Weverb12 #21read [LIVE]

Did you read a book this year that left you craving more when it was over?

This is a cheating question to ask someone in publishing...I did indeed read a book that left me wanting more, but it was a manuscript, and it won't be out till April in India and September abroad. And of course, being in publishing I got to demand and read beginning of sequel heh. I also know what happens through the series.

Seriously though, what does it mean to be left craving more? Do I want more info on what happened to characters, or on subject if it's nonfic? Do I want more writing by this author? Do I want this book to never end?

As far as the first goes, Cracked (abovementioned hee) definitely fits the bill, as does a book of mine that did come out last year--Land of the Seven Rivers. That one is non-fiction, and really really good. A book about India's history, but in a tidbitty, things you never knew way that completely avoids the usual tropes of history books, I loved it when I got the manuscript, and then while working on it came to deeply admire the author and be very grateful to work with someone who works the same way I do! At the end of it all I want to say is MOARRRRRR. These bill Brysony books about India are SO FASCINATING that I just anted him to keep writing about various parts of India. I hope he does. Actually, this book fulfills all three of the interpretations of the questions I have up there--I want more information about all sorts of things in the book; I want more by him, anything; I want the books to never end.

I really don't mean to plug my own books but I have also realized the occupational hazard about working in publishing is that nothing gets the kind of intense attention a book you work on does--I mean I have read these books six or seven times each, in the space of two or three months.So when I likes em, I likes em good.

Weverb12 #15 quote [GROW]

What inspirational quote would you associate with this past year for you?

Sadly, I don't do quotes. I have never been able to even put one up on my pinboard etc, like people do in offices. I can do funny quotes. I love funny quotes. Or beautiful ones. I keep changing my email signature to have a different quote when I find one. My two favourites from 2012 are:

"Great discoveries, whether of silk or of gravity, are always windfalls. They happen to people loafing under trees." --Jeffrey Eugenides (Middlesex)

"'You know how we make a Scotch and water in this home?'
'No, sir,' Gus said.
'We pour Scotch into a glass and then call to mind thoughts of water, and then we mix the actual Scotch with the abstracted idea of water.'"

--John Green (The Fault in Our Stars)

**Edit: The Bride helpfully pointed out that I do do quotes if I have them at the ends of emails, so I should clarify that I meant I don't do inspirational quotes.

Weverb12 #13 associate [LISTEN]

What blog/book/article spoke to you the most in 2012?*

Okay, this is the perfect opportunity to open myself to a slew of outrage, but also talk about something I've been meaning to post about for a while.

Now I am a subscriber to the theory that the more recent something is more likely it's impact on you remains strong--that's why the end can ruin a movie or a book for example, so I'm going to say that when I think of books I've read I can only remember the ones I've read very recently. I know I read two Junot Diazes; I read Middlesex, which was utterly brilliant; I read Song of Achilles; I read truckloads of chicklitt that spoke to me, and even some non-fiction. But I don't really remember them actually speaking to me, saying Yo MinCat, ever thought about this?

The one book I read this year that actually did that to me and, mind you, I read it in May, was Fifty Shades of Grey. (Cue outrage.)

There was just something compelling about that book, much like Twilight, which might come from the fact of the subject matter being, once again, obsessive possessive love, and my never having felt it. I do think that with FSG however it was more than that. I definitely have my problems with both books on an intellectual level, but I also have problems with people who object to FSG on an intellectual level while refusing to engage with it on a emotional level or an instinctual level, because at the end of the day that's the level at which it is written. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

I'm fairly open about sex and sexuality, and am willing to try anything once, at least hypothetically. But BDSM is something that has always just freaked me out, even the thought of it. So when I read this book, it was with much skepticism, because really, BDSM? But then, suddenly, I found myself thinking WOAH this is HOT. Suddenly I found myself reading what was in the head of this girl who thought exactly the same way as me--what is wrong with a guy that he needs to debase me, abuse me, to get off? And then, once she gives in and likes it--what is wrong with ME that *I* am getting off on being debased and abused? And, by extension, I was thinking what is wrong with me that I'm turned on by this whole thing?

The book actually makes you stop and let go of prejudice for a minute and accept that sometimes you need to recalibrate 'normal' to understand yourself, and you really shouldn't be so hard on yourself. Of course the rest of the trilogy goes on to completely destroy this whole openminded thing cos after all, Christian is into BDSM cos he's been abused, cos it's not normal etc., which is just sad, because FSG is such a great gateway book. And it really did make me think a lot, about sexuality, about boundaries, about trust, about control, and all these thing in my own life. (Okay, I also had a crush on that incredibly in-charge man, who just takes over your life--I wouldn't mind one of those for a while!**)

Which brings me to, if a book can make you think about these things, how can you dismiss it out of hand just because it's 'a bad book'? I'm not for one second saying the writing is good--it's dreadfully cheesy; I swear I wanted to SHOOT THAT FUCKING INNER GODDESS! But many so-called good books have terrible writing too--they just err in the direction of being obscure. One notable example from this year is From the Ruins of Empire by Pankaj Mishra--impossible to read, but a fascinating subject.

It does all come down to what an individual wants from a book, and what the intelligentsia wants to think it can guide them to. It comes down to thinking that oh the poor dears, they don't know better, let us guide them. Who died and made you president? People read what they want. Yes, the reason the Fifty Shades trilogy (and the Bared to You trilogy) does so well is mainly because people want socially sanctioned porn. Yes the writing is execrable--but it's pornographic Twilight fan fiction! Twilight itself is hardly well written. And, in defence of FSG, Anastasia has way more balls than Bella! She stands up for herself; she wants a life beyond Christian and she demands it. She doesn't jump off cliffs so she can hallucinate hearing his voice. Sheesh.

Yes, it makes me sad that Amish Tripathi sells the way he does in India, but, on the bright side, it means people are reading. It means some day people may read a Sidin Vadakut instead of a Chetan Bhagat and slowly, step by step they might come to the point where they are reading Amitav Ghosh. But this ladder itself is built from my own preferences--why must they read Ghosh at all? I myself spend an inordinate amount of time NOT reading literary fiction--I even dismiss the genre derisively most of the time. So if I can read what I myself call trash, why do I shake my head and tut tut when other people want to read it? This obsessive need to pass judgement on what is and isn't acceptable is very scary sometimes.

Okay now I will stop because this is turning into rant on publishing, which really merits its own post.


*Is it just me or is there some repetition happening here?
**That's a whole other post on feminism and my own life...

In which I discover I am most lowbrow

Recently I wrote about how I need to start reading literary fiction again. Full of purpose, I decided to begin with one of this years most lauded books--Open City, by Teju Cole. It's a book about New York, about wandering the city, and everyone at work has been raving about it, so I said, what the heck.

Sigh.

I should remember not to read non-African non-Latin-American fiction. Though Cole is Nigerian. Perhaps I misunderstood the blurb; perhaps I've lost my ability to interpret blurbs accurately; perhaps I was nostalgic for New York. I wrestled with that book for a month. I'd keep losing my place, rereading it without understanding it, battering desperately at the impenetrable walls of his navel-gazing stream-of-consciousness narrator's languid prose. People told me the ending would be great, I should keep going. Three times I tried; three times I had to give up. It stood for all that I find revolting about the literary world today. India, Europe and the US seem to produce such obscure novels that are lauded as superior writing but serve only to send me into a stupor.

Mind you, my inability to read it had little to do with the fact that I've been running around with my niece. I know this because in a moment of frustration I tossed it aside and picked up The Brief and Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, by Junor Diaz. I read all but the last 50 pages in one day, while chasing niece, baking, cooking, running errands and doing whatever was demanded of me. Three pages in I just fell into the novel. The fiery, agile writing was ALIVE; it grabbed me by the cerebral cortex and headbutted me. The characters were real; they DID, they didn't just think.

Then  Scoo, Poo and I had lively discussion on writing (well mostly them, as always happens when the women in my family as discussing things and I'm supposed to participate), and I am amazed at how disparate our views are on the subject of what is good writing. I guess I'm just a pleb.

Fighting in the Family

Did you know that the Mahabharata is cursed, and if you read anything but the holy bits, it causes fights in the house of the reader?

Nona told me, when I told her I was reading it, not to read it all at once, but to read it in bits of I'd fight with people. Another spiritual/astrology friend I have, who would know this kind of trivia, told me there would be fights in my house. Interesting, no?

I think it might apply only to the Sanskrit though.

However, out of deference to Noni and the size of the book and the weird looks it gets me, I'm reading it alongside other books.

In which we wonder about crimson phalluses and dark-skinned beauty

A very long time ago, The Bride and I decided on a reading project--The Mahabharata. I think she, like the good girl she is, finished it and wrote about it at length. I, however, didn't, partly because the unwieldy hardback translation I had required bedtime reading, and once I started travelling and going out at night I never did read it.

At the book fair I found Rupa selling the Ramesh Menon's modern rendering, as it's called, and it being paperback and two volumes, and eligible for publisher's discount, I bought it. I'm progressing in leaps and bounds. The prose is lucid and chatty, and retains enough strangeness and Sanskrit to remind you that it is an ancient epic. There is none of the awkward syntax that so annoyed my friend who also read Kamala Subramiam's translation. I'm about 260 pages in, and the Pandavas have reached Kampali for Draupadi's swayamvara. Apart from the fact that I love that they have their South Indian names--Arjunaa, etc--here's what I find interesting so far.

Menon's prose is very luscious--descriptions are vivid and evocative, but sometimes make me flinch a bit because they seem OTT. There are some pieces of description that certainly appear to be superfluous to me, especially considering this is an abridged version and, even if this is in the original, there really isn't too much need to translate it. My favourite example, while describing Bakasura sneaking up behind Bheema:

His head was in the trees, as he stood quite naked and motionless, only his strange phallus twitching with the lust of the hunt. He saw what Bheema had done to the food. The rakshasha's hairless body quivered. His crimson organ subsided like a distraught serpent, and rage replaces excitement in his tiny eyes.

Really? Is the 'strange twitching phallus' really necessary? Or its deflation as it were? My friend says it's a deep mellu obsession with sex, so Menon can't fight it.I wonder if his editor at Rupa tried to stop it...something tells me no.

The ideal of beauty is dark-skinned. I wonder if this is so in the original! Here's a quote describing Draupadi:

The burning stillness assumed a human form. There were long, dark arms there, a perfect head flowing black tresses. As Drupada, his wife and the rishis watched, stunned by her incredible beauty, her skin dark as night, her face and body so perfect they were from a more pristine time, a young girl stepped out of the light.

Then, earlier on, talking of Hidimbi:

...she had turned herself into a dark human beauty...Dark as night, and as enticing...

There are more, but I can't be bothered to dig them out...

There's no gray in his characterization. Again, I don't know about the original, but I know Kamala Subramaniam, or atleast the part I read, definitely had positive and negative sides to characters. As Jai puts it, Duryodhana is a tragic hero with a fatal flaw, not a psychotic evil motherfucker (my words, not Jai's), which is how Menon paints him. I kind of want to slap whiny bitchy Arjuna, and am immediately suspicious of Duryodhana's evil, because there's no cause! Why does Dritharashtra turn gleefully evil in the twinkling of an eye? In every other rendering of the Mahabharata I find I am always drawn to Bheema, but here even he is annoying cos he's just so fucking perfect, especially the way he's all rowf rowf command me o master and I shall destroy for you. My personal favourite Bheema is in Palace of Illusions. The only mildly human character so far is Vidura. More updates once I meet Draupadi and Krishna!

Mahiatus

Well. I was sick and then travelling so needed small book, and while sick started on Banker's Ramayana, so the Mahabharata's been on the back burner. However, tonight will resume.

Book Reviews: Guns, Germs and Steel

I quite like Jared Diamond; I'm fascinated by evolution and evolutionary history; and when I started this book in a friend's house in Delhi, I almost wept when I had to put it down.

Cut to last week, when I finally resumed the book. The first part, where he talks of food production and its connection to development, is fascinating, especially when he first introduces it. He does a great job, taking small steps and leading the reader every step of the way. I loved how he explained the development of writing, the development of disease and it's connection with animal domestication. I was tickled by the chapter names.

But then he goes and explains everything again. In the same chapter. And then once more for good luck. And ends with a summary at the end of the chapter. I felt like I was meant to be a retarded 15 year old. Which is not a nice feeling when I'm reading an interesting non-fiction book.

Ashamedly I must admit I didn't finish it. Yesterday, in the afternoon, something snapped. I AM NOT A RETARDED FIFTEEN YEAR OLD I screamed as I slammed it down on the table. I get your point Mr. Diamond, I do. All seventy-five times you made it. Also, the Andamans are part of India.

On Reading

Following on The Bride.

I have often wondered if this reading thing wasn't entirely a good thing. Now I know this isn't true of everyone, but I for one find myself severely restricted when it comes to film, because I like to read so much. For one thing, something in me rebels by not having the freedom to imagine things - watching a movie is so passive. When I read a book I can imagine all sorts of back story, and paint in the leaves on the trees, and the creases on someone's face. Take a very recent example, when I watched Percy Jackson and the Lightning Thief. I read and LOVED the whole series, and was horrified and repulsed by what Hollywood did to it. Granted, the oversimplification of the story and the complete removal of any complexity to characters or psychology was expected, as was the massive edit - the movie is essentially about 50 pages of the book. But what I hated MOST of all was how they dressed the gods. And how Poseidon looked, and Grover. Essentially, having spent so many years tapping into the internal magic of my imagination, I resent having that freedom taken away from me in movies. And this is a hundred times worse when it's a serious film, or something brutal about life etc.

Ok digression over.

I always have a book on me. Usually, when I travel, i carry one book per day, and get very upset if I don't meet my targets. I even lugged the hard cover edition of Wolf Hall all over Delhi in December, because I wanted to finish it! The Mungi was not pleased. In Goa, I refused to get into the water because I needed to finish Empire of the Moguls. I twitch as i walk past Landmark, and have never yet been able to leave a book store with one book. I even eat lunch alone a few times a week so I can catch up on my reading. I wish I took public transport because then I could read; and absolutely ADORE train journeys for all the reading I can get done.

I wonder why the reading doesn't feel like it's spilled over into writing though...

Blogshetra: Away we go

The Bride and I decided to read the Mahabharata, together and in different countries. She's done this before, only that time she chose Joyce's Ulysses. *shudder*

We're also probably going to end up reading different translations, given the fact that here in desh I have access to whatever I want. Mine is Kamala Subramaniam's, and she (The Bride, not Kamala) is still deciding.

So last night, after dragging all and sundry to Landmark to acquire said book, and acquiring about 6 more in the process, I settled into bed to begin reading.

First off, I'm always nervous with translated books, especially if they are originally in a language very far removed from Latin, Greek and the Germanic languages that are the foundation of English. It really does become about interpretation, and then I often wonder how the original is. I found, for example, that W. S. Merwin's translation of Neruda's "Tonight I can write the saddest lines" is quite bad, because he Englishises the structure so much that I feel that much of the charm of the original is lost, since a lot of it lies in the inversions of word order etc. This problem is a million times worse with Indian languages, so I was very happy to see, when I began reading last night, that KS manages to keep the complicated structures and cadences of what I imagine is a chanting, sonorous, oral tradition alive. It may seem a bit...strange, because the sentences are often abrupt, and there is very little active voice, and way too many words - but that's just how I think it would be in Sanskrit. Of course, my Outer Stickler is dying to rewrite the translation for an audience more familiar with traditional English...but I can keep her in check.

The story began very simply, and very much in the way my Grandma's used to when we were children, and I slipped into it immediately. It also ran very quickly, and after Bheeshma spent several years several times over to raise various princes and marry them off and do everything but 'spill his seed' to further the dynasty, I have reached the point where he has successfully married Dritharashtra and Pandu off to Gandhari and Kunti respectively.

I expect tonight's session to be a titch more exciting, and definitely enter into those parts of the story I am familiar with (I had no clue who Devavrata was until the word Bheeshma appeared. Also, it annoys me that I don't know the meanings of these words and names - any ideas where I can find out online?)

P.S. Will post extract for Bride to read and put her out of her misery of not knowing what it reads like in this translation.

I'm trying REALLY hard

In an attempt to start writing again, here is TIME's Top 100 novels of all time from 2005, which I shall now assess and see how I measure up to it. Then I'm making a list of the books I'm going to try and read in 2005, and then maybe write about them. Though why I must choose to do this while I live in HYDERABAD, forget about India, I dunno.

Also, The Bride and I are co-reading The Mahabharata, like she did Joyce! WooOOt!

1. The Adventures of Augie March: Saul Bellow nope, might want to
2. All the King's Men: Robert Penn Warren nope
3. American Pastoral: Philip Roth nope, but I read another one by him, sort of what if Lindbergh had become President, and it was frankly, boring.
4. An American Tragedy: Theodore Dreiser never even heard of this one
5. Animal Farm: George Orwell but of course
6. Appointment in Samarra: John O'Hara nope
7. Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret: Judy Blume many many, MANY times
8. The Assistant: Bernard Malamud nope, no clue who he is
9. At Swim-Two-Birds: Flann O'Brien ditto
10. Atonement: Ian McEwan the trailer of the movie bored me so much I shudder to think of watching the movie let alone reading the book!
11. Beloved: Toni Morrison in college, and I LOVED it. SO MUCH. What a genius writer.
12. The Berlin Stories: Christopher Isherwood nope
13. The Big Sleep: Raymond Chandler I think I read one of his novels once, but was too young. Stick this on the list.
14. The Blind Assassin: Margaret Atwood I have either read this or it has sat on my shelf for ages taunting me. I think it should go on the list either way! Had her poetry in college, and loved it; also read Cat's Eye, I think, and A Handmaid's Tale.
15. Blood Meridian: Cormac McCarthy *shudder* I feel like I've read something by him... (yes I am hopeless at remembering authors' names) Sounds a bit bloodthirsty for me, but maybe it can go on a waiting list.
16. Brideshead Revisited: Evelyn Waugh Always wanted to read her because of glancing references in Wodehouse. On the list she goes.
17. The Bridge of San Luis Rey: Thornton Wilder See, just for San Luis Rey, I'll try reading it.
18. Call It Sleep: Henry Roth nope
19. Catch-22: Joseph Heller Yes, but can't quite see the brouhaha. Did read it in one sitting though, so must have something.
20. The Catcher in the Rye: J.D. Salinger Yes, and man was it boring. Sorry. I think I was too old, plus I don't really identify with self-destructive irresponsible types... yes yes high horse.
21. A Clockwork Orange: Anthony Burgess *shuddershudderpuke* Never made it through the movie or the book. Quite happy to never try again thank you.
22. The Confessions of Nat Turner: William Styron whoooo?
23. The Corrections: Jonathan Franzen whaaaa?
24. The Crying of Lot 49: Thomas Pynchon I feel like this guy is famous for a butterfly thing. Or not, his wikipedia page reveals that I am unlikely to like him. "Thomas Ruggles Pynchon, Jr. (born May 8, 1937) is an American novelist based in New York City and noted for his dense and complex works of fiction."
25. A Dance to the Music of Time: Anthony Powell nope
26. The Day of the Locust: Nathanael West nope
27. Death Comes for the Archbishop: Willa Cather nope (why have I not heard of any of these people???)
28. A Death in the Family: James Agee nope
29. The Death of the Heart: Elizabeth Bowen nope
30. Deliverance: James Dickey nope
31. Dog Soldiers: Robert Stone nope
32. Falconer: John Cheever nope, but I did read a lovely short story in college. Now if only I could remember what it was.... heh. On the list.
33. The French Lieutenant's Woman: John Fowles Somehow I've never liked the objectification inherent in that title...still, waiting list.
34. The Golden Notebook: Doris Lessing nope, and totally want to.
35. Go Tell it on the Mountain: James Baldwin wait....like a baldwin brother?
36. Gone With the Wind: Margaret Mitchell Many times. Much adore. Takes a twist of the kaleidoscope to see the good in it, and not dismiss it as "romance". I was blown away by the tapestry she weaves around the story, of the South, the Civil War etc.
37. The Grapes of Wrath: John Steinbeck nice. depressing as hell. but brilliant read that paints a beautiful picture.
38. Gravity's Rainbow: Thomas Pynchon see above
39. The Great Gatsby: F. Scott Fitzgerald read it in college and was most bemused. I don't think I ever got the poignance of it, just seemed a bit like Wodehouse, only in America, not as funny and rather more risque. 
40. A Handful of Dust: Evelyn Waugh see prev
41. The Heart Is A Lonely Hunter: Carson McCullers say whaaa? Also, I'm torn between wanting to read it cos a Boy wrote it and choking on giggles because a Boy wrote it. Waiting list methinks.
42. The Heart of the Matter: Graham Greene Ah Graham Greene. I read the one about the Catholic priest on the run in Mexico. Something and something. Or is that the Faulkner theme?
43. Herzog: Saul Bellow hrfxt
44. Housekeeping: Marilynne Robinson Again, it tempts me, but I think it's probably about some deep crisis in suburbia, not chicklitt. Waiting list
45. A House for Mr. Biswas: V.S. Naipaul See, I tried to read Among the Believers and it was horrible. Naipaul just seems like such a whiny, patronising bitch. Really. I think my horror has a lot to do with early exposure to some non-fiction of his.
46. I, Claudius: Robert Graves LOVE LOVE LOVE. Anything by the man. In fact, I think it's time I re-read this one and it's sequel. On the list to goes!
47. Infinite Jest: David Foster Wallace Something about that title makes me wary... Waiting list
48. Invisible Man: Ralph Ellison nope
49. Light in August: William Faulkner nope
50. The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe: C.S. Lewis like 50 times? Much prefer the Voyage of the Dawn Treader myself.
51. Lolita: Vladimir Nabokov meh. Really overrated, either for scandal or for anything else. The one Nabokov I really liked was called Laughter in the Dark
52. Lord of the Flies: William Golding Never read it. Always had it on the list. 
53. The Lord of the Rings: J.R.R. Tolkien 13 times I think. Give me The Hobbit any day.
54. Loving: Henry Green whaa
55. Lucky Jim: Kingsley Amis Lord. I've always heard this name, and then Martin Amis of course, and I think I've read him being scholarly about something in my Literature course...but...do I want to read him? Votes anyone?
56. The Man Who Loved Children: Christina Stead Ooooo sounds interesting. On the list, if I can get hold of it.
57. Midnight's Children: Salman Rushdie done. Meh. Well, actually lovely book. but then I read a few more and realised that Mr. Rushdie, much like Sr. Márqeuz has one book to be re-written many times...
58. Money: Martin Amis see above.
59. The Moviegoer: Walker Percy I like the name of the book, and the name of the author even more! Shall try and read if I can get my hands on it.
60. Mrs. Dalloway: Virginia Woolf Ugh. Yes, I've read it. Self-obsess much anyone? I do, however, want to read and/or see The Hours.
61. Naked Lunch: William Burroughs Hee. Deffy want to read.
62. Native Son: Richard Wright no way.
63. Neuromancer: William Gibson Not read, want to read - on the list
64. Never Let Me Go: Kazuo Ishiguro Have tried to read many times...but fall asleep. Shall try one more time.
65. 1984: George Orwell read, and liked very much. Funny, I prefer dystopias to utopias.
66. On the Road: Jack Kerouac never read, allus wanted to. On the list.
67. One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest: Ken Kesey Have started many times. Will put on waiting list. Maybe.
68. The Painted Bird: Jerzy Kosinski nope
69. Pale Fire: Vladimir Nabokov not really, unless Acrosticus vehemently recommends.
70. A Passage to India: E.M. Forster Lordy...Maybe next year. I think this year is heavy enough with the Mahabharata and Ramachandra Guha's history of modern India.
71. Play It As It Lays: Joan Didion nope
72. Portnoy's Complaint: Philip Roth NO
73. Possession: A.S. Byatt NOOOO
74. The Power and the Glory: Graham Greene Oooo! That's the one! Not bad, I think I might want to re-read it with my more recent appreciation of the history of Mexico.
75. The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie: Muriel Spark no
76. Rabbit, Run: John Updike nope. Read a short story, possiby a book of them, and quite liked it. Also like title. So on the list.
77. Ragtime: E.L. Doctorow not read, but I LOVE the name and the title. If-I-Can-Get-It list.
78. The Recognitions: William Gaddis never heard of it
79. Red Harvest: Dashiell Hammett He sounds familiar, but. nope.
80. Revolutionary Road: Richard Yates Lemme make it through the movie awake first...
81. The Sheltering Sky: Paul Bowles Nope.
82. Slaughterhouse-Five: Kurt Vonnegut YESYESYES! Ah I ADORE this man, shall read Cat's Cradle as replacement.
83. Snow Crash: Neal Stephenson no
84. The Sot-Weed Factor: John Barth no
85. The Sound and the Fury: William Faulkner o lordy, no!
86. The Sportswriter: Richard Ford nope
87. The Spy Who Came in From the Cold: John le Carre never read him, though my dad has em all. Shall stick in on the list for lighter reading.
88. The Sun Also Rises: Ernest Hemingway Have read Farewell to arms, and the Old Man and the Sea. Toss it on the list.
89. Their Eyes Were Watching God: Zora Neale Hurston Er...don't know how to react. Votes either way anyone?
90. Things Fall Apart: Chinua Achebe Yes indeedy, and the other three in the series, plus other ones by him. Quite liked it.
91. To Kill a Mockingbird: Harper Lee Lovely lovely lovely, of course. I'm probably the only girl I know who didn't want to be Scout. Though I might name my next puppy that.
92. To the Lighthouse: Virginia Woolf *brrrrr* no.
93. Tropic of Cancer: Henry Miller nope
94. Ubik: Philip K. Dick Been dying to read him, but am open to other recommendations by him.
95. Under the Net: Iris Murdoch My parents had one of her books, The Sea The Sea, and it always seemed so strange and scary and yet boring. Waiting list.
96. Under the Volcano: Malcolm Lowry Wikipedia leads me to think that's a yes. If I can find it.
97. Watchmen: Alan Moore & Dave Gibbons Eeeeeep no. I've tried. And even seen and quite disliked the movie.
98. White Noise: Don DeLillo Haven't read, putting on waiting list
99. White Teeth: Zadie Smith *SHUDDERRRRRRRRRRRR* nevermore. I actually finished it cos The Roommate loved it so much. But. No. Never. Again.
100. Wide Sargasso Sea: Jean Rhys Awwww read in college alongside Jane Eyre. In fact, fairly sure I did a seminar on it or something. Quite lovely.

Twilight

I’m reading the first book in the series, and am quite impressed by the humour and the general refusal to be twee. But mostly I’m soppy and gooey over the lil’ teenage romance. The last time I’ve absolutely-HAD-TO-keep-reading-even-though-I-was-scared was Carlos Ruiz Zafon’s The Shadow of the Wind. The story there was bewitching and complex and totally enthralled me. I sat up till 4am, in the middle of my bed, fearfully looking up every so often just waiting for Julián Carax to swoop in and attack me with knife or fire. The second I was done, I leapt up, dragged a mattress into my parents’ room and slept on the floor. Last night, in the middle of Twilight, I was curled in a ball, cuddling my best man, Apollo, close, with my back to the wall. Then I gave up and went to sleep to go the gym this morning. But I was reading all the way to work.

Of course I’m wondering why it’s having this effect on me. Kudos to Stephanie Meyer, but it really isn’t “dreamy prose” or scintillating or anything much more than teen litt with vampires. And one of those wildly hyperbolic love stories.

That’s just it, right there.
Hyperbolic love.
Teenage love.
Where the other person is your EVERYTHING – best friend, lover, soulmate; where all you need to be around each other; where you can’t imagine anything without them and every second apart is terrible agony; where other people are annoying distractions; where the only possible timeline is “forever”.

It’s a kind of love I have never experienced.

Compare this to adult love, cynical love, with your defences always up somewhere; with a back-up plan, and “let’s see how it goes”; with not letting the other person know how much they mean to you so you can be left with a shred of self-respect and another of dignity should anything go wrong… it’s a long list. And it has its advantages, I’m not denying that. But maybe the reason I am drawn to this book like Bella is to Edward is because I’m living vicariously: I’ll never have a shot at feeling that first hand.