins, I give you Extremely Silly Photos of Extremely Serious Writers. Enjoy.

Teaser Tuesdays: The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller

Teaser Tuesdays is a weekly bookish meme, hosted by MizB of Should Be Reading. Anyone can play along! Just open your current read to a random page and share a few sentences. Be careful not to include spoilers!

Head’s up, friends: expect a wildly raving review of The Song of Achilles in the next few days. I am mad for this book. I’ve chosen a teaser for you today that I especially enjoyed.

This was no slouchy prince of wine halls and debauchery, as Easterners were said to be. This was a man who moved like the gods were watching; every gesture he made was upright and correct. There was no one else it could be but Hector.

I reread this passage a few times, it made me so happy. Run out and get you a copy.

What are you reading this week?

A Queer and Pleasant Danger: The True Story of a Nice Jewish Boy who Joins the Church of Scientology and Leaves Twelve Years Later to Become the Lovely Lady She is Today by Kate Bornstein

A radical gender theorist and performance artist’s memoir makes its eye-catching subtitle look staid.


Kate Bornstein started life as Albert, a Jewish kid on the Jersey shore who knew when he was four and a half years old that he wasn’t a boy. Bornstein’s path was predictably complicated from there, but the lengthy list of problems she lists in her prologue astounds: she suffers from leukemia as well as anorexia, borderline personality disorder, post-traumatic stress syndrome and a history of cutting; she’s a sadomasochist, a transsexual and a former member of the Church of Scientology. Furthermore, A Queer and Pleasant Danger states from the outset its purpose of hopefully someday introducing Kate to her daughter and grandchildren, currently estranged.

If this list of disorders and minority statuses sounds alarming, never fear. Bornstein is funny, flippant, irreverent and witty. We follow Albert as a child in Jersey, a student at Brown, post-graduate studies in theater at Brandeis and the search for meaning that brought him to Scientology; then on his journey to become Kate, through a new life in San Francisco, Seattle and finally New York, with a series of relationships of every arrangement imaginable (and unimaginable). She generally has a good time, especially after becoming Kate, and her story ends on a positive note. Her tone is most serious in discussing the world of Scientology, which she presents as decidedly distressing and wacky, but her voice overall is impertinent and great fun. A Queer and Pleasant Danger is not for the faint-hearted, for reasons that become fairly evident (see: sadomasochism), but is ultimately uplifting, hopeful, even joyous–and always droll.


This review originally ran in the May 11, 2012 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 upheavals.

The Dorothy Parker Audio Collection

Dorothy Parker is a flippin’ hoot. She is hilarious. This was a great way to enjoy her work, too: I enjoyed the variety of narrators, with Cynthia Nixon (yes, of Sex and the City) and Alfre Woodard being my favorites. But they were all great.

This is a collection of Parker’s short stories, mostly, with a few reviews and journalism pieces thrown in. The narrators bring different tones to each piece, which was a great touch. Parker has a distinctive sense of humor: wry, dry, tongue-in-cheek, a little bit dirty here and there, decidedly satirical. She pokes fun at the women of her era (mid-twentieth century) and their ambitions and affectations; her own sex comes under by far the harshest criticism in this collection, at least overtly. But I think, too, that there is a more subtle criticism of society in general hidden in there.

I struggle a little bit when reviewing collections; I don’t want to get into plot summaries of all the component parts, but here are a few for you… The opening story, Big Blonde is both funny and full of pathos; Dusk Before Fireworks excoriates a jealous girlfriend (although her ladies’ man boyfriend doesn’t come out smelling too nicely either). But the One on the Right tickled me to no end – I only regret that it was so short! Pathos, I suppose, is a theme here, because Horsie was almost painful. Just a Little One is an amusing story set in a speakeasy; Cousin Larry and The Game both deal with infidelity again. The Bolt Behind the Blue examines a hypocritical and poisonous “friendship” between two women of different social standings. And these are but a few of the included pieces.

You must experience Dorothy Parker for yourself. This is a great selection, and I hope to get my hands on more. Sad, but oh so funny, too.


Rating: 7 giggles.

Critical Wit Podcast interview: Ian Dille, coauthor of The Price of Gold

Another author interview posted over at Critical Wit Podcast the other day. In this episode, I interview Ian Dille, coauthor with Marty Nothstein of The Price of Gold: The Toll and Triumph of One Man’s Olympic Dream. Nothstein holds two Olympic medals – one gold – and is one of the most highly decorated athletes of all time in the match sprint event in track cycling. That is, racing bicycles on a banked track called a velodrome. This is a sport I have competed in myself, which made the book especially exciting for me; Marty’s name was well-known around the Houston track where I’ve spent a good deal of time. And Ian is a Texas bike racer as well as a journalist, so I was enthused at the chance to chat with him, too. Don’t forget to check out his website here. And now the interview!

me

Ian

book beginnings on Friday: Dead Scared by S.J. Bolton

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.

This week I’m reading an advanced review copy of S.J. Bolton’s latest thriller, Dead Scared, and it is indeed scary. It begins, in the prologue:

Tuesday 22 January (a few minutes before midnight)

When a large object falls from a great height, the speed at which it travels accelerates until the upward force of air resistance becomes equal to the downward propulsion of gravity. At that point, whatever is falling reaches what is known as terminal velocity, a constant speed that will be maintained until it encounters a more powerful force, most commonly the ground.

I’ll leave you to ponder what might be falling.

This quotation comes from an uncorrected advance proof and is subject to change.

did not finish: The War of the Worlds by H.G. Wells (audio)

The War of the Worlds is a classic, and H.G. Wells is a respected name. I guess I’d only read his The Invisible Man, as a very young (I had assumed, too young) girl; it didn’t resonate much with me. I thought I’d give him a second chance with this sort of landmark work in early science fiction, and I selected the audio version because of the story attached to its original radio production that caused all that panic when people thought the Martians were *really* attacking. But this one was a fail for me. I quit about halfway through.

First, I’ll give you a partial plot synopsis: Our unnamed narrator-character (not to be confused with the narrator of the audiobook, who will be discussed shortly), a resident of the English countryside, describes what seemed to be falling stars but turn out to be giant cylinders fired from a rocket on Mars. These land, every 24 hours, around London and disgorge Martians, who turn out to be better-armed than the locals, technologically superior, and unfriendly. They operate giant tripod-machines that shoot fire and destroy land, crops, vegetation and people. The Brits try to fight back with their inferior weapons but are getting their butts kicked. And then I stopped listening.

The style of narration was dry. I was easily bored; my mind wandered. I think the audio-narrator, Bill Weideman, was part of my problem. For one thing, he has the odd habit of dropping the occasional leading consonant, like so: “we are ‘ill waiting” (for “still waiting”) and the like. I am perplexed at why you would choose someone with such a strange habit of speech to narrate an audiobook; I was frequently confused as to certain words he pronounced in this manner. Another oddity involved accents. This story is set in England, and when the narrator quotes other characters he gives them an English accent (which by the way seemed excessively nasal and frankly annoyed me), but in the voice of the main-character-narrator, no accent was used (meaning, he sounded American to me). I did not learn, in the half of the book I listened to before giving up, if the narrator was in fact American. But perhaps most generally, Weideman and Wells between them created a monotonous, even soporific effect on me. I couldn’t seem to focus on following the story, as the narrator (in both senses) felt emotionless to me. I can understand how the idea of “total warfare,” total destruction of acres upon acres of land and men and women and children were demolished wholesale in a single sweep of the Martians’ weapons, was shocking to this book’s original audience (1898) and that of the radio drama (1938). But in a world that has seen an atom bomb dropped on Hiroshima, perhaps the impact is lessened.

Of course, as is always the case when I read a Great Classic and do not find myself moved, there is the question of whether there’s something wrong with me: what did I miss? I do not discourage you from trying out this well-known and well-respected book (although I might discourage you from trying Weideman’s audio narration). I hope you like it. I did not.

two-wheeled thoughts: Elizabeth Howard West

two-wheeled thoughts

When man invented the bicycle he reached the peak of his attainments. Here was a machine of precision and balance for the convenience of man. And (unlike subsequent inventions for man’s convenience) the more he used it, the fitter his body became. Here, for once, was a product of man’s brain that was entirely beneficial to those who used it, and of no harm or irritation to others. Progress should have stopped when man invented the bicycle.

–Elizabeth West, Hovel in the Hills

Aside from the unfortunate use of “man” to mean “people,” what a lovely and true statement she makes.