Synopsis: A dysfunctional family tries to get together for one last Christmas before their father loses his mind.
My first thought when I was less than halfway (probably less than quarter-way) through this was, "I am so glad I'm not a WASP." Then it was, "Holy hell! Do people actually treat each other like this? Am I so sheltered?"
I have heard people call my family dysfunctional. Growing up, we resembled the show Malcolm in the Middle (Incidentally, I was Dewey, the youngest before they underwent an add-a-kid because no one was watching anymore). So I don't think I have a rosy-colored image of utopian, idyllic family life. But my goodness, the characters in this book are so miserable to each other. If it wasn't a National Book Award winner, I probably wouldn't have gotten all the way through it.
It's not that it was poorly written (quite the contrary). If it was poorly written, there's no way I would have gotten through it. One of the things that one needs to think about when writing if one wants lots of people to actually read the book (not commonly a concern in lit fic--which reminds me that I still need to write my lit fic post...) is whether the reader is going to want to spend so much time with these characters. And I really didn't want to spend any time with these people. Especially Greg's family.
Have you ever been out with a couple (or had them over), and they start arguing and nipping at each other? You know that uncomfortable feeling of just wanting to get out? Yeah, that's what reading The Corrections is like.
The book is probably twice as long as it really should be. (yes, I know I'm an unpublished writer criticizing a NBA winner.) A lot of time is spent with flashbacks, presumably to give us background on the current situation, but a paragraph or two would have been as effective as the dozens of pages Franzen used.
As in my synopsis, the plot revolves around getting together for Christmas. Once they finally do, the story really picks up. It's obvious the publisher felt the same since the back cover copy specifically mentions that the end pulls everything together. I'll admit, I really liked most of the ending. Chip has such a wonderful arc. Watching his redemption, I felt pressure building behind my eyes. I don't cry much, so for me, that's the equivalent of weeping.
Then we get the point of view of Alfred finding himself at the end of his life and abandoned. We get to see how everything he did, everything that his wife hates him for, he did for his children, and they don't even know. He is so tragic. It's beautiful. I really connected to him there. I wish Franzen ended the book here.
Instead, he ends with Enid. We learn that she's learned to be more liberal and love life more once she got rid of Alfred. She criticizes no one. Except Alfred, toward whom she's just horrific. And she has a great relief and awakening when Alfred dies. That totally left me with a bad taste in my mouth. Franzen made me relate to Alfred and ends the book by returning to bashing him. At that point, he's bashing me.
The ending really helped the book, but it was too little, too late. Perhaps if we didn't have the final Enid POV, it would have worked for me.
One more thing...What's with literary fiction and sex? I read lots of genre fiction (admittedly not romance or erotica), but I have never encountered as much graphic and ultimately gratuitous sex as I have in literary. I don't mind sex in stories, but it should actually help the plot. It should be important both in presence and level of detail. I'll go into this more whenever I get around to my fabled literary post.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Friday, March 7, 2008
Book Review: Gentlemen of the Road by Michael Chabon
Synopsis: A couple of men conning their way through first millennium AD southeastern Europe get caught up defending a deposed prince and escorting him back to his kingdom to confront the usurper.
According to the afterword, Chabon's working title had been Jews with Swords. That's basically what the story is. The main characters are Jewish as is the prince and the usurped kingdom. Beside that, the religion is basically invisible. While there is a little plot connected to religious strife, it could be any two religions involved. The reason I bring this up is because many books these days seem to just belabor religion and grind their axes to nubs. This is not what Chabon does. And he does it right.
The story is entertaining, and the characters are interesting. Both are somewhat formulaic. The tale is somewhat common in the adventure genre, but Chabon tells it well. The story is short, which I always figure if you don't have an original story, it's best if you keep it brief. Nothing's worse than a writer who drags out his rehash interminably.
Chabon's prose is always enjoyable. I think I need to do a post just about literary fiction. I'm finding I love it when it's really well done. Then there's the other type...but that's another topic.
According to the afterword, Chabon's working title had been Jews with Swords. That's basically what the story is. The main characters are Jewish as is the prince and the usurped kingdom. Beside that, the religion is basically invisible. While there is a little plot connected to religious strife, it could be any two religions involved. The reason I bring this up is because many books these days seem to just belabor religion and grind their axes to nubs. This is not what Chabon does. And he does it right.
The story is entertaining, and the characters are interesting. Both are somewhat formulaic. The tale is somewhat common in the adventure genre, but Chabon tells it well. The story is short, which I always figure if you don't have an original story, it's best if you keep it brief. Nothing's worse than a writer who drags out his rehash interminably.
Chabon's prose is always enjoyable. I think I need to do a post just about literary fiction. I'm finding I love it when it's really well done. Then there's the other type...but that's another topic.
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Book Review: Mort by Terry Pratchett
Synopsis: Death gets an apprentice and turns over much of his Duty to him. Then Death goes off to see what else there is to life.
Of the Discworld novels I've read, this is my favorite. Then again, Death is my favorite of Pratchett's characters. The least human of his characters, and yet the most human at the same time.
This book had a fully-established plotline with twists and tension and everything. I've found Pratchett's previous books (considering them in chronological order, which is how I'm reading them) somewhat lacked a coherent plot. Instead of the story, the reader is dragged through the books by Pratchett's wit. Mort doesn't have that problem although Pratchett's wit is as sharp as ever (sharper, I'd say).
An enjoyable book. What else is there to say?
Of the Discworld novels I've read, this is my favorite. Then again, Death is my favorite of Pratchett's characters. The least human of his characters, and yet the most human at the same time.
This book had a fully-established plotline with twists and tension and everything. I've found Pratchett's previous books (considering them in chronological order, which is how I'm reading them) somewhat lacked a coherent plot. Instead of the story, the reader is dragged through the books by Pratchett's wit. Mort doesn't have that problem although Pratchett's wit is as sharp as ever (sharper, I'd say).
An enjoyable book. What else is there to say?
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
Book Review: Everyman by Philip Roth
Synopsis: A man dies and we see flashbacks of him growing up, committing adultery, and wasting away as an old man.
My first thought upon picking up this book was how short it was. But after reading it, I realize that its brevity is a good thing. This book has no plot in the traditional sense. Nothing truly original happens to the focal character. He is, as the title suggests, an everyman. So if it were any longer, it would have been insufferable. But as it is, the shortness and lock of real story are a perfect match for the gravity of the subject.
He's not a good man. He's not particularly evil, but he's not the type whose company I would enjoy for more than a few hours. His interpersonal skills (especially with those to whom he should be close--wives, children, etc.) are woeful. He's not a hero. He's not anyone to be envied. He's someone to relate to even in his differences.
I sincerely hope the average person is not like the main character, but by averages and sociology, he probably is representative of his generation.
By what I've said so far, you might think I didn't like this book. That's actually (surprisingly) not true, after a fashion. This book is one of those that makes you think about life itself. It's not a book to enjoy, it's a book to ponder.
The subject is death and the protagonist's interface with it. Roth carefully lays out his character's atheism so questions and fears of death are not easily resolved by an appeal to God. It's an interface between man and the void. As the main character comes to terms with it, the reader is invited to do the same.
I have to admit, the final connection the character makes is false. He sees the honor and value of his bones sharing the earth with the bones of his forebears and in his mind hears the voice of his deceased parents comforting him. Thus, really comes to terms with the sociality of the dead, a pseudo afterlife, rather than the void. But then, I doubt it's possible to relate coming to grips with nothingness in such a way that anyone but you feels the connection.
Despite his failings, I couldn't help relating to the main character (as I believe was the point). He fears death because he loves life and would miss his daughter. As a teenager, I realized how much life sucks and so lost my fear of death completely (maybe someday, I'll put on a Cure CD and elaborate. But then, no one, not even me, wants to read that). But now, I have fear and it comes from my family. I fear not seeing my children grow up. I fear the difficulties my family would have without me. I fear grieving them. But death itself, the actual mechanic, holds no terror for me. So I can relate to the concept of family being the tether to life.
Having been ill this last year, I have recognized my own frailty and mortality. Thus, I found the parts of the book where the main character is old with failing health particularly poignant. The loneliness of old age, the pain of chronic illness, and the decline of both physical and mental ability: now that's terror to me.
It should be noted that a chunk of this book contains fairly graphic sexual scenes. If such offends you, you would probably be well served to skip ahead. Besides the graphic (and frankly gratuitous) sex, my only true criticism would be that there are moments where strong language (f***, usually) is used where another word would suffice. I'm not overly prudish, but such words have within them a punch to the jaw. If the punch is not intended (and in these cases, I don't see why it would have been), a softer word is usually better.
My first thought upon picking up this book was how short it was. But after reading it, I realize that its brevity is a good thing. This book has no plot in the traditional sense. Nothing truly original happens to the focal character. He is, as the title suggests, an everyman. So if it were any longer, it would have been insufferable. But as it is, the shortness and lock of real story are a perfect match for the gravity of the subject.
He's not a good man. He's not particularly evil, but he's not the type whose company I would enjoy for more than a few hours. His interpersonal skills (especially with those to whom he should be close--wives, children, etc.) are woeful. He's not a hero. He's not anyone to be envied. He's someone to relate to even in his differences.
I sincerely hope the average person is not like the main character, but by averages and sociology, he probably is representative of his generation.
By what I've said so far, you might think I didn't like this book. That's actually (surprisingly) not true, after a fashion. This book is one of those that makes you think about life itself. It's not a book to enjoy, it's a book to ponder.
The subject is death and the protagonist's interface with it. Roth carefully lays out his character's atheism so questions and fears of death are not easily resolved by an appeal to God. It's an interface between man and the void. As the main character comes to terms with it, the reader is invited to do the same.
I have to admit, the final connection the character makes is false. He sees the honor and value of his bones sharing the earth with the bones of his forebears and in his mind hears the voice of his deceased parents comforting him. Thus, really comes to terms with the sociality of the dead, a pseudo afterlife, rather than the void. But then, I doubt it's possible to relate coming to grips with nothingness in such a way that anyone but you feels the connection.
Despite his failings, I couldn't help relating to the main character (as I believe was the point). He fears death because he loves life and would miss his daughter. As a teenager, I realized how much life sucks and so lost my fear of death completely (maybe someday, I'll put on a Cure CD and elaborate. But then, no one, not even me, wants to read that). But now, I have fear and it comes from my family. I fear not seeing my children grow up. I fear the difficulties my family would have without me. I fear grieving them. But death itself, the actual mechanic, holds no terror for me. So I can relate to the concept of family being the tether to life.
Having been ill this last year, I have recognized my own frailty and mortality. Thus, I found the parts of the book where the main character is old with failing health particularly poignant. The loneliness of old age, the pain of chronic illness, and the decline of both physical and mental ability: now that's terror to me.
It should be noted that a chunk of this book contains fairly graphic sexual scenes. If such offends you, you would probably be well served to skip ahead. Besides the graphic (and frankly gratuitous) sex, my only true criticism would be that there are moments where strong language (f***, usually) is used where another word would suffice. I'm not overly prudish, but such words have within them a punch to the jaw. If the punch is not intended (and in these cases, I don't see why it would have been), a softer word is usually better.
Sunday, March 2, 2008
Book Review: Master and Commander by Patrick O'Brian
Synopsis: Captain Jack Aubrey sets out on his first command with Dr. Stephen Maturin, his surgeon and best friend, in tow.
This book begins a 20 book series (21 if you count the manuscript left behind when O'Brian died). I have to say it is just plain delightful. We first meet Aubrey at a concert where he is humming and beating time on his knee (off beat, mind you). His neighbor in the audience is Dr. Maturin, whom Aubrey has yet to meet. Dr. Maturin calls Aubrey down for boorishness, and they part with all signs pointing to a dust-up in the offing.
They meet the next morning and sit down to a nice breakfast.
This scene sets the feeling for the entire book. It transports you to a world of honor and civility. And that world is so well fleshed out, at times it becomes hard to realize you're not actually living in it.
For most of the book, it seems to have an episodic plot. It's not until near the climax that you realize you would have been disappointed if it hadn't turned out thus. But before then, I found myself thinking the story could end at any time and I'd hardly notice. The denouement somewhat fell apart under its own weight. Regardless, I found the book just plain enjoyable.
I actually found nautical phrases and anecdotes crreping into my daily conversation. That said, its important to understand that O'brian assumes the reader understands his nautical lingo and so doesn't explain it. Some comes from context, but unless you're at least moderately-versed in maritme language, you might want to have at hand a good dictionary, the internet, or the Patrick O'brian companion lexicon A Sea of Words by Dean King.
This book begins a 20 book series (21 if you count the manuscript left behind when O'Brian died). I have to say it is just plain delightful. We first meet Aubrey at a concert where he is humming and beating time on his knee (off beat, mind you). His neighbor in the audience is Dr. Maturin, whom Aubrey has yet to meet. Dr. Maturin calls Aubrey down for boorishness, and they part with all signs pointing to a dust-up in the offing.
They meet the next morning and sit down to a nice breakfast.
This scene sets the feeling for the entire book. It transports you to a world of honor and civility. And that world is so well fleshed out, at times it becomes hard to realize you're not actually living in it.
For most of the book, it seems to have an episodic plot. It's not until near the climax that you realize you would have been disappointed if it hadn't turned out thus. But before then, I found myself thinking the story could end at any time and I'd hardly notice. The denouement somewhat fell apart under its own weight. Regardless, I found the book just plain enjoyable.
I actually found nautical phrases and anecdotes crreping into my daily conversation. That said, its important to understand that O'brian assumes the reader understands his nautical lingo and so doesn't explain it. Some comes from context, but unless you're at least moderately-versed in maritme language, you might want to have at hand a good dictionary, the internet, or the Patrick O'brian companion lexicon A Sea of Words by Dean King.
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