Book 56: Sir Gawain and the Green Knight

Sir Gawain and the Green Knight
Translated by Neil D. Isaacs

At first I was berating myself for not finishing a book in so long, but considering that it was only a ten-day lapse, I don't think I did too badly after all. This book is really more of a novella, but books can come in all shapes and sizes and Sir Gawain is particularly valuable to us as a relic of the Middle English period and an important marker of the cultural context of that time. What is perhaps most valuable and surprising about this book is its deviance from modern traditional visions of the Arthurian legend. Most everyone will know the legend behind this story, but in the modern era we tend to include the Round Table, that great marker of equality. The Middle English version is likely much closer to the actual events as it depicts a fairly typical high table and even a strict heirarchy within that table. This is especially valuable because it allows us to consider why we have retroactively introduced the Round Table. Little discrepencies such as this make me want to dig up some literature about the development of the Arthur legends, so stay tuned for that.

But back to Gawain. The book itself isn't too heavy on action per se, consciously leaving out a lot of dragon fighting and (presumably) maiden rescuing in lieu of long descriptions of Gawain's shield and its pentangle. Even here, however, we have an interesting lens through which to view medieval religion and notions of chivalry; the long descriptions do not hinder the reading of the text but instead enrich its historical perspective. The plot itself is sufficiently entertaining, if not groundbreaking, and contains a nice twist at the end which would be surprising if the story were not so grounded in the canon of English language folk literature. Some of the poetry of the original Middle English (which was presented side-by-side with this particular translation) is naturally lost, but some of its basic tendencies remain, the most prominent of which is the interaction between the last four lines of each stanza and the lines that precede them.

Overall, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight is quite an entertaining and quick read, particularly for those interested in its historical context or the broader developments of Arthurian literature in English. Its plot developments happen often enough to engage the modern reader and the moral quandaries it poses regarding hospitality, courtesy, and honor still resonate somewhat today, though in ways the author couldn't have imagined. The story itself is strong enough to hold up over time and takes on new meaning because of its setting, only strengthening its claims to respectability. This classic tale of one of Arthur's most beloved knights is well worth the time.

Grade: A

Book 55: The Island of Dr. Moreau

The Island of Dr. Moreau
H.G. Wells

Written in a time before DNA and genetic engineering were the least bit fathomable, Wells definitely hit the spot regarding the next big ethical dilemma facing scientists in the wake of evolution. Where could the human race go next, and how exactly did humans emerge from animals in the first place? Wells indirectly tackles these issues and more basic scientific ethical questions with gusto, presenting the unrepetant mad scientist and the not-so-innocent outside observer with narrative flair that adds significant characterization but retains enough stock qualities to make metaphorical sense.

Wells juxtaposes the increasing humanity of Moreau's creations and the decreasing humanity of the scientist and Prendick, the accidental narrator, to create an interesting montage of the book's central dilemma and the question of humanity. Dr. Moreau's lack of mercy is paralleled by the monsters he creates, but only as they descend back into their primal selves, mostly after his disappearance. Wells seems to suggest that humans are just as capable of violent and selfish qualities as the animals we typically associate them with, but does so in an underhanded manner that requires thought and rumination on behalf of the reader, who is also forced to question those forms of being that may exist above humanity. The book is certainly not without its criticisms of and comparisons with God, which are extra potent given the plot's relationship to colonialism and its attendant idea of the heirarchy of the great chain of being.

Wells moves his prose along well, occasionally drifting into lulls and bits of unnecessary inaction, but the book reads quickly and has a certain depth surprising for a novel so short. The novel not only translates well in its own context of the expanding English colonial empire and the ramifications of evolutionary theory and the rise of science, but its warnings resonate with modern audiences facing a fair less painful method of creating animal crossbreeds. This book is intended to provoke discussion as much as it is a simple narrative, and though the narrative has its own strengths and weaknesses, the problems it presents are relevant and deserve fictional and intellectual treatment. Wells has laid the groundwork for a great conversation on the ethics of science.

Grade: A-

Book 54: Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking-Glass

Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There
Lewis Carroll

There is a reason that this book has become revered in the canon of classic children's literature, and as one might expect this has a lot to do with Alice's timeless appeal to adults. Carroll is an absolute master of English and though the books lack a coherent plot, the thematic rules of Wonderland create a powerful commentary on the importance of proper language and the sheer fun that can come from manipulating English. On a most basic level, Wonderland is a world where things make much more sense than in our own, where the denizens assume that one says what one means, exactly, and that words should mean what they say. It is no wonder that the (ironically) unimaginative Alice cannot function in this world, and that she learns her lessons far too late.

Alice is ever pretentious and all-knowing, which strangely doesn't fly in her fantasy world. Instead of being in charge, she is thrust into a world whose oddly logical wackiness cannot be reconciled with her prim and proper manners and desire to become an adult. In trying to make sense of the world, she is losing the rich fantasy she is imagining. Of course, by the time Alice has matured enough to appreciate the fleeting fancies of her youth, she makes a fool out of herself. The narrator makes no bones about this, and his slight contempt for Alice makes for hilarity that transcends condescension.

Lest his book be all fancy, Carroll is not to be outdone in his critiques of children's literature, the school system, and the judiciary. Alice's constant necessity to recite poetry, which always comes out hilariously incorrect, is a commentary on the usefulness (or uselessness) of rote memorization in education, a practice common in Carroll's time. The Duchess's constant moralizing asks a very valid question, pondering whether or not literature can exist for its own sake, simply to enchant and simply to entertain. The ridiculous trials in Wonderland make an excellent case for Bill of Rights protections (both English and American) and even resonate into our own time, when far too many are presumed guilty rather than innocent.

Carroll's talent may lie mainly in wordplay and the joys of language, which are both more than amply supplied in the Alice books, but much of the wisdom of the books lies in their more adult themes, which are hidden in plain sight and which may not pass sharp young readers completely by. It would be truly fabulous to read this book with those in the younger set, as their views on Wonderland would be refreshing and would lend a new view to the books. Here, then, is the true power of Alice and her magical world: Wonderland can enchant readers of all ages with its underlying humor and its continuous hints of deeper meaning hidden amongst deft strokes of the pen. Those who complain about the lack of coherent plot (ahem, present company included) are simply missing the point and the joy of a world where anything can happen so long as it is the truth.

Grade: A

Book 53: Tales of E.T.A. Hoffmann

Tales of E.T.A. Hoffmann
E.T.A. Hoffmann

Wow. If you think Edgar Allen Poe is weird, you should check out the works of Hoffmann, one of Poe's inspirations and a clear contender for strangest Romantic writer of them all. Despite their obvious age and setting in Hoffmann's Germany circa 1810, the stories are realistic and the settings vibrant enough to enchant the modern reader. It certainly doesn't hurt that the settings themselves are muddled and prone to rapid, disorienting changes. Amazingly enough, the dizziness that we feel alongside Hoffmann's vivid characters is not overwhelming but rather helps to build suspense and prod the reader on. It is hard to put down this book in the middle of one of these twisted tales, and while they can tend towards predictability, there are plenty of surprises to even the most cynical seasoned reader.

Hoffmann approaches the world with a certain enchanting level of unfamiliarity, using familiar faces and places but twisting them ever so slightly to create wholly unfamiliar worlds. The twists and turns of reality are shocking and unsettling, yet they retain a certain enchanting ability. Hoffmann's characters absolutely leap off of the page, and though we may never be sure which ones actually exist or who may be sane or schizophrenic, we are drawn to them as they possess a certain magnetic hold over us. Hoffmann takes his readers on a journey into insanity which may not be so crazy after all. The continually disorienting roller coasters of plots are intriguing rather than frustrating and have a certain fresh feeling even in this era of overwhelming postmodernism.

In this collection, Hoffmann tackles love, music, and mistaken identities with gusto and in brilliantly unique ways. His unique blend of fantasy and reality challenges the reader to follow along and provides many equally appealing interpretations at the end, inviting intellectual discussion but not frustrating the reader. The tales are at once wrapped up nicely and frayed with loose ends, and they are surprisingly all the better for it. Hoffmann's few flaws are relatively minor and exist in the basic writing of the stories rather than being thematic. Hoffmann has a tendency to interrupt a perfectly gripping narrative with a condescending address to the "gentle reader," which is annoying and comes off as overly smug pride. This, however, may be attributed to conventions of his era; being no expert I can only speak regarding my personal experience with the work. Hoffmann also suffers from surprising predictability: though his plots are tangled and twisted, his mysteries are fairly predictable and nearly always end up just as happily as one would wish. The means of getting to the end are unique and compelling, but the endings can seem contrived. This, however, is only a problem in a couple of stories and does not diminish the power of the collection as a whole.

Upon hearing my description of "The Golden Pot," a dear friend asked me if Hoffmann had invented LSD. Some of his stories suggest a certain pharmaceutical habit atypical of his era and highlight his peculiar talent and foresight. Hoffmann's work with illusion and outright hallucination recalls the postmodern as often as it evokes its (then-) contemporary setting, enchanting the modern reader and coming off with amazing success. But for a few basic literary flaws, Hoffmann's work shines among the most imaginative and well-crafted short fiction. His ability to create distinct worlds and characters within the span of fifty pages or less is nearly unparalleled, and his prose is clear where the plot is not, allowing confusion and assurance to intersect in interesting and utterly unique ways. For those interested in a truly different vision of the fantastic and the realm of imagination, Hoffmann's short fiction is an absolute must.

Grade: A-

Book 52: Beowulf

Beowulf
Translated by Michael Ash

Okay, so this is supposed to be a book a week, not one every two weeks. I'll get on that, I promise, but what with school starting and everything it's hard to get some good reading in. Beowulf isn't necessarily good reading per se, but it is reading nonetheless and it is worth looking into once or twice. I get the feeling that the epic poem has a lot more than meets the eye, but I can't help but get distracted while reading it. The plot unfolds in little spurts interrupted by generally unnecessary backstory that unfortunately confuses the modern reader, who lacks sufficient context for many of its diversions. It is hard to piece together the actual plot until after the events unfold and there is a party and recollections afterward. That said, the recollections themselves only re-hash the slight bits of action and are themselves tedious after a while.

Taken as indicative of its own context, Beowulf can tell the modern reader a lot about the people who composed and retold it, considering it important enough to commit to parchment. The epic adventures of the great warrior, when they can be found in the overlong text, are simplistic but sufficiently gripping to rouse a hearty campfire-side cheer for mighty Beowulf. The epic is a breezy read good for those who either would like a side order of easy-to-digest culture or those who wish to probe its seams endlessly for clues to a past world. Most readers in the middle, however, will enjoy the exploits but come away frustrated with the lack of drive and relevance. Beowulf is a solidly middle-of-the-line text in terms of pure pleasure reading.

Grade: B

Book 51: The Virgin Suicides

The Virgin Suicides
Jeffrey Eugenides

I'm quite liking these books that get better and better as you let them simmer for a while in your mind acquiring new meanings and gaining significance. They often have abrupt or otherwise shocking endings that draw you in as you are slowly escaping from the narrative world. The ending of The Virgin Suicides is far from shocking; you know from the title, let alone the first page, exactly what the book is about, but the book itself still manages to surprise and enchant. That a book whose plot is clearly exposed from the outset can enchant so deeply is a testament to Eugenides's great talents as a writer. The book is a meditation on memory rather than the exposition of its events. Narrated spectacularly from the first-person plural, no small feat considering that this strange narrative voice is consistent and only tired in a few long stretches, The Virgin Suicides is the story of the collective memory that creates a society, that knits people together and keeps them connected through time. The book's final allusions to Detroit's spectacular decline are an obvious echo of the suicides that link together the neighborhood boys who are painfully forced to take part in them from afar.

The reader has to be careful to enter this book with few expectations. I, for one, expected a gripping play-by-play account of each girl's turn towards suicide, which is definitely not what the book is about. The plot moves at a lolling pace, somewhat out of time and always with an eye towards the results, which endure to the present day. This was initially disappointing but becomes increasingly relevant the more one thinks about the book's construction and themes. The little details that create the suburban neighborhood and that flesh out members of the collective narration are subtle pieces of childhood that invoke a certain nostalgia particular to Christmas and Halloween movies. Amongst the neighborhood boys we have the jock, the brain, the rich kid, and all of the normal boys who admire them; unlike most modern coming-of-age fare, they all must band together to form a collective subconscious and try to piece together the full meaning of the tragedies of their childhood.

It goes without saying that the sentimental overtones of The Virgin Suicides only heighten the power of the novel. If Eugenides waxes poetic now and then, or becomes overly nostalgic, it is only in the guise of modern-day adults who create the cliches in the first place. Eugenides isn't repeating the cliches but subtly pointing to the reasons they exist and their power despite their popularity. The slice of life shades of suburbia combine with the torture of eternal guilt and the sad necessity of watching someone slowly waste away. The collective attitude of the men seems realistic and appropriate despite the fact that they so blatantly contradict the general trend of society to make its men strong and burly. These men have been tormented since early high school with a special knowledge and an intimate connection to a type of tragedy particular to their supposedly sheltered surroundings. The normal blends with the completely alien and forms a fully believable picture. Even the eccentricities that help create the suicides can seem like reasonable, if not rational, reactions to straining events.

The book, simply put, flows. It feels as though we are in the room with these men, as though being their wives, brothers, or other confidants we are hearing their story directly. Far from being contrived, the narrative voice is fresh and makes the story resonate in a way that first person narration couldn't. Eugenides probes suburban tragedy and the greater decline of America with a deft pen and graceful, moving flourishes. The book is a tragedy but is still compelling and still calls to be re-read for full appreciation of its literary riches. Elegiac and poignant, The Virgin Suicides is quite the antidote to the feel-good coming-of-age story, a slice of harsh sunlight in our own shaded suburban sub-reality.

Grade: A

Book 50: Why Buddhism? Westerners in Search of Wisdom

Why Buddhism? Westerners in Search of Wisdom
Vicki Mackenzie

I'm not sure what the exact format of this book is. It seems like it should be a book of essays by various Westerners on what they find in Buddhism, but it's also a collection of interviews. The segments read like essays until held up to intense scrutiny, which reveals sudden changes of subject that still weave into the central narrative quite easily. No matter; Mackenzie has put together an interesting compilation that illustrates the particular appeal of Buddhism to certain particular individuals who, taken together, help explain why Buddhism is such an appealing choice for life philosophy in the West these days.

Because each person's story is unique, one would expect the book to hang loosely together and feel disjointed. This is not at all the case. I think that the central Buddhist principles of clear mindedness, kindness, and meditation create a flow of energy that passes through one story to the next. Though the basic story is quite similar throughout the individual stories, the message is consistent and clear: Buddhism offers peace and a chance to interact happily with one's surroundings. There were only a few times when an annoying bias and pushiness could be detected, and these were in a couple of Mackenzie's own introductions, which hit rather heavily on her belief that reincarnation is fundamental to Buddhism (one interviewee claims that it isn't necessary for a Buddhist outlook). The force behind her immature defense is startling, but thankfully it passes quickly and the reader can get on with the stories themselves.

Like other collections I've read, the real meat is in the stories themselves, not the fluffy commentaries that add cheap aesthetics to the stories where they themselves extol the virtue of simplicity. The book, however, mostly accomplishes its purpose. The stories do answer the question "Why Buddhism?", but often in a roundabout way that shifts focus from "why" to "how". Often, the explanation is merely, "It felt right," which is charming but which doesn't really satisfy the inquiring mind. Also slightly distressing is the focus on extraordinary people who have done great things with Buddhism, often becoming monks or nuns and running Buddhist centers. There isn't much about the lay practicioner in this book, which would perhaps be more helpful to Mackenzie's target audience. The book is, however, a good read for beginners in Buddhism who want a taste of what a Buddhist life in the West can be like, but I would hesitate to hold it up as an end-all, be-all description of why Buddhism is appealing. The real allure of this text is its commentary on Buddhism and Buddhist practice as they are and how they work, not why they are here. And that in itself gets to the heart of Buddhism.

Grade: A-

Book 49: The Foundations of Buddhism

The Foundations of Buddhism
Rupert Gethin

I was looking for a book to give me a general outline of Buddhism and its many forms, and this was the most promising prospect I could find. Overall, it disappointed me a bit, but I think that it is a valuable resource for the beginner nonetheless. Gethin sets out to provide a fairly comprehensive view of those things that unite the disparate forms of Buddhism throughout the world. He gets to the heart of the religion by retracing the story of Siddhartha Gautama and the works of his followers, both ancient and recent. At times, Gethin strays into academic parlance and goes name-dropping despite the book's focus on being readable to the casual reader, but this is only distracting and doesn't affect the rest of the text too horribly in and of itself.

This name-dropping is, however, a symptom of Gethin's underlying self-awareness as an academic. Gethin seems to forget that his target audience is entirely new to Buddhism and is probably Western anyway. The text is riddled, understandably, with very foreign terms that are poorly explained and keep showing up. Gethin doesn't do a good job of defining the difficult concepts in the first place, and when they keep showing up it is easy for the reader to get completely lost. It seemed to me that Gethin added a lot of terms and texts that were unnecessary to his purpose in explaining the general basis of Buddhism. My confusion about necessity only highlights Gethin's lack of focus; if these are the foundations of Buddhism, shouldn't Gethin's interest be in explaining them as clearly as possible?

Some sections make a lot of sense and are extremely helpful. The parts of the book dealing with basic Buddhist philosophy are readable and make sense. Gethin does a good job here of explaining the logic behind the beliefs, the chain of reasoning that leads to suffering as the ultimate cause of rebirth and desire as the ultimate cause of suffering. The tables Gethin provides in these sections actually help the reader see the categorizations of Buddism, and the reader leaves with a good idea of the fundamental ideas of the religion. Less instructive, however, are Gethin's sections on Buddhist cosmology and the types of Buddhism. Gethin devotes an entire chapter to the Mahayana without fully explaining what it is and how it differs from Theravada Buddhism (if it even does).

This book's chapters on the life of the Buddha and the general philosophies of Buddhism are excellent and are good for those seeking a general explanation of Buddhism. The other chapters of this book are sadly muddled and don't appear to do much good to the casual reader unfamiliar with Buddhism and curious about the different branches of it. Gethin occasionally strays into territory a bit too advanced for his puported introductory purposes and doesn't clear up the differences between types of Buddhism. This book is incredibly hit and miss and is useful but not indispensable for those looking for a quick introduction to Buddhism.

Grade: B

Book 48: Middlesex

Middlesex
Jeffrey Eugenides

This review is a little late because I finished the book while I was away in Wisconsin, but the book definitely lingers in my memory and I am extremely glad that I read it. At first, I was a little worried that the shifting focus between Cal's present life and the history of his grandparents (and, later, parents) would blur the story and make it seem irrelevant. This is before I realized that the family history is the point of the story- Cal is tracing his own history as we see it outlined before us. Cal's story is one of discovery, and the discovery of his history is just as important as his discovery of himself. More importantly, the immigrant-success story of his family shows the perfect American Dream...with one minor problem.

Cal is intersex or, rather, a hermaphrodite. Raised as a girl, Cal is now living as a man and is one of the most interesting and unique narrators I have come across. Cal rarely feels sorry for himself and doesn't tell his story with any motive to blame his family for passing along the recessive gene that creates him. Often, we get so wrapped up in the general history of the Stephanides family that we forget for a moment where it is inevitably leading, though Cal quickly inserts himself often enough to keep the story on track. The story is compelling even though its secrets are spilled incredibly early, and there is always enough momentum propelling the story forward. With the reader knowing the result, Eugenides provides the backstory, the creation myth of Cal in an interesting, genealogical fashion.

The writing in Middlesex does more than enough to amplify the story and the power of the book. Eugenides is incredibly talented and has a power with words that is seldom matched. Though it occasionally seems that Cal is trying too hard, the artsy twists and turns of the prose still work to delight and surprise. The description of birth that Cal gives is not only hilarious, but brilliantly articulated and revealing. The artistic tendencies of the prose accomplish the main work of the novel, to allow the reader to experience life in a completely new and foreign way. For those of us who can never experience life as both a genetic male and genetic female, Cal's description of life is enlightening without being condescending, interesting without being implausible.

This book is simply phenomenal, and I cannot recommend it highly enough. Eugenides combines a compelling story with the Great American Myth and still provides enough twists to keep the reader hooked. The prose is beautiful and moving, well-suited to the epic nature of the book. I will be utterly shocked if Middlesex isn't handed down as a classic work of our generation. Middlesex is a superb retelling of the American experience and speaks volumes about gender issues and the way that we see ourselves without being condescending or preachy at all. It requires enough work on behalf of the reader to be enjoyable but never allows itself to stray into artful prose for its own sake. This book is the complete package and should not be overlooked by any discerning reader of modern literature.

Grade: A

Book 47: The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time

The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time
Mark Haddon

And now for something completely different. This novel is quite interesting and is incredibly original. First of all, from the blurb on the back I was expecting a sympathetic third-person narrative about a poor autistic man who gets caught up in something way beyond his grasp. This is an entirely false description of the book and does a terrible disservice to Haddon and to his many talents as a writer. Christopher's story is told in spot-on first person narration that does as much to characterize him as any airy, lengthy passage of prose. The book is straightforward, but it is also immensely complex. The whole work does as much in static characterization as it does in moving the plot forward, but far from being a detraction, this fact is what makes this book so special.

Haddon takes on an immense challenge in trying to represent the viewpoint of an autistic teenager, but succeeds in spades. The voice of Christopher feels honest and is never condescending. He is undaunted by the comments of people around him, by the sarcasm he cannot penetrate, but in Christopher's confusion Haddon shows us our own bouts of silliness. Yes, idioms give our language a richness and bouyant air of lightness that I (for one) would not want to do without, but they are inherently rather odd when you think about them. Plenty of non-autistic people have enough trouble understanding sarcasm, too. What is most remarkable about Christopher, then, is that he is completely and totally normal. He does not think of himself as handicapped (or even as "special needs"), but actually sees his way of doing things as superior to others' methods. His supreme love of the logical makes the world make sense not only to him, but to us as well. Christopher is able to see through the tangled webs we weave and get at fundamental truths that teach us more about ourselves at times than about him.

Haddon does not condescend to his readers for one second as he deftly pulls them into Christopher's mind. His portrayal of autism is not only sympathetic but is quite easily related to. The reader never knows more than Christopher and can follow his train of thought through numerous digressions back to the main plot. Here is one book, then, where the digressions of the author absolutely enhance the text. That they are mostly unrelated to the plot, and that the plot moves alternately like molasses and a rocket, only makes the book much more interesting and real than it would be otherwise. The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time is as much about its protagonist as it is about its plot, and that is absolutely okay. This is not to say that the plot is contrived or boring; it has some of the classic characteristics of a mystery novel, including ambiguous clues and a story far beyond the crime at hand, and surprises the reader as much as the narrator.

This story transcends its plot and becomes a novel of triumph rather than a simple murder mystery. Remarkably, it achieves this without resorting to high pretenses or lecturing its readers. Haddon guides his readers carefully through uncharted territory and reveals a mind not so different from that which we consider "normal". Indeed, by the end of the book it is hard to consider ourselves normal, as what Christopher takes for granted has become the new metric of normalcy. Everyone should read this book, if only to become a little bit more open-minded about the world around us and the people we see fit to exclude. I learned as much about myself from this novel as I did about autism, and I like it. The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time is a wonderful way to temporarily try on another's shoes.

Grade: A