My rating: Five stars
I really like a good memoir, but I am always a little bit wary of the celebrity ones. I don't care to read about debauchery on a grand scale (although debauchery on a small scale is ok by me) or about how great and powerful and talented someone is...or thinks that they are. It was with a little bit of trepidation that I decided to read Patti Smith's memoir of her friendship with Robert Mapplethorpe. Set in 1960's and 70's New York, this book is an absolute gem. Patti Smith is such a talented writer that I pretty much lost myself in the world that she was describing, and I felt just about all of the sorrows, triumphs, betrayals and reconciliations she experienced. I was dazzled by the casualness of her interaction with people who are now serious music and art legends, but also by how she very humbly acknowledges that she was simply in the right place at the right time. There is a simply amazing passage where she describes sitting in a hotel room while a young Janis Joplin tries out some new tunes on her guitar. One of those songs was a little ditty called "Me and Bobby McGee". Did she know at the time that something magical was happening? Smith never comes right out and says that which is pretty refreshing, but she does admit that she knew her life was out of the ordinary and that she was very lucky to be in the middle of all of the radical changes taking place in both art and music.
And here is where it gets even more interesting: Patti Smith attributes all of this to her friendship with Robert Mapplethorpe. For Patti, her introduction into both the art and the music scene may never have been possible without Robert. She describes their meeting as a recognition of soul-mates, which is kind of corny but really turns out to be true. They meet by accident in a park in the early hours of the morning. Patti is dejected over recent heartbreak, and Robert is an ambling young man walking the New York streets in search of inspiration. Once these two get together, they are nearly inseparable for the rest of Robert's life. It is telling that Patti Smith never claims that she knew that Robert was an extraordinary talent. Instead, she describes a life lived together...just kids really...where art and poetry and music collided...where love came and went (for they were lovers once, these two)...where friendships failed and were mended. This memoir is really a love letter. Not only to Robert Mapplethorpe, but also to a New York that no longer exists. It is a love letter to innocence lost and it is a love letter to enduring friendship. Yet I think, in the end, Just Kids is a love letter to youth and to experience and to all the things that have been and also are yet to come. I just loved it.
Friday, September 30, 2011
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
What Do I Read When?
I've been thinking about the books that I read and why I choose them in the first place. A lot of it has to do with just "being in the mood" for something. I may have 20 books stacked on my shelves that I've never read, but a lot of times they just don't appeal to me and I am seized with desperation for something to read. I think all readers have this problem. We surround ourselves with books that we bought with the intention to read them in the near future, but months later they are still gathering dust right where we dropped them. I do find myself picking up those very book and losing myself in them, but for the most part time has to pass before I can commit myself to one of them.
In the past year I've learned that when I am really in need of escape I turn to mysteries. If I can lose myself in other people's troubles then I don't have to think about my own for the duration of the story. Mysteries are pretty perfect for this, because there is always a resolution. Someone did something that hurt, or killed, someone else and then they pay. It speaks to my own hurt feelings and disappointments and the revenge factor of wanting the person who hurt me to take responsibility for that. Clearly, it is also a plus that I didn't have to die to gain this satisfaction. At least not permanently. I read this sort of thing to escape from my own frustration and losses and to maybe, just maybe, come to the realization that it could always be worse.
Why do you read what you read? Have you ever thought about it? Or are you just reading something because it interests you without any other reason whatsoever? I'm interested.
In the past year I've learned that when I am really in need of escape I turn to mysteries. If I can lose myself in other people's troubles then I don't have to think about my own for the duration of the story. Mysteries are pretty perfect for this, because there is always a resolution. Someone did something that hurt, or killed, someone else and then they pay. It speaks to my own hurt feelings and disappointments and the revenge factor of wanting the person who hurt me to take responsibility for that. Clearly, it is also a plus that I didn't have to die to gain this satisfaction. At least not permanently. I read this sort of thing to escape from my own frustration and losses and to maybe, just maybe, come to the realization that it could always be worse.
Why do you read what you read? Have you ever thought about it? Or are you just reading something because it interests you without any other reason whatsoever? I'm interested.
Monday, September 26, 2011
The House of Mirth---Edith Wharton
My rating: 5 stars
I loved this book. I love that it isn't about mirth even though the title leads you to believe that it is. I love that a house isn't really the focal point of the novel (even though smart readers will understand the metaphor). I love that this book is a wicked evisceration of "society" and "status", and that it questions established ideas about morality. I love that this book follows decisions and consequences, and that sometimes the outcome of these simply infuriated me. Also, I love that while I was reading this book I could picture just about every reality star on television today, although not as the hero/heroine of the piece.
Lily Bart is an imperfect heroine. Born into riches, spoiled by her mother and ruined (financially) by her over-worked, never-there father, she ends up having to rely on distant relatives for support. The dutiful, yet emotionally distant and morally judgmental Mrs. Peniston, her father's sister, reluctantly takes her in and gives her an allowance for clothes and jewels and all of the other trappings Lily needs to remain in society. It is, of course, understood that Lily will marry into money. Her natural beauty and her mastery of the artifice necessary to ensnare an eligible, wealthy bachelor pretty much assures her success. Yet Lily, when we meet her, is 29 and still "Miss Bart". Her social circle includes wealthy couples (the Trenors and the Dorsets), her cousin Jack Stepney, various Van Osbergh heirs/heiresses, some Van Alstynes (also distant relations), and a very formidable divorcee named Carry Fisher. CARRY FISHER!!! How wonderful is that?
I don't want to spell out the plot here, so I won't. Suffice to say that Lily doesn't trap the wealthy bachelor she has set her sights (if not her heart) on, but she does find something else worth quite a bit more. She finds herself, which is just about the corniest thing I could think of writing down, but is absolutely the truth. Lily Bart finds herself in a slow, painful, and remarkably precise fall from grace. She finds herself in a knowing...an understanding of the rules and how the game is played and when someone will be sacrificed and for what. In this novel there is a great deal of bad behavior. There is an enormous helping of snobbery. There is adultery and tomfoolery and much jacknapery (I made that one up, but wow how it fits!). Men are cuckolded and entitled and women are deceitful and cruel. Hearts are broken and marriages are arranged and love creeps softly in. How I loved the character of poor, sweet Gerty Farish whose hopes are quiet but whose heart is true. How I hated haughty, spoiled, entitled, deceitful Bertha Dorset who pretty much reminds me of any Real Housewife in whatever city anywhere. How frustrated I was with loyal, well-meaning, but constrained by his status Lawrence Selden who was perhaps the only one other than Gerty to understand Lily Bart.
This is not a happy book, but it is certainly an important one. The portal back in time to 1900's New York is pretty much worth it for the description of social expectations alone. How convoluted the rules and regulations were for success in acceptable social circles. How difficult it was to break into an established coterie of thugs (ok, society folk, but the distinction isn't really there), especially if you were new money or a Jew. How breathtakingly blind by choice these people were to infractions, bad behavior, and outright deceit. Money was important but social status could make you a god.
I think that this is the point where I started picturing Jersey Shore, Real Housewives of PRACTICALLY EVERYWHERE, and The Bachelor. Bad behavior practically shouts the similarities, but so do the casual cruelties, the feeling of entitlement for absolutely no reason except someone once told you you were pretty/handsome, and the closed ranks of a very prurient and jealously guarded circle. It makes no sense, but those are the acceptable rules and people will do just about anything, and at the expense of just about anything, to make the inner circle.
The House of Mirth strives to make us understand just what it means to make and fail to make this transition. Far from being filled with joy the inhabitants of this house are mistrustful, wary, desperately jealous, dishonest, and miserable. Lily Bart is the vehicle through which all of these things must pass and they do with a vengeance. She is the girl in the gilded cage and eventually she is the woman on the very edge of everything.
I loved this book. I love that it isn't about mirth even though the title leads you to believe that it is. I love that a house isn't really the focal point of the novel (even though smart readers will understand the metaphor). I love that this book is a wicked evisceration of "society" and "status", and that it questions established ideas about morality. I love that this book follows decisions and consequences, and that sometimes the outcome of these simply infuriated me. Also, I love that while I was reading this book I could picture just about every reality star on television today, although not as the hero/heroine of the piece.
Lily Bart is an imperfect heroine. Born into riches, spoiled by her mother and ruined (financially) by her over-worked, never-there father, she ends up having to rely on distant relatives for support. The dutiful, yet emotionally distant and morally judgmental Mrs. Peniston, her father's sister, reluctantly takes her in and gives her an allowance for clothes and jewels and all of the other trappings Lily needs to remain in society. It is, of course, understood that Lily will marry into money. Her natural beauty and her mastery of the artifice necessary to ensnare an eligible, wealthy bachelor pretty much assures her success. Yet Lily, when we meet her, is 29 and still "Miss Bart". Her social circle includes wealthy couples (the Trenors and the Dorsets), her cousin Jack Stepney, various Van Osbergh heirs/heiresses, some Van Alstynes (also distant relations), and a very formidable divorcee named Carry Fisher. CARRY FISHER!!! How wonderful is that?
I don't want to spell out the plot here, so I won't. Suffice to say that Lily doesn't trap the wealthy bachelor she has set her sights (if not her heart) on, but she does find something else worth quite a bit more. She finds herself, which is just about the corniest thing I could think of writing down, but is absolutely the truth. Lily Bart finds herself in a slow, painful, and remarkably precise fall from grace. She finds herself in a knowing...an understanding of the rules and how the game is played and when someone will be sacrificed and for what. In this novel there is a great deal of bad behavior. There is an enormous helping of snobbery. There is adultery and tomfoolery and much jacknapery (I made that one up, but wow how it fits!). Men are cuckolded and entitled and women are deceitful and cruel. Hearts are broken and marriages are arranged and love creeps softly in. How I loved the character of poor, sweet Gerty Farish whose hopes are quiet but whose heart is true. How I hated haughty, spoiled, entitled, deceitful Bertha Dorset who pretty much reminds me of any Real Housewife in whatever city anywhere. How frustrated I was with loyal, well-meaning, but constrained by his status Lawrence Selden who was perhaps the only one other than Gerty to understand Lily Bart.
This is not a happy book, but it is certainly an important one. The portal back in time to 1900's New York is pretty much worth it for the description of social expectations alone. How convoluted the rules and regulations were for success in acceptable social circles. How difficult it was to break into an established coterie of thugs (ok, society folk, but the distinction isn't really there), especially if you were new money or a Jew. How breathtakingly blind by choice these people were to infractions, bad behavior, and outright deceit. Money was important but social status could make you a god.
I think that this is the point where I started picturing Jersey Shore, Real Housewives of PRACTICALLY EVERYWHERE, and The Bachelor. Bad behavior practically shouts the similarities, but so do the casual cruelties, the feeling of entitlement for absolutely no reason except someone once told you you were pretty/handsome, and the closed ranks of a very prurient and jealously guarded circle. It makes no sense, but those are the acceptable rules and people will do just about anything, and at the expense of just about anything, to make the inner circle.
The House of Mirth strives to make us understand just what it means to make and fail to make this transition. Far from being filled with joy the inhabitants of this house are mistrustful, wary, desperately jealous, dishonest, and miserable. Lily Bart is the vehicle through which all of these things must pass and they do with a vengeance. She is the girl in the gilded cage and eventually she is the woman on the very edge of everything.
Sunday, September 25, 2011
The Rape of Nanking---Iris Chang
My rating: Three Stars
I would have given this book a higher rating, but had trouble with a few things. First, although I expected this to be an erudite look at an historical atrocity I was astounded to find that the author could not form a barrier between her material and her own strong reaction to it. I can't blame her, honestly, but it does manage to inhibit a personal reaction. By this I mean that I was forced to respond on a personal level to not only what happened to the citizens of Nanking, but also to Iris Chang's barely restrained fury. This division actually removed my ability to examine my own reaction to the horrors inflicted on innocents by an invading army. Again, I cannot blame the author for her outrage, but her overt presence in the prose was at times simply overpowering. I can also see how this could have influenced her ultimate decision to end her own life. The deep depression as well as a perceived threat against her which could very well have been real (my inclination is that it was) had to have seriously damaged what seems to have already been a rather fragile psyche.
Secondly, the book came perilously close to simply listing atrocities. More commentary accompanied the stories of one survivor and several foreigners who risked much in an attempt to save lives. Certainly the sheer volume of stories necessitated the abbreviation of anecdotes, but the listing affect was almost clinical. Perhaps this was an effort to limit a sort of voyeurism which is often attached to stories of mass murder and extreme degradation. Kudos for that if such was the case. I will also accede that I personally could not handle expanded versions of the atrocities that were listed.
Having said all of that, I must say that this is a must read if only to honour the lives of those who perished so terribly, but I would hope that it would also continue to be an albatross around the necks of a government which has refused to acknowledge its culpability in an almost unbelievable horror.
I would have given this book a higher rating, but had trouble with a few things. First, although I expected this to be an erudite look at an historical atrocity I was astounded to find that the author could not form a barrier between her material and her own strong reaction to it. I can't blame her, honestly, but it does manage to inhibit a personal reaction. By this I mean that I was forced to respond on a personal level to not only what happened to the citizens of Nanking, but also to Iris Chang's barely restrained fury. This division actually removed my ability to examine my own reaction to the horrors inflicted on innocents by an invading army. Again, I cannot blame the author for her outrage, but her overt presence in the prose was at times simply overpowering. I can also see how this could have influenced her ultimate decision to end her own life. The deep depression as well as a perceived threat against her which could very well have been real (my inclination is that it was) had to have seriously damaged what seems to have already been a rather fragile psyche.
Secondly, the book came perilously close to simply listing atrocities. More commentary accompanied the stories of one survivor and several foreigners who risked much in an attempt to save lives. Certainly the sheer volume of stories necessitated the abbreviation of anecdotes, but the listing affect was almost clinical. Perhaps this was an effort to limit a sort of voyeurism which is often attached to stories of mass murder and extreme degradation. Kudos for that if such was the case. I will also accede that I personally could not handle expanded versions of the atrocities that were listed.
Having said all of that, I must say that this is a must read if only to honour the lives of those who perished so terribly, but I would hope that it would also continue to be an albatross around the necks of a government which has refused to acknowledge its culpability in an almost unbelievable horror.
I Just Want to Know
C.S. Lewis said "We read to know we are not alone".
I titled this blog "Into Other Worlds" for obvious reasons: books transport me and every other reader into a new world each time we open them (or turn on our e-readers...I've been seduced). However, just finding myself in a new world isn't the only thing that draws me to reading. I read to escape, to learn, to enjoy and getting to know new characters in new situations scratches an itch for me: I want to experience everything I can whenever I can. I want to learn. I want to KNOW. Granted, every book doesn't work this way. Sometimes I'm so seriously disappointed I can barely speak. Sometimes I'm so gratified I can't even find the words to express why. That's why I decided to try and hammer it all out in a blog. I'll post about every kind of book, although I here and now categorically refuse to expand my reading into the romance genre. I'll read my fantasy elsewhere, thank you. So, yeah, I'm excluding a whole genre, and probably more, because I'm also essentially a book snob. I don't really respect the romance genre, and maybe that's a failing I will tackle here, but I doubt it. What I will read is a variety of genres: fiction, science-fiction/fantasy, horror, poetry, classic literature, and history. I figure there is a lot of wiggle-room in there...room for discussion about what the genre really is and why...but I have no interest in introducing any kind of established theory here. For me reading is all about love and that is, in the end, the reason I do it anyway.
I chose the tag "carrefour" because books are so often a public plaza. They are a place where thousands gather together, even if we don't realize it, to experience something new or even something old. They are a place where everyone is welcome no matter who they are, but books are also a sort of crossroads. Which way will this book lead me today? What will I learn? Will I learn to care about something I never considered before? Will my dislike for something be so completely confirmed that I know the path I'll take regardless of the others offered? I also just kind of like how it sounds.
The first review I post on here will be an old one. Don't look for consistency in genre, because there won't be any. I read all the time, but I also tend to veer erratically from genre to genre without any clear course. Just what I want to read when I want to read it. But I do hope you'll enjoy my thoughts anyway, and feel free to express your own. After all, I just want to KNOW.
I titled this blog "Into Other Worlds" for obvious reasons: books transport me and every other reader into a new world each time we open them (or turn on our e-readers...I've been seduced). However, just finding myself in a new world isn't the only thing that draws me to reading. I read to escape, to learn, to enjoy and getting to know new characters in new situations scratches an itch for me: I want to experience everything I can whenever I can. I want to learn. I want to KNOW. Granted, every book doesn't work this way. Sometimes I'm so seriously disappointed I can barely speak. Sometimes I'm so gratified I can't even find the words to express why. That's why I decided to try and hammer it all out in a blog. I'll post about every kind of book, although I here and now categorically refuse to expand my reading into the romance genre. I'll read my fantasy elsewhere, thank you. So, yeah, I'm excluding a whole genre, and probably more, because I'm also essentially a book snob. I don't really respect the romance genre, and maybe that's a failing I will tackle here, but I doubt it. What I will read is a variety of genres: fiction, science-fiction/fantasy, horror, poetry, classic literature, and history. I figure there is a lot of wiggle-room in there...room for discussion about what the genre really is and why...but I have no interest in introducing any kind of established theory here. For me reading is all about love and that is, in the end, the reason I do it anyway.
I chose the tag "carrefour" because books are so often a public plaza. They are a place where thousands gather together, even if we don't realize it, to experience something new or even something old. They are a place where everyone is welcome no matter who they are, but books are also a sort of crossroads. Which way will this book lead me today? What will I learn? Will I learn to care about something I never considered before? Will my dislike for something be so completely confirmed that I know the path I'll take regardless of the others offered? I also just kind of like how it sounds.
The first review I post on here will be an old one. Don't look for consistency in genre, because there won't be any. I read all the time, but I also tend to veer erratically from genre to genre without any clear course. Just what I want to read when I want to read it. But I do hope you'll enjoy my thoughts anyway, and feel free to express your own. After all, I just want to KNOW.
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