Reading Addict

 A couple of years ago my book group read Joan Didion’s critically acclaimed memoir, The Year of Magical Thinking.  I had read many glowing reviews of the book, and it was a finalist for a Pulitzer Prize, but I must admit that it left me completely cold.  In short, I hated it! Perhaps Didion wrote the book too soon after her husband unexpectedly died and hadn’t had a chance to emotionally process her loss.  But then again, Isabel Allende produced a beautiful, lyrical and moving memoir of her daughter’s last year in a coma (Paula).  That book grew out of Allende’s journals, written as she sat at her daughter’s bedside, so maybe time and emotional distance is not the issue here. 

Perhaps Didion’s style just doesn’t speak to me.  This is likely the case.  Her writing is clinical, detached, and cold.  I love reading memoirs, but need to connect with the author on an emotional, visceral level.  I recently read Anne Roiphe’s book, Epilogue, which was everything Didion’s was not.  Written from much the same perspective, in the first year or so after she lost her husband, it drew me in immediately and kept my interest.  I had read Roiphe’s account of her dysfunctional childhood in her earlier book, 1185 Park Avenue, and was thrilled to have discovered such a fine writer; one whose memories read like a novel.  Her latest did not disappoint.   

While filled with descriptions of the expected grief and feelings of inertia, it was also peppered with humor and a sense of perspective that made it enjoyable—if you can enjoy reading about another’s process of mourning—apparently I can. 

If you’re looking for an ultimately uplifting glimpse into a smart, sassy, literary woman’s life and her journey of healing, ignore the hype that Didion’s book generated and pick up a copy of Epilogue.

I took a class in college called Electronic Rhetoric.  Interesting stuff if a bit abstract.  Unless you’ve been living in a cave you may have noticed that technology has affected the way people communicate.  The way information is disseminated.  Inter-personal dialogue has been replaced by texting, IMing, Emailing; sometimes words and letters aren’t even necessary.  Have you ever used an ‘emoticon’?   In ancient Greece, philosophic and political discourses would often last an entire day if not longer.  Roosevelt’s fireside chats usually lasted about 30 minutes.  Nowadays, if you count how many ‘cuts’ or camera edits in a single thirty second commercial….well, you’d be amazed.                              

What does this have to do with fiction? Well, let’s say fiction is the search for universal truth through analogy.  Let’s say good fiction is universal truth distilled and filtered through the author.  Still with me?   Well, what’s an author to do when he/she must try and make sense of a hyper-technological world that inundates one with sensory overload every step of the way?           

Ladies and Gentleman, I present to you Exhibit A. - John Wray’s Lowboy.  It’s no secret many in the psychiatric field have found corollaries between postmodern endless stimuli and mental illness.  Here we have fiction’s answer:  Meet Lowboy.  A paranoid schizophrenic who believes, none too dimly I might add, the world will end if he doesn’t stop it from overheating.  He must prevent it from overheating by cooling his own body of its own fiery, lustful urges.      

Wray adeptly finds an extraordinary marriage between the strengths of genre fiction and those of fiction considered more artsy or academic.  Genre fiction tends to focus on plot driven narratives, usually fast moving.  These are your page turners. Your mysteries. Your sci-fi thrillers.  Your James Pattersons and Janet Evanoviches.  The more academic, artsy-type literature usually focuses on strong character development.  Your Emily Bronte novels. Your classic Victorian Literature.  Your Iowa Workshop or Pushcart Prize authors.  Yet Wray had no use for these fiction characteristics.  He seamlessly wove a brilliant adventure story with one of the more captivating antagonists I’ve encountered.           

Ok, quick wrap up.  What did we learn today class…Wray brilliantly explores themes of mental illness in a postmodern setting. Wray tackles a character you might find on the streets mumbling to himself.  Wray marries the best of both literary worlds.  Wray takes you on an adventure through the seamy, underbelly of New York. Wray wrote a damn fine book.  You should read Wray’s book.

 Reading Obrey Hendricks, Jr.’s book, the Politics of Jesus: Rediscovering the True Revolutionary Nature of Jesus’ Teachings and How They Have Been Corrupted, is like sitting at the feet of a contemporary griott, and having the story of a hero told in a fashion that makes that hero larger than life. Given that the hero, Jesus Christ, is already larger than life, the story becomes all the more enriching because of the many historical interpretations of today. Hendricks’ portrayal of Jesus’ actions, emotions and intentions are no less than radical as Jesus’ political agenda is analyzed.  The meek, mild image of Jesus from our childhood is exchanged for a radical portrayal of a man who fought for justice, defied authority, and challenged the status quo.      

Hendricks describes the political climate in which Jesus was born and lived in vivid detail, providing historical support for his contention that today’s King James’ Version of the Bible was interpreted in favor of the whims of a Roman political leader by the name of Constantine. Hendricks speaks out against ministers who embrace Constantine’s transformation of their roles as they accept privileged treatment and exalted status. Hendricks also maintains that the story of an exorcism described in Mark 5:1-10 can actually be interpreted as an allegorical tale, in which the demon-possessed man represents the country of Israel, and the legion which possesses it represents the Roman army. Hendricks states, “So though on one level Mark 5:1-13 is an account of an exorcism, on another level it is a radical political parable in the guise of a healing story, a parable that tells the people of Jesus that it is not God’s displeasure that has bedeviled them, but the misdeeds of those who lord it over them . Additionally, The Politics of Jesus is a clarion call to leaders everywhere to “treat the needs of the people as holy.” It reminds us that the most effective leaders come not to be served, but to serve”. On a scale of one to ten, The Politics of Jesus deserves a ten… plus, for its intelligent and thought provoking insights into the ideal of dedication to the betterment of all mankind.   

  I think Cormac McCarthy is taking over my life.  I kid you not.  After a long and heated debate, with myself, I finally convinced myself that Blood Meridian is my new all-time favorite novel.  Now to the average casual reader this may not seem like a life altering event.  But for me, this momentous declaration becomes as serious as Rob Fleming’s (of High Fidelity) All-Time Top 5 Lists.   I can only attempt to inform you, gentle reader, of the significance of this decision.  It wasn’t easy, but here are the facts.  Since reading Blood Meridian, my life has changed in the following ways: 

Ø      I’ve discovered the joy of pairing a great book with an equally great album.  But as Blood Meridian taught me, this is no easy task.  The music MUST suit the book.  For example the twang and stomp of the legendary spaghetti western composer Ennio Morricone is great for Cormac McCarthy.  As is the drone band Earth’s take on lonely Western Americana.

Ø      I have suddenly become a huge fan of the aforementioned spaghetti westerns.  The Man with No Name series in particular. A Fistful of Dollars, For a Few Dollars More, and The Good the Bad and the Ugly introduced me to a world of classic machismo and toughness that elicits what can only be described as a beam of happiness.  I won’t go so far as to say this trilogy replaced the original Star Wars series as my all time favorite, but it’s definitely giving the Lord of the Rings trilogy a run for its money in the #2 slot.

Ø      As alluded to before, I have a new found appreciation for a genre of music that never interested me.  Western.  I’m not talking your modern radio country here, but vintage Hank Williams, Johnny Cash (of course) and even some crazy western gospel is where it’s at.  The twang, the banjo plucking, and the lonely, open-sky sounds offer a delight never before found.

Ø      I’ve always been a fan of reading about the plight of the downtrodden.  Society’s outcasts.  Those who try and try but make the same mistakes over and over and they just can’t get it right.  Or those that eschew the mores of society, replacing in its stead their own ethics and values.  After reading Suttree, I feel the Palahniuk’s, the Bret Easton Ellis’s and other writers working with Gen X concerns really aren’t operating on the same tier of quality as McCarthy.  (Quick summary: In Suttree, a man of privilege forsakes his family to live a meek life as a fisherman, encountering the drunks, dregs, and squalor along the way.  He does it with a dignity and a detachment that sets him apart from everything around him.)  

Ø      I never liked William Faulkner when it was required reading.  Cormac McCarthy’s books have shown me the understated brilliance of Faulkner.  I have seen the light! (I have to question whether the pupil has surpassed the master when it comes to these two authors, though.  McCarthy is often noted as continuing the ‘Faulknerian Tradition’ but I can’t help but wonder if he hasn’t elevated said tradition to a status it never was before him.) 

There you have it.  I don’t think I’m prepared yet to ask for his hand in marriage, but you can definitely call me a fanboy.   The screaming girl at a Britney Spears show?  The girls in my elementary classes that had any and all forms of New Kids on The Block swag/memorabillia?  I guess you can say these are now my brethren.  My kin.

By strange coincidence (and what coincidence isn’t strange?) I found myself at the height of Sarah Palin’s publicity reading two different fiction novels set in Alaska.

I realized that I have always been a little fascinated by Alaska, the wintry landscape, the sparseness of population.  The reputation as a place that those who walk to a slightly different beat might find a home.  Northern Exposure fueled my interest as did my sister’s tales of her 6 month AmeriCorps adventure in the wilderness, which included having to shoot her gun in the air to warn off a bear.

My first set of books set in this completely foreign landscape was by Tom Bodett.  The funny stories from the little town of End of the Road, Alaska were charming, sometimes thought provoking, and always amusing.  Although I first read them 10 years ago they are just as much fun today-and I can vividly picture teenager Norm perched on a piling after falling off the boat, wondering if his estranged dad would even come looking for him, or the four friends skiing naked through the snow escaping a burning sauna only to find their car locked…and the keys still at the sauna.  Highly recommended-and good for all ages as well, sauna scene notwithstanding.

When Michael Chabon came to Tulsa in December, I prepared by reading ‘The Yiddish Policemen’s Union’, mostly because it won the Hugo, and there was a lot of talk about whether or not it was really science fiction.  It is set in current day Alaska, but in an alternate time line—WWII went a little differently, Israel did not survive as a nation, and Alaska became a haven for Jewish refugees.   The main character, Meyer Landsman, is a police detective, divorced (from his new supervisor), an alcoholic, and a Jew. He and his partner, who is half Jewish, half Native American, investigate a death that becomes increasingly mysterious.  

It reads just like any detective noir book, with lots of Yiddish (plus lots of graphic language and violence) thrown in.  I confess I listened to this in my car while it was still warm enough to have the windows down and was horrified once to look over to the car next to me during one particularly blue passage to see small children in the back seat and parents glaring at me through their open windows!  If you are not easily shocked, I highly recommend it, though.  Mr. Chabon has a remarkable skill with descriptive language. It is both science fiction due to the time line, and hard boiled mystery due to the plot, and overall just a darn fine read.  

I’ve read widely across the mystery genre, from cozies to serial killer novels.  Somehow I managed to miss Dana Stabenow, which is a shame.  I plucked the title ‘A Deeper Sleep’  from the Brookside Library’s collection of Books on CD one day while killing time waiting for my daughter.   I was very pleasantly surprised to find it to be a solid, well written mystery, set in Alaska.  More precisely, set in a fictional national park and township named Niniltna.  In this series, featuring independent-minded and thoroughly professional Kate Shugak, Stabenow manages to highlight both the beauty and the danger that is Alaska.  She describes what happens to most unprepared newcomers, those who come looking for a home—they often freeze to death, or are mauled by bears, or starve.  If they survive they become part of the ‘park rat’ family. 

Tribal and small town politics are woven seamlessly into the story, as well as the relationships between Kate and her family, related and extended.   I’m putting her other books on my ‘to read when I get the chance’ list!