The Whining Stranger on Books and Reading: It's Not Too Late for Summer Reading!

It's August. As I said around this time last year, for those people, like myself, whose lives are governed by the academic calendar this is a period of looming angst and melancholy. Summer is nearly over. Soon I'll be busy in blazers and striped ties, with ink stains on my fingertips, and too many papers to grade.

But summer's not quite over yet! And in an act of Buddhist goodwill, I want to recommend five great books for end-of-summer reading. All of these are from my list of books read in 2007, and all of them left an impression that makes me want to pass them on.

1. Bel Canto by Anne Patchett

Patchett says she was inspired somewhat by Thomas Mann's The Magic Mountain here. The plot is somewhat timely: terrorists take a number of VIPs hostage at a dinner party in a South American country. One of the hostages is an internationally famous opera diva, who stands at the center of the unlikely group of people assembled by the incident. I've heard some opera fans don't like the book, but I loved it. It's emotionally compelling, with great characters, and I found myself listening to the opera channel on satellite radio for weeks afterward.

2. The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle by Haruki Murakami

This book is, literally, life-changing. There is no describing Murakami's style to those who've not yet read him. It's akin to trying to capture the essence of Zen Buddhism in discursive terms. Or like Louis Armstrong said of jazz, "If you gotta ask, you'll never know." Just pick the book up and read it. It begins with curious phone calls and a husband's search for a lost cat. You won't believe where it takes you from there.

3. A Neutral Corner: Boxing Essays by A.J. Liebling

You don't need to be a fight fan to appreciate this one. Liebling's prose is among the finest in American writing, with allusions that range from the erudite to the street-level. He'll take you into a scrubby gym to watch a palooka club fighter train, and take you off on a tangent about philosophy or geography along the way.

4. The Elementary Particles by Michel Houellebecq

I warn you now: this cat isn't for everybody. You'll ask yourself along the way, "Is he being ironic here?" as he descends into virulent fits of misogyny and racism. But then he'll unleash a lyrical passage, lamenting humanity's flaws, and you'll forgive him, if only momentarily.

5. Oh What a Paradise It Seems by John Cheever

I just read this one the other day, after picking it up in a Goodwill store on the highway. It's a short novel, but a fine example of Cheever's lush prose style. And it has the kind of happenstance connections that I like in the best of his short stories. An entertaining read that you'll not put down easily.

The Whining Stranger on Books and Reading: Two Appropriate Texts for This Time of Year

Here are two works by American masters that seem completely appropriate at this busy time, the start of the academic year.

First, a poem, "Dolor," by Theodore Roethke:

I have known the inexorable sadness of pencils,
Neat in their boxes, dolor of pad and paper-weight,
All the misery of manila folders and mucilage,
Desolation in immaculate public places,
Lonely reception room, lavatory, switchboard,
The unalterable pathos of basin and pitcher,
Ritual of multigraph, paper-clip, comma,
Endless duplication of lives and objects.
And I have seen dust from the walls of institutions,
Finer than flour, alive, more dangerous than silica,
Sift, almost invisible, through long afternoons of tedium,
Dropping a fine film on nails and delicate eyebrows,
Glazing the pale hair, the duplicate grey standard faces.

And then this, the brilliant opening to Don DeLillo's 1985 novel, White Noise:

The station wagons arrived at noon, a long shining line that coursed through the west campus. In single file they eased around the orange I-beam sculpture and moved toward the dormitories. The roofs of the station wagons were loaded down with carefully secured suitcases full of light and heavy clothing; with boxes of blankets, boots and shoes, stationary and books, sheets, pillows, quilts; with rolled-up rugs and sleeping bags; with bicycles, skis, rucksacks, English and Western saddles, inflated rafts. As cars slowed to a crawl and stopped, students sprang out and raced to the rear doors to begin removing the objects inside; the stereo sets, radios, personal computers; small refrigerators and table ranges; the cartons of phonograph records and cassettes; the hairdryers and styling irons; the tennis rackets, soccer balls, hockey and lacrosse sticks, bows and arrows; the controlled substances, the birth control pills and devices; the junk food still in shopping bags--onion-and-garlic chips, nacho thins, peanut creme patties; Waffelos and Kabooms, fruit chews and toffee popcorn; the Dum-Dum pops, the Mystic mints.

The Whining Stranger on Books and Reading: One Book, etc.

[Note: To date I've resisted memes in filling my blog content, if only because I'm fixated enough on my own various small obsessions never to lack content. This one, which I came across on Light Reading (by way of Kate's Book Blog) was too good to pass up though.]

1. One Book That Changed Your Life

Without a doubt, Ralph Ellison's Invisible Man. It's a novel that contains the whole history of American culture (and even crosses the pond in meaningful ways) yet offers such a completely personal version of experience. It's comprehensive without sacrificing accessibility. It's erudite but steeped in the vernacular. Novels should contain multitudes, it convinced me, but they need also embody the writer's best sense of hope. This one does all that.

2. One Book That You've Read More Than Once

While I've read Ellison's novel many times (maybe five, six), I'll say J.D. Salinger's Franny and Zooey here. I'm smitten with the Glass family. I admit I'm enamored with the thought of New York apartments and genius families. ("Oh, to have more academic relatives to talk with!" says the guy who has to explain what he does exactly every time he returns home for a family visit.) As an adolescent reader I was taken with Salinger's prose style. Now older, I find myself drawn to the book's major problem: where does the cynical, ironic deep thinker turn to settle his/her monkey mind and find true spiritual calm?

3. One Book That You'd Want a Desert Island

This may appear to compromise my reading tastes, but I'm an unbashed lover of baseball, and so I'll say Bill James's Historical Baseball Abstract for its heft, and for its digestability. Anecdotes, sidebars galore!

4. One Book That Made You Laugh

I'll say the first half of Jonathan Franzen's The Corrections or the first half of Robert Sedlack's The African Safari Papers. Apparently family dysfunction really hits my funny bone. Go figger.

5. One Book That Made You Cry

The second half of Jonathan Franzen's The Corrections. Apparently family dysfunction really hits my--

6. One Book That You Wish Had Been Written

...or at least finished according to its author's plan? Definitely Ralph Ellison's second novel, posthumously published in much-edited form as Juneteenth. I actually cried when I first read this one too--for its flashes of greatness, and for its tragically unfinished quality.

7. One Book That You Wish Had Never Been Written

Now that's just mean. If I answer this, instant karma's gonna get me.

8. One Book You're Currently Reading

Still trudging through Don Quixote. Oh, to be a faster reader!

9. One Book You've Been Meaning to Read

Where to start? David Bodanis's E=mc2: A Biography of the World's Most Famous Equation. Or Zadie Smith's On Beauty. Or George Plimpton's Shadow Box: An Amateur in the Ring.

There. Now wasn't that fun?

The Whining Stranger on Books and Reading: Wanted: Slim, Elegant Volumes

Every year since 2000, I have assiduously recorded every book that I've read in its entirety. I type the list into a file of my computer, and sometimes go back and look at past years to see where my reading has taken me. It's another way of documenting my existence. There are rules, of course. I can only record a book on the list when I've read the entire text. (Sometimes, with Penguins or Oxford Classics, I skip the Introduction and let myself off the hook.) If I start a book in one year but finish it in another, I record it in the year in which I completed it. Each year I strive to read fifty full books. Each year I fall short: sometimes by just a few, sometimes by a dozen.

This year, I'm on an embarrassingly slow pace. I got busy with university administrative stuff in the winter. I traveled a lot in April and spent more time listening to my Discman than reading on planes. Don Quixote is, of course, killing me. And the next read on my agenda, Ralph Ellison's Complete Essays, at 800+ pages, threatens to slow me down all the more.

So, I'm in need of slim, elegant volumes. What are the greatest novels, for instance, under 200 pages. Or better, under 150. My partner and I just did The Great Gatsby again. That's surely on the list. As would be, hm, Nella Larsen's Passing? Don DeLillo's The Body Artist? The new Philip Roth, which is short and well-reviewed, should go on my to-read list. I have a copy that a friend passed on.

But others?