think this blog is retired/dead for now !

The Melancholy of Resistance by László Krasznahorkai

TITLE: The Melancholy of Resistance
AUTHOR: László Krasznahorkai
READ: January - February
THOUGHTS: I don't even know where to start with this book. This is the third time I've tried to sit down and write something about it but have felt totally incapable. It took me a month to read its 314 pages. This is one of the heaviest, most unremittingly bleak and powerful books I have ever read. I remember watching The Werckmeister Harmonies when I was 17 or 18 and feeling like it was probably one of my favorite movies. I feel similarly to this book. The writing itself is very intense, very beautiful (in a very devastating-not-pretty way), and is seemingly spiritually traversing both the refuse that litters the earth and the possibility of reaching into some sort of black hole that is both very far away and surprisingly/not-surprisingly very near. Talking about this book makes me very hyperbolic. The first time I tried to write about it I used four separate ocean-related metaphors unconsciously -- which makes me think that this books creates the need to use a specific form of language to even begin to access a way to speak about it. The Sebald blurb on the book sez (and it couldn't be said better): "This is a book about a world into which the Leviathan has returned. The universality of its vision rivals that of Gogol's Dead Souls and far surpasses all the lesser concerns of contemporary writing." This book deserves much more than this silly little write up, but at the moment I still feel like I can't say anything. Reading this book (and alternately writing about it) feels like standing very close to an insurmountable brick wall, slowly crumbling, large pieces of cement threatening to leave a large gash or crater on your skull. I will ruin the book's last sentence, which is preceded by the (very precise/exacting) description of the decomposition of a body: "It ground the empire into carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen and sulphur, it took its delicate fibers and unstitched them till they dispersed and had ceased to exist, because they had been consumed by the force of some incomprehensible distant edict, which must also consume this book, here, now, at the full stop, after the last word."

Things by Georges Perec

TITLE: Things: A story of the sixties
AUTHOR: Georges Perec
READ: January
THOUGHTS: My first Perec, which I was very excited for, but I did not like this book, or at least, I did not enjoy reading it. I guess I shouldn't say I didn't like it. Perec is obviously a very gifted writer and the approach here is novel enough and thematically coherent. In the stead of interiority there is only focus on the material/ephemeral details of young-people-life -- seems like an extension of the kind of stuff Robbe-Grillet and that ilk were doing, except that surface level detail is extended over larger periods of time and with a decidedly more sociological focus. Which brings me to my second point: this novel seems very much of its time -- '68 era Paris (though I think the novel takes place a few years before) and appears as a sort of 'critique' (is it even?) of the material and advertising culture of the period. I guess that was probably exciting when it was published but not exciting to me now since I dun read Baudrillard lolol (sorry). I don't know. The conceit of the novel became uninteresting to me about 30% through and I had to slog through the rest. Still planning on reading more Perec this year, and since this was his first novel I'm not really holding it against him!

The Private Lives of Trees by Alejandro Zambra

TITLE: The Private Lives of Trees
AUTHOR: Alejandro Zambra
READ: January
THOUGHTS: Kinda been slacking a bit with this blog, finished this book a while ago. Really enjoyed it! At first thought it was going to be relatively 'light' but the last 20-30 pages or so really got to me. Who says "meta-fiction" (ugh) can't be emotionally affecting! Want to read the other Zambra that's translated. I probably should have written about this book when I finished it because I can't really think of anything to say about this now. This guy has a real nice touch and I like the things he does. There.

Thomas the Impostor by Jean Cocteau

TITLE: Thomas the Impostor
AUTHOR: Jean Cocteau
READ: January
THOUGHTS: Saw a copy of this for like five dollars at the Strand and bought it on a whim since I've never read any Cocteau and it looked short. I enjoyed it. I like Cocteau's writing. It has some of the stylistic elements that I think were probably popular in the early 20th century which lends a certain sense of confusion on the narrative level at times, though there are chunks of prose that are just wonderful. Like these:

"He was believed. He did not have to take precautions nor count the cost. A star of falsehood led him straight to his goal. And so he never had the preoccupied, hunted look of the trickster. Without knowing how to swim or how to skate he could say 'I skate and I swim.' Everyone had seen him on the ice and in the water." (pg. 50)

"On Sundays, with the machine-guns overhead shouting out the monotonous laughter of grinning skulls, and the engines whose droning would suddenly deepen from pale blue to black velvet, the officers of the Royal Navy played tennis." (pg. 77)

"He did not want to know if his love was reciprocated. He could say with Goethe: -- I love you; what is that to you?" (pg. 87)

"Yet deaths were of no consequence in the sector. Although a civilian death is the common lot, it keeps its prestige. Death can even award a certificate of good life and good behavior. People cannot help thinking, well! The man has just died. He is dead for all that. So he was not just anyone. Perhaps he was a better man than he seemed to be. But at the lines, as if the prevalence of death, wounds and continual risks made every man die more than once, death was converted into small change and lost its value. The rate of exchange was incredibly low. So the dialect of the sector seemed brutal to those who came from the land-of-few-deaths. Indeed, no-one said, "poor so and so," but "he could easily have taken cover." (pg. 114-115; there are some paragraph breaks in this section, but I am having trouble formatting them correctly, so, uhh, whatever!)

  Yeah, enjoyable stuff. I am curious to read more Cocteau. I felt like the depiction of WWI in this book was convincingly dream-like, with a glaze of un-reality that mollifies the experience of death/pain for the characters, which I assume was a necessary coping mechanism, at least that is what it appears like presented here. Reminded me at times of Tarkovsky's Ivan's Childhood.

The Map And the Territory by Michel Houellebecq

TITLE: The Map and the Territory
AUTHOR: Michel Houellebecq
READ: January
THOUGHT: Was excited to read this when I heard Houellebecq was setting a novel in the contemporary art world. Does this novel mark the beginning of a newer "mature" phase in Houellebecq's work? I think you can count the times he uses "cunt"/"pussy"/"cock" on two hands! Which is impressive. Definitely a much more laid-back, restrained Houellebecq on this one -- not so much emphasis on misanthropy and vitriol though the characters are as adrift and seemingly hopeless as ever. I really enjoyed this novel. Houellebecq is always a pleasure to read, even at his most belligerent.  I think this novel made me realize that Houellebecq is much more of a classical, conventional novelist than people want to give him credit for: he really knows how to write narrative, and he always creates a center for his characters in the text; they are always the most important aspect. What is also interesting is how Houellebecq builds on his own mythology by placing himself directly in the text -- there is an author named Houellebecq in the novel who has written all the same book as the IRL Houellebecq has, and also lives in Ireland; it is very funny/enjoyable watching Houellebeq (the real one) have so much fun. Houellebecq is also very clearly what I would call a social novelist -- his didacticism -- something that I've found somewhat distasteful in the past -- is a central part of his writing, and it is certainly informed by a voluminous background of 19th century social thinkers. It seems like Jed, the main character, in his attempts at giving somewhat unfiltered accounts of the existence of working people on the verge of the 20th century into the 21st resembles Houellebecq's own cataloging of 'the world as it is' -- and perhaps he shall be remembered for that as well. I think the problem with Houellebecq is that it is difficult for the reader to create distance between the bursts of proselytization in the text and how 'seriously' the IRL Houellebecq is beholden to these pronouncements on human culture. It seems to me, the more I read him, that Houellebecq is more mirroring the fragmented form of 'intellectual discourse' of the world by interpolating these chunks of human culture orientated criticisms into his narratives, and by doing this, he is more exposing the level at which 'people today' speak and think about things -- and this sometimes takes the form of very ugly, biased, misogynistic, racist, etc speech -- though in comparison to his other books I've read even that is toned down significantly in this one. Houellebecq has always reminded me of a hornier weirder Woody Allen sometimes -- he vacillates between being joyful and/or accepting of the 'condition' of being a human being today, in all of its contrivances and absurdities, but then frequently falls back into an overwhelming cynicism/nihilism. I feel that this books is much more hopeful than other Houellebecq texts I've read -- the only thing that awaits the characters is old age and death but I think Houellebecq is trying to suggest that, like the art work that Jed does in the book, and the work that Houellebecq does in the novel 'that's just what you have to deal with.' Really enjoyed reading this book, might go back and read some of the Houellebecq I haven't read yet.

Brodie's Report by Jorge Luis Borges

TITLE: Brodie's Report
AUTHOR: Jorge Luis Borges
READ: December-January
THOUGHT: Wrote about this right after I finished it, when I was feeling inspired:

 "After Fictions and The Aleph, this might be my favorite Borges collection. I actually may like it more than The Aleph. In terms of style, Borges is really straightforward and literal here. There are still a lot of the Borgesian turns of phrases, 'fake prologues', etc that are to be found in other Borges, but all of these stories lack any kind of baroque affect, faux-academic diction, etc. Not to say that those things are bad! They work very well when appropriate, like in his earlier stuff, but here I much prefer the plainer style.
    I think the central aspect of Brodie's Report seems to be Borges' obsession with violence, which I think definitely seems comic given his status/mythology as a writer: someone much more concerned, in his day-to-day life at least, with libraries than with knife fights. There are a lot more of the latter than the former in this collection. What I find interesting is the way in which Borges deals with violence in these stories. There was one line in particular, I don't remember which story it was from or the line verbatim, but the scene went something like this: a young boy is visiting an estate somewhere with his cousin, and out of nowhere it appears as if there is going to be a knife fight among two of the guests at the estate. Everyone at the party obliges this request, and follows the two fighters outside, obeying the impulse. At this the narrator says something to the effect of, "we all felt ourselves being pulled into the whirl/void of the violence to come, both being fascinated and disgusted by it." -- not verbatim but you get it!
    Borges, in many, if not all of these stories, is suggesting that violence is as inherent in the fabric of the universe as anything else that might be given cosmic significance, and despite its perennial role, has yet to be understood; it's impulses are nevertheless still obeyed. The fact that Borges articulates this in very simple stories, written simply, many of them dealing with knife fights, rivalries, even spiritual violence, is astounding. I think I have read in some places that people have written off later period Borges somewhat. I imagine that Borges' fascination with gauchos seems to be a bit "romantic," or at least something surprisingly contradictory given Borges' general bookish interests. I feel as if Borges is locating violence in temporality, a temporality associated with his national heritage, in order for the violence depicted to be granted a kind of timelessness -- the idea of violence as a timeless enigma/aspect is frequently alluded to in these stories. The gaucho can be replaced with cowboys, Nazis, Alexander the Great, or ancient cultures drinking the blood of virgins, whatever.
    I also find it appropriate that someone like Borges is writing about gaucho knife fights: by being inherently removed from the kinds of tales that Borges is spinning (both in time and in terms of his 'personality') Borges is granted the ability to link the violence of the gauchos to a more universal violence, the violence that permeates everyday existence in a way that is continually baffling, despite its recurrence. I remember reading something that Edouard Leve said, I think maybe in the except of Autoportrait that I read, that despite his repeated exposure to it, acts of cruelty always retained an aura of 'unreality' to them -- that one has a hard time comprehending their existence as they are happening.
    Not all of the stories are about gauchos, and those are also some of the best stories in this collection. "The Gospel According To St. Mark" might be one of my favorite Borges stories I have read.  "The Elderly Lady", "The Duel", and "Guayaquil" are also stand-out stories to me, none of them directly pertaining to gaucho violence. I felt as if the title story was an alternate of "Tlon, Uqbar, Orbis Tertius" -- the creation of a world, I don't know
    I really, really enjoyed reading this, one of Borges' best I think. Only three story collections to go and I am finished with the Borges (fiction) oeuvre! That makes me very sad.

The Tennis Coart Oath by John Ashbery

TITLE: The Tennis Coart Oath
AUTHOR: John Ashbery
READ: December-January (ABANDONED 2/3)
THOUGHTS: Another abandoned book! In 2012 I will not have mercy. Ashbery is really hit or miss with me. His obfuscation is sometimes alluring, sometimes frustrating, sometimes boring. I really only liked a handful of the poems I read, and of the ones I liked I barely remember most. The experience of reading them was enjoyable, though no content was gleaned. Like, a guided hallucinatory drug experience through an imaginary place where you can only remember the emotions you felt as you were going through, and nothing of the terrain. I really wanted to read Self Portrait In A Convex Mirror, but after reading this and Some Trees I was Ashbery'ed out. Sorry bro!!

The Tin Drum by Günter Grass

TITLE: The Tin Drum
AUTHOR: Günter Grass
READ: December - January (ABANDONED 1/3)
THOUGHTS: I have been corresponding with someone about this book, and so therefore have already written a good amount about it. That does not auger well for a thought-out lengthy write up here! I have abandoned this book for now, at about 200 or so pages in. I finished the first book, and have about 400 pages left. There are a few reasons why I was not completely enamored with the text, and despite that I could harp on it for a while, I will try to just limit myself to essentials. First...the structure. I found the structure of this book to be slightly frustrating. There are three books in The Tin Drum, each with several chapters, and each chapter is named. The effect of this is that each chapter has its own little module of narrative, at least from what I read. What I mean by this: a chapter begins, we are already familiar with Oskar and the people he knows, and the chapters relates an anecdote involving him and other people. Each chapter follows the same pattern: self-contained module of narrative that very slowly threads a larger overarching story and then stops. Repeat. Why I find this frustrating is because I feel as though each chapter presents itself more as a short story that only very occasionally doles out important information about the characters. Speaking of the characters: I never took to Oskar's form of narration. Something about it strikes me as excessively coy, 'quirky', affectedly 'innocent', etc. I understand what Grass is doing, he is creating a very strange idiosyncratic character, a character who would be considered on the 'fringes' of society, and using this character as a way in which to depict 'history happening to someone' -- or something to that effect. Anthropologically the book is of course very interesting: a perspective into what life in Germany during those very dark times was like, for someone not aligned with the Nazis. I don't want to sound too harsh on the book, I thought it was good, and I did enjoy reading it, it just took some unnecessary effort to pick it up each time I did, and my patience started to wane. I might pick it up again. The last chapter of the first book I found to be very powerful -- pertaining to Oskar's experience of Kristallnacht. In 2012 I unfortunately want to abandon more books if they are not winning me over, simply because there is too much to read!!! Sorry books!!

OK!!!

Alright, alright, I am back and have decided to just make this into a 'normal blog,' despite my initial resistance to such a thing!! This blog's overarching aim will still be the detailing of books that I have read, mostly, but I think I will perhaps add other things as well!

Also, would like to add that perhaps in 2012 my approach will be slightly different, in that I will attempt (perhaps) to write about the books that I have read at greater length, and perhaps with a smidgen more seriousness -- though I suppose that will vary widely on the book. Here's a song:

N.B.: in case I actually do what I set out to do (an incredibly rare thing) I would like to disown every 'review' I have written here. Sorry! "Priests don't have opinions" - Diary of A Country Priest; I am priestly in nature!

-S.C.