Monday, May 09, 2005
On Reading & "Reading Up"
I've spent a little time considering what "reading up" means to me, as EC had encouraged in a blog entry way back in December 2004. The concept isn't exactly new; after all, my lifelong career as a reader has had both amateur, or hobbyist, and professional sides to it, and the examination of theories of reading was part of my training as a professional reader, aka grad student in comparative literature.
My reading life has almost always had this schism, a rift separating reading material that is "good for you" from reading material that is "not as good for you." The genre fiction I enjoy has typically fallen into the latter category, with notable exceptions as certain authors have managed to cross over into the canon of what is traditionally labeled acceptable, high-quality literature, at least by academics. Orwell and Le Guin come to mind, for instance.
That said, having reached the decision that I will not be writing the dissertation, over the last several months I have found myself balking at the idea of reading anything that might attempt to fit into that "good for you" category. This reticence, combined with the suspicion that any book that makes a bestseller list or a tv show's book club has got to questionable in quality simply because of its popularity, has meant that I've stubbornly persisted in reading cheap paperback after cheap paperback. (At $7 and $8 a pop, can they really be called "cheap" paperbacks anymore?) Until I finally started to crave something a little -- well, deeper, more meaningful, more aesthetically interesting, more challenging to read.
So I went on a shopping spree, bearing in mind EC's advice about "reading up" and my own inclination to find something a little more intense to read than what I've been pulling off the bookshelf recently. And I have to say that I have really enjoyed the books I picked up, as well as some others that had been loaned to me.
My reading life has almost always had this schism, a rift separating reading material that is "good for you" from reading material that is "not as good for you." The genre fiction I enjoy has typically fallen into the latter category, with notable exceptions as certain authors have managed to cross over into the canon of what is traditionally labeled acceptable, high-quality literature, at least by academics. Orwell and Le Guin come to mind, for instance.
That said, having reached the decision that I will not be writing the dissertation, over the last several months I have found myself balking at the idea of reading anything that might attempt to fit into that "good for you" category. This reticence, combined with the suspicion that any book that makes a bestseller list or a tv show's book club has got to questionable in quality simply because of its popularity, has meant that I've stubbornly persisted in reading cheap paperback after cheap paperback. (At $7 and $8 a pop, can they really be called "cheap" paperbacks anymore?) Until I finally started to crave something a little -- well, deeper, more meaningful, more aesthetically interesting, more challenging to read.
So I went on a shopping spree, bearing in mind EC's advice about "reading up" and my own inclination to find something a little more intense to read than what I've been pulling off the bookshelf recently. And I have to say that I have really enjoyed the books I picked up, as well as some others that had been loaned to me.
- The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger: I fully intended to have the book handy as I composed this blog entry so that I could pull out of it some of the bits that I found stunning, but since I don't have it handy, I guess you'll have to read the book yourself and look for what impresses you. This is a genre-bending story, bringing together sci-fi, romance, mystery, and a kind of realism. And then in addition to that astonishing blend of generic tropes and tendencies, the prose is beautiful, even lyric in places. For those of us writing, I think we can learn a few things about writing as a craft from Audrey Niffenegger.
- The Winter Queen and Murder on the Leviathan by Boris Akunin: Akunin is the pen name of Grigory Chkhartishvili, one of those brilliant Russian writers who is also renowned for his other work. In this case, Chkhartishvili is a philologist, critic, essayist, and translator of Japanese. I'm betting he's also an Agatha Christie fan. Akunin's protagonist is Erast Fandorin, who has keen powers of observation that would put Sherlock Holmes to shame. Fandorin sort of stumbles his way up the Russian bureaucracy, becoming a diplomat-cum-detective as much by chance as by talent. According to what I've read, there are nine Fandorin volumes, three of which have been translated into English so far (although apparently the second and third volumes in English are actually the third and second volumes in the original Russian). I really enjoyed the first book, largely because the narrative style seems as if 19-century Russian literature and Agatha Christie mystery novels have come together to produce The White Queen. I found myself chuckling at the familiar tropes that were being used so uniquely. It was a fun read, and I couldn't wait to get my hands on Leviathan. The narrative structure in this novel is quite different from that of The White Queen - and I understand that the author has worked with different narrative strategies in each of the nine books in the series - in that each chapter is presented by a revolving cast of main characters, each of whom is a suspect in a grisly series of murders. It's like you're invited to participate in sleuthing with Fandorin, as reading the novel and deciphering the points of view puts you in the detective's shoes. Again, it was a really fun reading experience. When I can find the opportunity, I'd like to pick up the originals in Russian to see for myself how they read, but I am certain that translator Andrew Bromfield has done excellent work, or else the novels wouldn't be half as engaging. Again, I think there's something in these books that those of us who are writing can learn about; probably the best lessons would be about sophistication in the narrative structure and in the art of literary allusion.
- His Dark Materials Trilogy by Philip Pullman: I had to make several long road trips between Indiana and Virginia last summer, so I went through a few books on tape. One was an abridged version of the first volume of this trilogy, The Golden Compass. I absolutely hated it. But when with earnest recommendations someone offered me his copies of the trilogy to read, I decided to give it another try - surely the experience would be better actually reading the book in its unabridged print form. Well, yeah...! Pullman just tells the story, and as the reader you either go along with his narrative, or you set it aside because you can't follow the rules of this world. It's a little challenging that way, I think; I certainly couldn't give over to it as an abridged audiobook, for instance. I distinctly remember thinking it was oh-so-much nonsense. And, indeed, it is something that's highly imaginative to the point of being fantastical (which I think is something more than fantasy because, as a genre, fantasy sometimes lacks the fantastical - hmm... perhaps because so much has become cliche?) and at the same time it is philosophical. Something to read that encourages you to imagine and to think... Gee, what will they think of next? And that's what I think we who are writing have to learn from Philip Pullman: challenge yourself and your readers to imagine and to think. Surely, you'll be well on your way to producing some of your best writing.
- The Wild Swans by Peg Kerr: Two different plots evolve in this novel, one involving a young woman living in Puritan New England and the other about a young gay man in our contemporary society. I really liked this book and found the author's style to be another example of delightfully lyrical prose. I have long been a fan of this kind of fantasy wherein a fairy tale -- in this case, the one referred to by the title -- is presented in a new way; in fact, I'm working on a re-telling of one of my favorite fairy tales, and I may even produce a nonfiction article that incorporates some of my research for this story. Kerr's re-telling takes place in both plots, but the more successful of the two is the one which is so much more closely identified with the original tale. Still, I think this is a book worth investing some time in reading, and for those of us who write the best lessons from Peg Kerr are about weaving something new from something old and crafting lyrical prose.
