Ishmael — Daniel Quinn

The plot is simple: Teacher seeks man. Man finds teacher. Teacher turns out to be a century-old gorilla (Ishmael), who can not only talk, but has deep and powerful insight into Man's destruction of the world and how change is possible.

To pinpoint each aspect of this book that gave me chills or (as Oprah would say) made my brain go "Aha!" or made me cry or anything else that is usually tied to revelation would be impossible. Quinn tells this story in the simplest fashion: a conversation between the two parties. Yet not for a moment is it boring. On the contrary, not only is the dialogue stirring and, oftentimes, quite humorous, the ideas that are presented literally have the power to change the thought-process of the reader's mind.

Our unknown narrator (we'll call him Daniel, as I assume the author sees himself in the protagonist's role) is quite skeptical, yet eager to learn from Ishmael. Though I did not feel as cynical about what was being said by our Teacher, I was oftentimes just as confused. Ishmael is brilliant in that the questions he asks really get you thinking; you have no choice but to play along... and usually, Daniel's confusion helps make Ishmael all the more inciteful — all the more capable of laying out the History of Man in such a way that turns the tables on our own popular, mythological conception of our "place" on Earth.

The progression of knowledge is slow and steady. It builds, and it does so beautifully. Starting with the story of 'civilized' man (whom Ishmael calls "the Takers"), he leads Daniel through "Mother Culture's" teachings that have led man to believe he was meant to rule the Earth. He attempts to illustrate how things came to be this way. And, later, by incorporating the beliefs of "the Leavers" who have learned to live in unison with the world, all that we have been taught to believe is turned upside down.

It may sound overwhelming, and I won't lie: It is. But it is not hard to understand. The ideas presented will seem familiar. You might say to yourself, "I know this already!" (as Daniel often does), but Ishmael forces us to see these well-known assumptions through an entirely different lens; there is no denying that what he says has the power to change the world.

This is revolutionary writing, and nothing I can say here will make that any clearer. This is a story that EVERYONE should read. This is a book I want to send to Oprah and she should have on her Book Club. This is a book that, were the entire world to read it, you would see positive change overnight. This book is not about writing style, it is not about plot, and it isn't even about character. It is about ideas, and ideas that have resonating power behind them. Not everyone will agree with everything that Quinn asserts here. But it will open people's eyes to a World and system of living that — though foreign and difficult, perhaps — is not entirely out of reach.

****½/*****

Three Junes — Julia Glass

When a book comes highly recommended, I am not one to turn away from it. I know what it feels like to push a certain book with all my heart and soul, hoping people will believe me when I say "This book is simply sensational." This was just such a book, from Carlin, and we chose to do something a little different this month: I would read this, and she would read my recommendation to her, The Time Traveler's Wife. (How many reviews can I mention that book in?!)

I'll start off by saying that Three Junes is no easy read. The writing style is not complicated — it's actually rather simple. But like many books that cover numerous characters and span many, many years, it can seem a little too detailed, covering more than enough of the person's life, until you all of a sudden have to ask, "OK, so... what's the point of this? Where is this story going?"

The book tells three separate stories, centering around (can you guess?) three different Junes for three specific characters. The years covered, however, are numerous, with each story going back and forth through different periods of each character's life. The first subject is Paul McLeod, an older Scotsman who is vacationing in Greece following his wife's death. He tells us about about his life, his wife and her breeding collies, and their sons, along with his search for something on this tour of Greece. The second character (providing the meat of the book and the bulk of the story) is Fenno McLeod, Paul's oldest son. Paul recounts his life in New York City, gay life of the 80's, along with a trip to Scotland for his father's funeral. The final story is the only one told in the third person, centering on Fern — a girl who met Paul during his trip to Greece and who is visiting a friend, Tony, outside New York City.

Yes, it sounds complicated. No, it isn't as complicated to read as it is to describe.

The characters are all connected, their stories overlap, but that is merely a fact of the story, not any sort of plot point. Essentially, their connections make no major difference to their own tales. Fenno's story is the fullest, the most detailed, and covers the most events. It is difficult to figure out just why Glass decided it was necessary to have the two bookends. They were interesting, and I enjoyed them very much (particularly Fern's story, and her own relationships), but Fenno's story could very much have stood on its own.

Even though a lot happens in the book, it becomes clear (not soon enough) that it is about relationships and life decisions and family, more so than any particular events or catastrophes. The best thing about the book is the character development, the unique and beautifully detailed lives of each and every character (and there are many — not just our main three). Among these are Fenno's twin brothers, David and Dennis, who are as individual and interesting as could be for minor characters. (Dennis, without a doubt, was my very favorite.) Also, there is Mal — Fenno's close friend who is slowly dying of AIDS. One of the most interesting aspects of the book is the way their friendship never becomes romantic, and the bonds that can develop in a relationship that doesn't enter into the realm of sex.

I understand what Carlin loved about this book; I enjoyed the same aspects. But I can't say I would recommend it. It didn't capture me the way I felt it should, and there were far too many moments that seemed to repeat itself. Fenno's story (and only Fenno's story) would make a fantastic film, condensing all the many, many details into something a little more streamlined.

Not a total strikeout, but not quite a standout.

**½/*****

The Coma — Alex Garland

Every once in a while, you will be faced with a book that holds what should be a recipe for success: it's short, it's structured and presented in an easy-to-read fashion, it's intriguing, and there are even little pictures scattered about, here and there. Yet, despite all this, it will take you ages to get through because there is just no reason to pick the book back up again once you've decided to put it down. It's books like these that I find particularly difficult to comment on. However, I will try.

The Coma, written by Alex Garland (the 'mastermind' behind the novel The Beach, as well as the films 28 Days Later and Sunshine) presents a straightforward story: a man finds himself trapped in a dreamworld after being put in a coma, and struggles to regain his memory in order to wake up.

This "man," whose true identity even he is unsure about, is Carl. His experience begins as a series of scenes in which he seems to awake, all of a sudden someplace new. For the reader, it is no mystery that he is dreaming, though it takes him a bit longer to figure this out. At least, long enough for us to start thinking "Is his dream-state supposed to shock us, too?" Well, there isn't much shock at all. Anywhere.

He discovers his situation soon enough, often philosophizing on the nature of being awake and what it means to be dead — probably the most interesting aspect of the book. Carl maneuvers through his dreams easy enough once he gets the hang of it, meeting people he either remembers vividly from his life or that appear only as blurry images. The most significant of these people is Christine, a woman he (ergo: we) believe to be his secretary, and who in his dreams he is having a passionate affair with. It is with her he realizes what is happening, and she helps him in his mission to trigger a memory that might prompt him to wake up.

And that is it. Carl and Christine continue on a short, fragmented journey through disjointed memories and images that Carl is able to unearth from the depths of his waste-bin of a brain. Carl never describes himself, and even though he doesn't know much (pst! amnesia) we still never find out much about him. It is for this reason I found it difficult to care much about where the book was taking me.

Where Garland's storytelling lacks in character and plot points, it somewhat makes up for with its structure, illustrating a breathtaking ability to capture — as much as can be — a written example of what it truly feels like to dream. Things aren't always obvious, people aren't always clear, places come and go, and time works in inconceivable ways.

Events move quickly, and though it took me longer than I care to admit to read this book (lack of interest, as opposed to inability to read), it is probably the easiest of any book I've ever picked up (that wasn't for children). Though it didn't particularly grab my interest, I do not feel it was necessarily Garland's fault. I feel as though a novel may not have been the artistic medium for this story. The entire time I was reading it, I tried to picture it as a movie (which was remarkably easy to do) and I found it far more enjoyable.

The writing is decent, the ideas are interesting and imaginative, but the novella seems to be written more as a fictional musing on the nature of dreams than a serious attempt at storytelling. I would say this is the perfect airplane book — something that is simple and reads like a movie on paper. It won't change your life, it isn't even that great, but you could finish it — no problem — if you've got an hour and a half to kill on a plane ride.

**½/*****

The Almond — Nedjma

Sometimes you will be walking through a bookstore and a book will just catch your eye. No matter what you do, you can't avoid it, because it just has one of those covers. And if you're lucky, it will actually be a good book. The Almond was this book for me, and I won't deny that the subject matter drew me in even more than the cover: "The sexual awakening of a Muslim woman." My curiosity was peaked.

I am not one to go into a bookstore and pick out erotica. That's not to say I don't like reading about sex in books — on the contrary, it has been known to make me like books I otherwise wouldn't (Atonement, anyone?), and no one can deny that Sex Sells. But books about it tend to turn me off, simply because they look cheap, dirty, without a shred of taste. And while The Almond is certainly graphic and unapologetically erotic in both language and detail, it managed to avoid triteness and contrivances, exploring a real woman's discovery of sex.

"Nedjma" is a nom de plume, designed to protect the identity of the author. She tells her story centered on Badra, a woman from Imchouk forced at the age of 18 into a marriage with a much older man. Some three years later — her sexuality destroyed, her understanding of love non-existent — she escapes to Tangiers to live with her aunt. There, after a few years of hiding, she meets Driss, a wealthy doctor who over the course of ten years teaches her the glory of sex and the body.

The author tells Badra's story, going back and forth between the present and the past. In the past, she remembers a childhood wrought with sexual curiosity, innocent and powerful, and the events that led to later understandings about sex. As she describes her relationship with Driss, it is extremely graphic, but written with a poetic lens that fills the book with color and extravagance.

Her experiences are empowering, and not just sexually. In the 24 years following her escape from Imchouk, she discovers her own sexual powers in a world ruled by men and an Islamic world that is attempting to immerse itself in Western cultures and ideas. She describes her struggles with love, jealousy, abuse and, of course, the delectable nature of sex.

I really enjoyed reading this book, for it's a memoir that could very easily have gone in a different direction. The simple idea that it deals with a Muslim world, and a woman who (during her marriage) looks like the stereotype that the Western world has adopted of oppressed women, drew me in — she illustrated how sexuality is natural to everyone. You can either oppress it, as most in her world do, or learn to understand and enjoy it.

Again, it's graphic, and not necessarily happy and positive. But it's her story. And I admire her desire to share it. It's a good read, poetic and beautiful, but it can drag at times, as well as get a little repetitive in some parts and not descriptive enough in others. I would have liked to know more about her later life, though the point is mainly about what gets her there.

A good read, but far from perfect.

***/*****

No Country For Old Men — Cormac McCarthy

It's interesting when a piece of artwork comes along that really makes you examine and understand the vast difference between liking something and thinking something is great. No Country For Old Men is just such a work of art.

Cormac McCarthy is unlike any other writer I've read, simply because he doesn't follow any basic rules of literary writing: He doesn't use punctuation (only occassionally, and as far as I can tell, there is no particular rule about its use), he writes about events as though he were reporting them and he writes dialogue as if it were a play. All of these aspects made me LOVE his writing. Despite the unorthodoxy of it, it flowed brilliantly. The pacing was steady as well as jolting, and McCarthy's dialogue, strewn with subtle wit, is some of the best, most realistic I have ever read in my life.

The story centers on three very different men — Ed Tom Bell, Llewelyn Moss and Anton Chigurh — and the part they play in the aftermath of a drug deal gone terribly wrong. Moss takes off with over $2 million in cash after stumbling across this crime scene, leaving his wife, Carla Jean, behind. Bell is the sheriff of the county, hoping to solve the case, and track down an unknown 'serial killer' — Chigurh, the ruthless assassin hot on Moss' path.

Chigurh is the most fascinating character for me. He is like a robot, hard and the epitome of evil. But he has principles. He lives by a set of rules and — though wrong, in most respects — he never deviates from those rules. Moss, on the other hand, is the opposite: a good man who, mistake after mistake, proves to have no principles at all.

This is where my thoughts on the book get complicated. Reading No Country was quite an experience — one I enjoyed immensely. It's rare that a book can be captivating, and the author does nothing to elicit much suspense; the way McCarthy writes, what is just is. No gloss. No hoopla. No pizazz. Just facts about events — brutal, gory, frightening and unapologetic. Sentimentality does not come within one hundred miles of this story. If it can be argued to be anywhere, it is with the "What has this country become?"-romantic mentality of part-time narrator, Sheriff Bell. It is through him that some great thoughts arise.

No Country is a book, were I to teach an English or creative writing class, I would no doubt have in the curriculum. It approaches drama and story-telling a completely different way, and encompasses themes on morality and human psychology that a 10-page analysis paper could only begin to explore.

However, as far as my personal taste goes, I did not like this story (the book, I liked), for no other reason than that I didn't care much about the characters, nor was I given a chance to build up any hope for them. It was somewhat Brechtian, in that I felt detached from them, but was still interested in them. That, by no means, is a bad thing. I'm certain it was McCarthy's intention. Thinking about the book is interesting, simply because I will never deny how amazing it really is — unique and riveting.

TASTE will play a big part in how the book resonates. To some, it will be everything they look for in a book. To others, it will be nothing more than a book of good writing. I recommend everyone reads it and figures it out for themselves.

***½/*****

[side note: The Coen Brothers' adaptation of this book, which I saw yesterday, was exactly the book. If someone had somehow fed the book through a funnel that immediately transcribed it to screen, you would basically have gotten that movie. Is that bad? Not necessarily. To some, it is fantastic! To others, it points to a lack of creativity.

The film was not so much an adaptation of the book as it was a transcription of the book. Therefore, my thoughts about it are the same: perfectly done, but lacking in heart.

While I enjoyed watching the movie, I get offended for the Coens when people say it's their best work to date. Everything in the movie, save for some characterization choices (Chigurh) and such, was Cormac McCarthy's creation — particularly the dialogue, funny lines and all. There was very little "Coen-ness" about it.]

The Kite Runner — Khaled Hosseini

In an age when war is raging in the Middle East, and our concept of Afghanistan consists mainly of terrorism, oppressed women, religious radicals, and oh, did I mention terrorism??, I can't imagine anything this country needs more than a book that transports its readers to a world we have been forced to fear and gain an entirely new perspective.

The Kite Runner is that book — for more reasons than its unique story using Kabul as a backdrop. The struggles faced in this story of friendship, fatherhood, guilt and atonement are universal, in the extremist sense of the word, and the ability to relate to it is not at all hindered by its placement in a world most of us will never, luckily, have to live in.

Our narrator, like most great narrators in literature, is human — imperfect, troubled and, at times, detestable. Amir, who narrates as an older man, telling the story of his youth in Kabul with his father, Baba, his best friend/servant, Hassan, and Hassan's father, Ali. Amir is an average boy, desperate for his father's love, and jealous over Baba's distribution of love between he and Hassan.

Hassan, without a single shred of doubt in my body and soul, is the kindest, most loyal, honest and brave character I have ever read or could ever hope to read in my lifetime. Reading about his "unrequited loyalty" to Amir will bring tears to your eyes, and will not cease as you read how Amir takes advantage of his best friend's love.

The story deals, early on, with the boys' relationship that is strained by their different Muslim heritages: Amir is Pashtun; Hassan is Hazara. The culture does not consider them equals... and neither does Amir. As Kabul and Afghanistan crumbles around them, so does Amir's friendship with the ever-loyal Hassan, and after many heart-wrenching betrayals, the two are separated. Amir and his father retreat to Fremont, California as war rages for over twenty years in their homeland. It is not until just before the September 11th attacks that Amir is called back to Kabul for one final test of his courage, and one final chance to atone for his sins.

The story is extensive, and come a few events near the end, it can become a bit predictable and a little too convenient. But it works. As a dramatic story, having the loose ends tied up, everything works. A dreadfully sad, yet hopeful story, The Kite Runner is the perfect blend of brilliant writing and mainstream appeal.

Do not miss out on reading this novel. Read it before the film comes out. Because the film is going to be good. But nothing can touch the endearment of this book.

*****/*****

Into the Wild — Jon Krakauer

The interesting thing about reading a book in which you already (kind of) know how it ends (since it is an actual researched text on the life and death of a real person) is discovering how it can capture your interest and your heart as though it were a work of fiction. That is what happens with this book, and it's strange to think that it is almost nothing more than a collection of essays, interviews and reports.

Jon Krakauer delves into the world of Christopher Johnson McCandless, who after graduating from college embarked on a 2-year-long journey, alone, across the United States and met a terrible end after attempting to live in the Alaskan wilderness during the summer of 1993. Krakauer is meticulous in his research, drawing from interviews he's conducted with many of the people that McCandless (who took on the nom de plume "Alexander Supertramp") came in contact with, and whose lives he touched.

One of the main things that makes Chris' story so harrowing is that it is impossible to deny how smart, kind and giving he was. He understood the world he lived in. He understood his own life. He knew what he wanted and he wouldn't let anyone or anything stop him from getting it. He was a true traveler — someone who genuinely lived off the land and kept moving. Though stubborn, in many respects, he never refused an opportunity to work hard and learn from people. And people, as a result, learned from him.

Krakauer attempts to discover the reasons behind his decision to leave his family, all this money, his life behind him and, subsequently, never look back. He poignantly addresses the connection Chris had with nature, the love he had for literature, and the aspirations he held for making his way to Alaska. And with heartbreaking clarity, he gives details concerning Chris' less-than-perfect family life, as well as a detailed description of his death.

Reading Into the Wild was certainly a different experience than seeing the newly-released movie by Sean Penn. The film is a worthy, beautiful and precise adaptation, but with the book comes (aside from more details about Chris' journey), analysis of other people's journeys into the wilderness that shed light on what Chris might have intended in embarking on such a dangerous journey. Krakauer covers all of his bases, never stopping short of giving as much information as is possible for him to give, making the book a brilliantly conceived page-turner.

In the end, even though Chris' 'story' seems unfinished considering the type of person he was and could have become, there is a sense of completeness; the reader is left with a sense that he truly discovered something worthwhile. Something that really has the power to resonate. Something that he was able to leave behind.

****½/*****

Love in the Time of Cholera — Gabriel Garcia Marquez

Taking on what Oprah was proud to call "the greatest love story" after she announced it as her recent book club book wasn't a particularly harrowing prospect. With the movie coming out this fall, I felt it would be in my best interest to read the book before seeing the movie. Granted, I was skeptical. My appreciation for love stories is vast (and a little sick), so after reading classics like Pride & Prejudice and what I consider to be the greatest modern love story, The Time Traveler's Wife, I took on this book with a sense of, "Oh yeah? We'll see."

First off, reading Garcia Marquez's work is not an easy task. His attention to detail is staggering and, at times, unnecessary. The omniscient narration covers everything, from every physical and historical fact of each character — namely Florentino Ariza and Fermina Daza (the unrequited lovers), and Fermina's husband, Juvenal Urbino — to the history of every building, every town and every random ocean liner. Luckily, it flows well. After getting through the first 50 pages, it becomes less of a challenge. How this is so, I couldn't tell you; I would make it through 30 pages and wonder HOW I could have managed it without falling asleep. It's engaging, but given the expanse of information, it's not that engaging. I just couldn't tell you.

The love story is unlike any I've read, mainly because the characters struggle with their own humanity: Florentino is painfully romantic and obsessive, almost to the point of it being frightening. Fermina is selfish and stubborn, and she doesn't deserve Florentino's adoration. And like James Joyce's Ulysses, Marquez unabashedly includes descriptions of Florentino's bodily ailments, including his need for annual enemas, his loss of teeth and hair. The characters are real, and in no way romanticized. As the years pass (over 50 of them) and the character's experience their lives without each other, you realize that this book is not about their relationship at all. On the contrary, it is about how love can endure through many other loves, and can — even in old age, approaching death — be rediscovered. Life happens, and afterwards, love is still possible.

I can't say I agree with Oprah that Love in the Time of Cholera is the greatest love story, but I can see what she is saying. Like Wuthering Heights, this story is not romantic in the traditional sense. It goes against the grain, exploring love in a world that works against it, with people who are anything but perfect. The read is not easy, but if you are a fan of great writing and great literature, and stories that really do — literally — withstand the test of time, you cannot surpass this book.

****/*****

A Twilight Halloween

'Cause what could be cuter than this? 'Mutts' comic strip + Twilight series = Adorableness mixed with cute cute cute! This week's strips were all about my main couple.

Meet Bella and Edward: a bird who falls in love with a bat.

I know. I know.

The North Calls

I've been absent for a while. School still hasn't started, meaning I've been doing nothing but reading and (sometimes) watching movies. Haven't seen too many people, mostly just my family, and I apologize for being such a weird and non-committal friend. It's not 'cause I don't care.

My thoughts, lately, have been almost entirely focused on The Future. Decisions about money and jobs and location and everything that goes along with that. It's scary that as I'm nearing the end of college -- and my financial security -- I'm realizing exactly how much my major in Theatre isn't going to help me one bit. I'm not entirely sure that working in the theatre is right for me. Not that I'm giving up on it completely, but my heart just doesn't feel in it anymore.

More than anything, I've been thinking about moving. Specifically: where. I try and place myself in a possible atmosphere, knowing that if I can't get the perfect job, I might as well make myself as happy as possible in a place that I love and that I respond well (creatively) to.

Without a shred of doubt, that leads me to Seattle, Washington. For as long as I can remember, I've had a love for Washington and the rain and gray skies and green green green trees. Seattle is my favorite (mid-size) city that I've ever visited, and I've thought of moving there since I was 17. When I got in to University of Washington, it was hard for me to come to terms with not being able to afford going there, since it was my #1 choice. I've realized that no matter what I end up doing post-graduation, I'd be happy as long as I were residing in Seattle.

I can see myself living there forever. Isn't that the most important factor of any place you move?

I dunno what my plan is. I don't know how best to go about making this decision final. I'm scared that I'll be too scared to go through with it. But, as far as I can see, all arrows point North.

I want to write. I feel that I can write ANYTHING in Seattle. Plays, for a newspaper or magazine, stories, whatever. I can teach there. I can have fun and experience art and music and theatre and all the things I love there.

Plus, thinking about the natural landscape, the beauty of the nearby Olympic National Park, the exact type of visual peacefulness that I've always dreamed about... I need to be near that. I want to know it, intimately. I want to feel at home in a place like that.

Yes. I'm certain. That is what I'll be doing once I graduate.

Before then, I need to make some money. Stat.