~jonathon safran foer~ everything is illuminated

eilRead it in: around two weeks

I really quite like all of Jonathon Safran Foer’s works that I’ve read.  In both Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close and Everything is Illuminated, he takes something that is conventional, something that is already overdone – in the former’s case, September 11, in the latter’s, the Holocaust – and yet he manages to turn it into a piece of writing that stands out completely from all others.

One reason is that he has a very interesting style of writing.  In ELAIC (I’m not going to type the full title every single time) he used pictures as well as words, he put pen-marks on pages, he put text on top of text, in short, the book was full of surprises.  This book was less full of surprises in that sense, but it was his first work after all, and we can’t expect a writer to pull out all stops in their first work.  They have to experiment a little first, after all.

This book was actually created out of Foer’s university thesis, which traced a period of his own family history.  So it seems quite personal to Foer himself, like a private memoir of sorts.  He structures this novel in an interesting fashion as well.  It’s told through many different means and several different perspectives.  There are letters from the protagonist’s translator (in bad English) detailing his day-to-day life and talking about the protagonist’s novel.  There is the narrative of the protagonist’s very early descendent, and then of his later descendents.  There is also the narrative of the protagonist’s journey through Ukraine to find out about his family history.  In short, this is a novel about history and also about the discovery of such history.  It is a memoir in more ways than one.

So, as all of Foer’s books do, this one pokes and prods at those deep and meaningful questions as well.  It does this in a humorous way and it does this in a very tragic way.  He gives us little hypotheses about life as well, small things we never knew about nor would ever think about had we not come across it.  Example:

‘THE BOOK OF REVELATIONS
(for a complete listing of revelations, see APPENDIX Z32. For a complete listing of genesises, see APPENDIX Z33.)
The end of the world has come often, and continues to often come.  Unforgiving, unrelenting, bringing darkness upon darkness, the end of the world is something we have become well acquainted with, habitualized, made into a ritual.  It is our religion to try to forget it in its absence, make peace with it when it is undeniable, and return its embrace when it finally comes for us, as it always does.
There has yet to be a human to survive a span of history without at least one end of the world.  It is the subject of extensive scholarly debate whether stillborn babies are subject to the same revelations – if we could say that they have lived without endings.  This debate, of course, demands a close examination of that more profound question: Was the world first created or ended?  When the Lord our God breathed on the universe, was that a genesis or a revelation?  Should we count those seven days forwards or backwards?  How did that apple taste, Adam?  And the worm you discovered in that sweet and bitter pulp: was that the head or the tail?’ (pg. 210)

I like Foer’s prose, and I like the way he easily strikes at the heart of what it means to be human.  His characters do strange things, inexplicable things, and sometimes you don’t know whether to love them or hate them for what they have done.  But his characters, overall, are incredibly human, and this is quite refreshing in the current literary world.

For a first work, I’d say this has to be a winner.  It’s well-written, an interesting read, full of history, humor and tragedy.

Read it if you: are interested in history, especially Holocaust/Jewish history, like meaty characters, don’t mind experimental literature

While reading listen to: Low Roar The Painter, The Antlers Kettering, The Cinematic Orchestra To Build a Home

~don delillo~ mao ii

m2Read it in: just under a week

I’m sorry, but this post will be biased.  Why?  Because I worship Delillo like cup of hot coffee during winter exams, like a hug from a friend during menstruation.  His prose is incredible and his plots are unfathomable and his works make me feel like there are no words to describe.  He’s probably married, but I would take him on as a literary husband.

So Mao II is about many things.  It’s about an author who feel lost in himself and travels the world somewhat aimlessly.  It’s about a woman with a strong sense of community and spirituality that she can’t let go of.  It’s about the changing nature of the world, about the point of authors, about terrorism, about life and death.  Like most Delillos, it’s about everything.  Everything in the world is compacted into this tiny 250 page novel.  That’s what it feels like when you’re reading it, anyway.

Not only do I love Delillo’s prose and his characters, his plots (well, everything about him…) but he also includes pictures in this novel, and that I really like.  There are pictures at every major break in the novel.

m21 m22 m25m24m23

Sometimes the pictures are talked about.  Sometimes they simply provide a raw setting for the events that follow.  They are all loosely connected.  I love them.  It adds to the sheer depth of the novel.

If you open the book and flick to any page, you will find some awe-inspiring quote, something to make you think, make you feel uncomfortable, that remains with you long after you turn the last page.

The future belongs to crowds. (pp 16)

 

“Crowds,” Scott said, “People trudging along wide streets, pushing carts or riding bikes, crowd after crowd in the long lens of the camera so they seem even closer together than they really are, totally jampacked, and I think of how they merge with the future, how the future makes room for the non-achiever, the nonaggressor, the trudger, the nonindividual.  Totally calm in the long lens, crowd on top of crowd, pedaling, trudging, faceless, sort of surviving nicely.” (pp 70)

 

“And isn’t it the novelist, Bill, above all people, above all writers, who understands this rage, who knows in his soul what the terrorist thinks and feels?  Through history it’s the novelist who has felt affinity for the violent man who lives in the dark.” (pp 130)

 

She saw a man weaving through the subway saying, “I have holes in my sides.”  Not even asking for money or shaking a plastic cup.  Just going from car to car in that firm-footed pace you learn to adopt in the subway even if you are broken-bodied.  She tried to read the Spanish directions about what to do in an emergency.  “I have holes in my sides.”  There must be something about the tunnels and crypts of the city that makes people think they are Jesus. (pp 145)

Oh, how I love Delillo.  I read him on the bus and spend the rest of the day digesting what I’ve just read.  I would sit in the back room at work with my headphones on, listening to Sigur Ros (as I will recommend you do in a moment), eating my food automatically while soaking up Delillo’s prose.  Everything was lost except the novel, the descriptions, the meaning of life (or lack thereof) that was contained within those pages.  Read it, please.  It’s a short one, and if you haven’t discovered Delillo yet, please do yourself a favour!

Read it if you: are literate.

While reading, listen to: Varúð Sigur Ros over and over and over again.  This song will never stop fitting this book.  It sounds like a crowd moving.  It sounds like a thunderstorm brewing.  It sounds like New York City and Beirut and London all squashed together.

~haruki murakami~ kafka on the shore

kotsRead it in: around a week and a half, I think

I quite like Murakami, and not just because he’s Japanese and because his work is set there, but also because his stories are always strange, but strangely poetic in a sense.  When you pick up a Murakami, you’re guaranteed an interesting read, that’s for sure.

This book is no exception.  There are fish falling from the sky and ghost girls and hordes of school children fainting all at once.  No stranger than the two moons in the sky of 1Q84, I suppose.

The novel is about Kafka Tamura, who runs away from home and stays in a small town on the island of Shikoku.  At the same time, the story focuses on an old man named Nakata, who is a finder of lost cats.  Both Nakata and Kafka, though they are completely separated, become implicated in a murder and must alter their lives around this.  Kafka, in particular, must go into hiding to escape the police.  Nakata also embarks on his own journey and both of these characters end up in Shikoku.

What strikes me about this novel – and about most of Murakami’s novels – is that they contain this sense of isolation in the characters.  Japan is a place with many, many people, yet I feel that a lot of Japanese literature contains themes of loneliness and isolation from society.  (Actually, this seems to be a common theme in all the books that I read…  this probably says something about my reading tastes.)

Reading Murakami, in particular, this work of his, you find yourself asking a lot of questions about the meaning of certain events.  I have a feeling that an English literature tutor I once had could run a whole course, if not several, on works like this, and still have more to talk about.  In fact, ‘Kafka on the Shore’ triggered over 8,000 questions from Murakami’s readers to his website (and he personally answered 1,200 of them – what a champ!).  He said this about ‘Kafka’:

Kafka on the Shore contains several riddles, but there aren’t any solutions provided. Instead several of these riddles combine, and through their interaction the possibility of a solution takes shape. And the form this solution takes will be different for each reader. To put it another way, the riddles function as part of the solution. It’s hard to explain, but that’s the kind of novel I set out to write.

(From the Random House website)

Reading ‘Kafka’ is like entering a dream world, where nothing really makes sense in the way you think it does.  Strangely enough (that’s sarcastic, by the way), it reminds me of Kafka’s ‘The Trial’.  As you can probably guess, Murakami is a great fan of Kafka’s work, and you can see some of the influence creeping in here.  The rules are not the same to what we know.  It’s like there’s some strange, spiritual world beyond our own that you don’t know about until it creeps into your life, as it does for the characters in ‘Kafka’.

Well worth a read.

Read it if you: haven’t read any Murakami before, it’d be a nice start, like things set in Japan, think isolated characters are interesting, are willing to suspend your disbelief

While reading, listen to: Fourtet Unspoken, Fourtet And They All Look Broken Hearted

~kenzaburo oe~ a personal matter

apmRead it in: three or four days

I’m sorry slow readers (or should I call you thoughtful readers who chew and swallow thoroughly what they have read instead of devouring, a bit like me?) that are looking at the time limit on this post and thinking, “what does this person do with their life other than sit in a lounge room with a book?”  The answer is, nothing.  At this point in time, I was taking a reading holiday, where I literally – you guessed it – spent hours of the day in the lounge, in front of a nice wood fire, reading.  It was winter, alright.  There was very little else to do.  Also my goal this year is forty books, and I only had just over ten.

This was another recommended by the auntie, who often recommends fabulous books that I otherwise wouldn’t read, however, whenever I read some of these it makes me cringe in the same way that I cringe when I remember that my brother read all the sex scenes in Game of Thrones at the age of fourteen.  The one thing I find interesting about Kenzaburo Oe is the amount of sex in his works.  I always saw the Japanese as being very shy of the subject, yet this book is explicit to say the least.  The same goes for his short story “Seventeen” that I read parts of while doing an essay for my Japanese class.  Well, it probably means something deeper than my post-teenage mentality can fathom.

The story revolves around the protagonist’s coming to terms with having a son born with a horrible disfigurement.  The baby is born and the protagonist, Bird, doesn’t know how to react, hopes it will die to begin with.  He goes on a strange and turbulent journey in which he loses his job, is unfaithful to his wife and takes strange roadtrips into the countryside.  It is an interesting study of the mind of someone trying to come to terms with a dramatic change in life.  It has a surprising ending, however, that I did not expect in the least.  I won’t tell you what it is, because that’s my policy.  Go read it if you want to know (or just look it up on wikipedia).

Bird is the perfect anti-hero.  You can’t like him, but because he’s the protagonist and you spend a lot of time with him, you begin to at least empathise with him, and feel sorry for him at the very least.  He is weak both physically and morally, lost in life, subject to the same vices and wants as every other human being.  You watch him stumble through his struggle and wonder whether it will end.  And given the surprising ending, it’s one of those books that you just have to read again to fully understand.  It’s not long, and next time I’m at my aunty’s house without a book to read (that will be an unlikely situation…) perhaps I’ll re-read it.

But meanwhile, I’m sure there’s something less depressing I could dive into.  Actually, no, I find depressing books attractive.  Perhaps it makes me realise just how much my life isn’t as depressing as Bird’s.

Oe does a good job of helping us to understand the human psyche when it’s pushed to its limit, and in doing so both shocks us and reassures us.

Read it if you: want to read Japanese literature (Oe is one Japanese author you simply cannot miss out on), are feeling too happy and want to be more depressed, if the trials and tribulations of life interest you, if you want to see what happens when a weak man is pushed to his limit.

While reading, listen to: probably some Nick Cave, or somebody else with a low, sonorous voice who croons about human nature and things you can’t understand, or just some jazz.

~aravind adiga~ the white tiger

TWTRead it in: probably two weeks

Yes, I know, I read this book sometime last year (for an English course, actually), but I thought if something’s good enough to win the Man Booker Prize I’d better write about it.  Just in case some of that talent rubs off on me, perhaps.  Seeing as I did read it to study, I did have to analyse it inside out, but thankfully for everyone, I’ve forgotten most of what that analysis was.

What I loved most about this book was its ambiguity.  In every scene you didn’t know whether you should trust the narrator’s account – as you usually do automatically – and whether the events depicted really happened that way.  Furthermore, we readers find ourselves wondering as the book progresses how much we even like our narrator character.  He doesn’t do particularly nice things, he doesn’t easily win our sympathy and, what’s more, we can’t even be sure whether he’s telling the truth.

Alright, so it’s about an Indian man who is telling us the marvelous tale of how he rose from a boy of lowly caste working in a tea shop to a leading entrepreneur with his own business, controlling many people.  It sounds like an ad for an accountant, but really it’s much more than this.  First of all, you realise from early on that he’s gotten to where he is now by playing dirty.  It seems an inherent part of his character, or even more than that, in the situation, a part of the rules of the game in which he is a player.

This is a very interesting read, well worth picking up.  It’s quite a gripping story, it hooks you in with the narrator’s interesting voice, the way he tells the story in his cynical but humorous manner, the way the events seem even more unlikely as time goes on.  It’s a clever satire of the culture in which the character lives and works, a satire of human nature as well.

Read it if you: enjoy character ambiguity, appreciate an interesting narrator voice, like interesting and sometimes surprising plots, enjoy a good, clever narrative, want to know how to succeed in India as a lower caste member, however I wouldn’t say this book is quite instructional, as I don’t think anyone would like to emulate the main character’s chosen path to success.

While reading, listen to: Split Needles The Shins, Binti Jua (Faux Pas Remix) Rat vs. Possum, Pity and Fear Death Cab for Cutie, Feeling Good Muse

~don delillo~ white noise

WNRead it in: ten days

Even before I read Don DeLillo’s novels, I knew he’d be my favourite author.  Just one of those feelings you get from the sort of people who recommend it to you, the sections of bookshops you see it in, the things you read on review websites about it.  And, because I am a wandering, aimless, philosophically minded, endlessly wondering, bored with life, depressive, inquisitive sort of person, DeLillo just happened to suit me perfectly.

This was the third DeLillo novel I’d read.  So it had to qualify with the expectations raised by Cosmopolis and, especially, Underworld.  It did well, I have to say.  It was sufficiently post-modern and depressing.  It was particularly thought-provoking.  It debated important philosophical questions.  It dealt with interesting characters.  The storyline satisfied me.

It is about a man who is professor of Hitler Studies at a university, and who is satisfied with his life until a cloud of toxic material forces his family to evacuate their homes.  This initiates much discussion about life and death and about humanity in general.

But I don’t usually read DeLillo for his storylines.  Rather, I like to see how he molds modern life into a spectral image haunting us every day, though we don’t realise it.  He gives us scenes set in supermarkets, on top of hills overlooking cityscapes, in air raid shelters, in bedrooms, in airports, on aeroplanes, on highways, everywhere that you would never think about setting a scene in.  He is the pedant of novelists – picking out the very trivial parts of life and giving them literary significance, empowering his readers with the ability to see what they always look over.

Actually, DeLillo always makes me quite depressed.  I do take pills for this, but I would like to commend DeLillo with the ability to do so, as it means his works stay in my mind for a long time and the thoughts he provokes are the subject of my mulling over for weeks, months, years to come.

Just to give you an example, here’s a conversation that I love, describing some very philosophic stuff:

We crossed the street.
“I believe, Jack, there are two kinds of people in the world.  Killers and diers.  Most of us are diers.  We don’t have the disposition, the rage or whatever it takes to be a killer.  We let death happen.  We lie down and die.  But think what it’s like to be a killer.  Think how exciting it is, in theory, to kill a person in direct confrontation.  If he dies, you cannot.  To kill him is to gain life-credit.  The more people you kill, the more credit you store up.  It explains any number of massacres, wars, executions.”
“Are you saying that men have tried throughout history to cure themselves of death by killing others?”
“It’s obvious.”
“And you call this exciting?”
“I’m talking theory.  In theory, violence is a form of rebirth.  The dier passively succumbs.  The killer lives on.  What a marvelous equation.  As a marauding band amasses dead bodies, it gathers strength.  Strength accumulates like a favor from the gods.” (page 277)

Read it if you: want to feel ever so slightly depressed, like beautifully crafted language, are prepared to see the world through different eyes, like interesting characters, like plot points that are never quite explained, want to think philosophically about life and death, wonder what sort of literary significance a supermarket has.

While reading this, listen to: Capture the Flag Broken Social Scene, KC Accidental Broken Social Scene, Stars and Sons Broken Social Scene, Hotel Broken Social Scene, Lovers’ SpitBroken Social Scene, Pitter Patter Goes My Heart Broken Social Scene, etc.

~don delillo~ underworld

URead it in: maybe three weeks

This was my inaugural DeLillo.  And what a fantastic thing it was.  Easily the best book I’ve read in my life.  Let’s just say it had everything I wanted out of it: interesting characters, many different intertwining plots, philosophical questions, moments of such poignancy that I could cry, images of beauty and of destruction, enough to interest me for the next of my life.  If I could bring one book onto a desert island, it would be this one.

We basically follow many different characters – I believe the main character might be Nick, who we meet as he is reunited with the lover of his youth, but we also follow the story of a baseball, the famous baseball hit during the Giants v Dodgers game, as it travels from person to person, against the backdrop of the Cold War.

DeLillo’s way of writing is not stable, it is fluid.  He flits between storylines – sometimes the thread that was raised in one section won’t be picked up again until hundreds of pages later – and his characters appear in multiple guises, in all ages, as many different sorts of characters.  It is a work of art, to say the least.  His mastery of language, the images he presents us, reflect not only an eye for what is beautiful, but what is startling about the human race.  He gives us humanity at its best and at its worst.  He gives us mysteries and problems unresolved.  He gives us thoughts that we never thought we could think.

In short, I am actually out of words to describe this work.  You will simply have to read it yourself.

Read it if you: want to think about life, want to be amazed, want to see the lives of a million different people without having to leave one room, want to explore the human mind, love a good book, love to think about philosophy, just love reading.  Just read it.

While you read this, listen to: Everything in its Right Place Radiohead, Black Wave The Shins, Cause=Time Broken Social Scene, Hold On Angus & Julia Stone

~haruki murakami~ 1Q84

1QRead it in: just over a month

I spent one month in Tokyo at the start of this year, hence I was inspired to read some literature spent in Tokyo.  Having said that, I did not read this one in Tokyo.  My ‘one book at a time’ rule meant that I was stuck on a particularly thick history of the Middle East which I couldn’t finish in time to enjoy Murakami in Tokyo.  So, alas, the month I spent reading this book was a month of nostalgia and longing for that fantastic city of cities.

It was a little strange, especially for me, for whom it was my first ever Murakami.  And what a Murakami to start with – his 1,000 page + epic (only when you combine books 1, 2 and 3, which is what I had to read).  Things of that size I sometimes have doubts about taking on – the commitment is akin to a long-term relationship.  That’s the other rule, you see, ‘finish every book you start’.

Yes, it was strange, a sort of science fiction, no fantasy, no literature, no something else.  A cross between many things.  At once a novel that manages to be completely realistic and enthralling, but at the same time mysteriously fantastical and unbelievable.  I think Murakami is playing around with suspension of disbelief at times.  It is an interesting read, to say the least.  But it is one that hooked me from the start.  After about 100 pages or so I wouldn’t have been able to put it down.

The storyline follows Aomame, who is an assassin-cross-instructor at a gym club whose fate happens to be entwined with that of Tengo, who is an unassuming cram school maths teacher.  Their lives join through connection with a mysterious religious cult whose spiritual beliefs end up ringing a little true and affecting the lives of everyone involved – especially that of Aomame and Tengo.

Read it if you: like stories set in Tokyo, don’t mind a bit of fantasy, enjoy clever allusions, believe in fate (once again), want to know how to kill people in very clever ways, enjoy philosophy, enjoy descriptive passages, enjoy seemingly meaningless events and characters (but keeping in mind that they probably do have meaning, you just haven’t worked it out yet).

While reading this, listen to: Sinfonietta Janáček , Alone in Kyoto Air, Baroque Social Broken Social Scene, Rolling By Big Scary

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