It's a story about transformation. And even if that story has been done a thousand times before, it's never been done like this. Because this time it's real and it's for keeps.
Chris Rose is a columnist for the New Orleans Times-Picayune. Yes, that New Orleans, the one which a year and a half ago was literally inundated by a pair of massive hurricanes, a few breached levees, and a dash of bureaucratic incompetence. 1 Dead in Attic is a collection of Rose's columns from the days immediately following Hurricane Katrina through the following Mardi Gras - a short six months that the author found long on stories.
Predictably, Rose's subject covers a broad spectrum. It's the surreal, like his description of the first time back on familiar streets not so familiar anymore. It's the sad tale of young lovers who move back into the devastated town, have trouble adapting, get blasted one night, and decide to commit suicide - only one actually goes for it. And then there's the miracle of one last surviving fridge from a downtown restaurant, stuffed to the gills with the finest and freshest surf and turf, and the feast for relief workers that followed.
While Rose sees New Orleans as all this and more, mostly his vision of the city is as a place which is just too damn resilient to quit anything short of resurrection. He himself gets in on the action, morphing almost overnight from a society pages gossip columnist to a self-proclaimed war correspondent.
There is a certain poetry in the author's style, because the concepts and realities with which Rose wrestles defy any "just the facts, ma'am" approach. It's as though he cannot help but to speak in images, to pour out emotion. The words themselves are easy to read. The ideas are a little harder to consume.
Because I was away and out of the country when Katrina hit and New Orleans turned back into a swamp, there is a sizable hole in my consciousness when it comes to really understanding the magnitude of the tragedy. Having my experience of Katrina filtered through the BBC left me only a vague and faceless impression. 1 Dead in Attic has changed that.
Thursday, March 01, 2007
Friday, February 23, 2007
Palestine: Peace not Apartheid by President Jimmy Carter
Jimmy Carter is not an anti-Semite!
Now that may come as a shock to the chair of the Anti-Defamation League or the Israeli prime minister, but then it would also be quite shocking if either deigned to read Palestine: Peace not Apartheid before jumping to their conclusion.
Carter's latest, most controversial book is mostly history - with a touch of memoir - but it is decidedly not screed. If the critics must quibble, they'd be wise to do so with the facts of Carter's presentation. Indeed, he invites them to do just that with a collection of appendices, seven-strong, that trace the problematic Middle East peace process across a 35-year arc - from U.N. Resolution 242 (1967) through Ariel Sharon's response to the Roadmap for Peace (2003).
Attacking the former president's integrity, though, and applying a very technical term with all the grace reserved for wielding a sledge hammer will profit the critic very little.
What is of interest to many readers wading into Palestine: Peace not Apartheid as a crash course in Middle East affairs is a question of blame. "Who is responsible," they wonder, "for the mess over there?" A careful read of Carter's book would generate a laundry list of an answer. Owing to some of its more draconian policies, Israel would be included. But the author frequently notes the disastrous contributions of the Palestinians, other Arab countries, a wide variety of paramilitary factions, and, of course, the United States government. Everyone is responsible, and Jimmy Carter would be the first to acknowledge that.
Of course, responsibility is not the former president's interest. Peace is. Very little of the text is opinion - mostly delivered in the book's final two chapters and almost wholly concerned with how to work out a lasting peace between Israel, Palestine, and the Arab world. To Carter, a man who tasted it at Camp David in 1978, peace does not seem a faraway goal. And what's more, it would be a tragedy were peace not to prevail.
I worry that I, too, made up my mind about this book before I cracked the spine. Even if that were true, though, I would still say this much to recommend it: Jimmy Carter knows of what he speaks. His stories from the region - even the most dreadful - exactly coincide with my own.
Now that may come as a shock to the chair of the Anti-Defamation League or the Israeli prime minister, but then it would also be quite shocking if either deigned to read Palestine: Peace not Apartheid before jumping to their conclusion.
Carter's latest, most controversial book is mostly history - with a touch of memoir - but it is decidedly not screed. If the critics must quibble, they'd be wise to do so with the facts of Carter's presentation. Indeed, he invites them to do just that with a collection of appendices, seven-strong, that trace the problematic Middle East peace process across a 35-year arc - from U.N. Resolution 242 (1967) through Ariel Sharon's response to the Roadmap for Peace (2003).
Attacking the former president's integrity, though, and applying a very technical term with all the grace reserved for wielding a sledge hammer will profit the critic very little.
What is of interest to many readers wading into Palestine: Peace not Apartheid as a crash course in Middle East affairs is a question of blame. "Who is responsible," they wonder, "for the mess over there?" A careful read of Carter's book would generate a laundry list of an answer. Owing to some of its more draconian policies, Israel would be included. But the author frequently notes the disastrous contributions of the Palestinians, other Arab countries, a wide variety of paramilitary factions, and, of course, the United States government. Everyone is responsible, and Jimmy Carter would be the first to acknowledge that.
Of course, responsibility is not the former president's interest. Peace is. Very little of the text is opinion - mostly delivered in the book's final two chapters and almost wholly concerned with how to work out a lasting peace between Israel, Palestine, and the Arab world. To Carter, a man who tasted it at Camp David in 1978, peace does not seem a faraway goal. And what's more, it would be a tragedy were peace not to prevail.
I worry that I, too, made up my mind about this book before I cracked the spine. Even if that were true, though, I would still say this much to recommend it: Jimmy Carter knows of what he speaks. His stories from the region - even the most dreadful - exactly coincide with my own.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
"Mr. Pirzada Comes to Dinner" and "Interpreter of Maladies"
I'm thinking that i need to read this story again as I have been unable to follow all of it. I think back to Poe's idea that a short story should be read in one sitting and Lahiri has benefited from that so far (I can easily sit and read her stories at one time, generally). The mystery of "A Temporary Matter" is not present here but her voice is enchanting. The story looks at Mr. Pirzada who is from Pakistan, while the narrator's family is from India, and it takes place during the fighting in the area of the early 80s (maybe 70s, my Indian subcontinent history is crap). He plays a weird sort of father figure to the narrator, but sadly it left little impression on me. I was reading this story in class during our independent reading time, and then, when the students write about their books, i do the same with mine. I wrote the first paragraph here and now that I look back on it, it brings little to mind. The next story, "Interpreter of Maladies", does not fail me though. This could be a matter of it being the second time I have read the story as well, which only goes to show that "Mr. Pirzada..." could still hold a place in my heart. I love this story for the hopeless romantic elements of the main character and his infatuation with the wife in the story. The views of a grossly americanized version of this Indian family is unobtrusively sad, and I fear it is too close to depiction of what the American family looks like to others. However, when Mrs. Das, the main character from the story who is unhappy in her marriage, confesses to the tour guide (whose name fails me), it becomes clear her attitude is born in selfish pity. She has wanted him to translate her anguish, to prescribe a remedy but he merely changes words; he does not offer solutions. She has wanted someone to help so much she is unable to choose the appropriate person to help her. The ultimate irony is that while she has wanted help, he has wanted her (as he too is in a passionless, arranged marriage). He gives Mrs. Das exactly what she asks for then realizes it is not what she wants, as any good penance should. The story ends with the epiphany that the tour guide/interpreter of maladies has about his own relationship with his wife, the relationship Mr. and Mrs. Das have, and the relationship he imagines between himself and Mrs. Das. The first is only a formality, the second is the same but louder, and the last is fictional. While it seems sad, there is something that should be reassuring in it, as the reality of anyone's situation should be comparable to the imaginary lives we sometimes lead in happiness. When that is out of whack too much, something needs to be done, even if it is just an acknowledgment of it. It ends well though; there are monkeys.
Sunday, February 18, 2007
"I've become an unnatural self."
I think I've always been a fan of science fiction. Star Wars was as ingrained at an early age as was Catholic Doctrine; there are three aspects of God that are the holy trinity, and Darth Vader is Luke and Leia's father. Because of this fandom, on my part, I've recently wanted to read some of the more modern classics of science fiction, and when my mother-in-law gave us gift certificates for Amazon, I went SF-crazy.
I picked up Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? by Philip K. Dick. This was the inspiration for Blade Runner (starring none other than Han Solo) and, though i think I've seen the movie, I don't remember half of what was in the book. Once again, I had to pick a book that made me question my own humanity, and what that word even means.
Allow me to digress. I also got a copy of The Canticle for Leibowitz which has a foreword that talks about the difference between literature and fiction. I, being a reading snob, have often wondered about the difference between these two things as well; the definition it gave was that literature changes you. Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?, I am happy to say, does just that.
The book is about Rick Deckard, a bounty hunter who works for the San Francisco police, tracking down rogue androids, which are now illegal on the planet Earth (there are a lot of details I'm leaving out; just read the book if you need them). As much as I felt distant from him at first, I related to the almost manic changes he seems to go through in the course of his day. He is introduced to a new type of android that is even harder to tell apart from normal humans; he is introduced to a man whom he thinks, for a moment, is an android; he breaks a "retiring" record by "killing" six androids; He sleeps with an android. Throughout the whole thing he thinks about what it is he's doing, and, although I paid little attention to it the first time, his wife's words, as the beginning of the story, resonate with him throughout the day: "just those poor andy's."
Do we feel bad for robots when they are destroyed? Now imagine that robot had feelings. What about if you got super attached to your computer, then it (and we use this term) dies. I always hated finishing books, because I had to leave them then. Those characters would go away, a reason, I believe, why I love monthly comic books. In the novel, Deckard has an electric sheep, because in the post-apocalyptic world, caring for animals is considered a duty and privilege (though also a status symbol). How much is our awareness really play a role in what we feel and experience? If you had a pet dog and it died, you'd feel sad. if you had a pet dog that was an electric dog, would you still? Now imagine not knowing whether it was or not.
That's how I feel after reading this book. There is a weird ambivalence, but at the same time I'm quite happy to realize that it is the choices that I make that allow me to feel the things I feel. It is my interest in reading books like Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? that will guarantee I may change my mind about that with the next book; only for it to evolve again with the next, and so on.
At the end of the book, to spoil part of it, Rick Deckard goes to sleep. I'm going to go do the same.
I picked up Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? by Philip K. Dick. This was the inspiration for Blade Runner (starring none other than Han Solo) and, though i think I've seen the movie, I don't remember half of what was in the book. Once again, I had to pick a book that made me question my own humanity, and what that word even means.
Allow me to digress. I also got a copy of The Canticle for Leibowitz which has a foreword that talks about the difference between literature and fiction. I, being a reading snob, have often wondered about the difference between these two things as well; the definition it gave was that literature changes you. Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?, I am happy to say, does just that.
The book is about Rick Deckard, a bounty hunter who works for the San Francisco police, tracking down rogue androids, which are now illegal on the planet Earth (there are a lot of details I'm leaving out; just read the book if you need them). As much as I felt distant from him at first, I related to the almost manic changes he seems to go through in the course of his day. He is introduced to a new type of android that is even harder to tell apart from normal humans; he is introduced to a man whom he thinks, for a moment, is an android; he breaks a "retiring" record by "killing" six androids; He sleeps with an android. Throughout the whole thing he thinks about what it is he's doing, and, although I paid little attention to it the first time, his wife's words, as the beginning of the story, resonate with him throughout the day: "just those poor andy's."
Do we feel bad for robots when they are destroyed? Now imagine that robot had feelings. What about if you got super attached to your computer, then it (and we use this term) dies. I always hated finishing books, because I had to leave them then. Those characters would go away, a reason, I believe, why I love monthly comic books. In the novel, Deckard has an electric sheep, because in the post-apocalyptic world, caring for animals is considered a duty and privilege (though also a status symbol). How much is our awareness really play a role in what we feel and experience? If you had a pet dog and it died, you'd feel sad. if you had a pet dog that was an electric dog, would you still? Now imagine not knowing whether it was or not.
That's how I feel after reading this book. There is a weird ambivalence, but at the same time I'm quite happy to realize that it is the choices that I make that allow me to feel the things I feel. It is my interest in reading books like Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? that will guarantee I may change my mind about that with the next book; only for it to evolve again with the next, and so on.
At the end of the book, to spoil part of it, Rick Deckard goes to sleep. I'm going to go do the same.
Blindness by Jose Saramago
Whither human nature - are we naturally good or do we lean toward evil - is a question as old as asking. All people ponder it and most who pick up the pen will, at some point, address it more deliberately. Enter Nobel laureate Jose Saramago and his book, Blindness.
Saramago's enterprise is to wonder aloud about who we really are, and so he follows the old proverbial wisdom and plunges his characters into the honesty of crisis: a pandemic of unexplainable and incurable white blindness. Are we the government, motivated by expediency to quarantine the stricken, even if to do so requires that we also dehumanize them? Are we a certain segment of the quarantined, drunk enough on the "will to power" to become murderous and marauding, wolves to our fellow men and women? Or are we the optometrist's wife, whose vision never fades and whose desire to shepherd the afflicted produces innumerable tiny acts of heroism? It is not at all clear precisely whom Saramago thinks we are, but it is easy to guess who he wants us to be.
Of course, to so clearly distinguish characters and groups would be to do the author a disservice. Saramago's writing is light on things like quotation marks and names that would make identification easy. His style is almost deliberately vague, and even the characters themselves acknowledge how superfluous names are in a world full of the blind. And even as anonymity makes possible all sorts of things - not all of them atrocities - enough constants remain to separate the heroes from the villains.
There is much scattered wisdom in Blindness, and as one so oft seduced by ideas I found myself sometimes just bouncing from one concept to the next. If all one could pull out of this book were some of those quotable pockets of thought, it would still be worth reading.
Saramago's enterprise is to wonder aloud about who we really are, and so he follows the old proverbial wisdom and plunges his characters into the honesty of crisis: a pandemic of unexplainable and incurable white blindness. Are we the government, motivated by expediency to quarantine the stricken, even if to do so requires that we also dehumanize them? Are we a certain segment of the quarantined, drunk enough on the "will to power" to become murderous and marauding, wolves to our fellow men and women? Or are we the optometrist's wife, whose vision never fades and whose desire to shepherd the afflicted produces innumerable tiny acts of heroism? It is not at all clear precisely whom Saramago thinks we are, but it is easy to guess who he wants us to be.
Of course, to so clearly distinguish characters and groups would be to do the author a disservice. Saramago's writing is light on things like quotation marks and names that would make identification easy. His style is almost deliberately vague, and even the characters themselves acknowledge how superfluous names are in a world full of the blind. And even as anonymity makes possible all sorts of things - not all of them atrocities - enough constants remain to separate the heroes from the villains.
There is much scattered wisdom in Blindness, and as one so oft seduced by ideas I found myself sometimes just bouncing from one concept to the next. If all one could pull out of this book were some of those quotable pockets of thought, it would still be worth reading.
Saturday, February 17, 2007
Interpreter of Maladies
Interpreter of Maladies is my book between books. When Ulysses is getting me down, and i'm between books for school, I will pick this book up and read some of the stories in it. It is a nice break away from the heavier stuff I've read, and it is, by no means, post-modern. It is straight up story telling, and that can be very refreshing.
The first story is "A Temporary Matter". It is about a couple who've recently lost their baby (it was born dead) and how this event effects the two of them. It all occurs around the backdrop of the electric company turning off the electricity every night for one hour, for five days.
Because the lack of light prevents them from their normal diversions from each other, they are forced to eat together, by candlelight, and play a confession game, where they each tell a secret about themselves.
As a recently wed man, this story has a powerful effect. Seeing a relationship grow/disintegrate at the same time is powerful. The couple is on the road to divorce, which , I have read, can often happen with the lost of a child (read Lorrie Moore's "People Like That are the Only People Here" from Birds of America), and from the onset of the story I wondered which of the two possible endings would be the resolution. Luckily, the author gives us a third. The story ends neither sadly, nor happily, but it does conclude, and we find out that the endings we look for are often not the endings we needed.
The first story is "A Temporary Matter". It is about a couple who've recently lost their baby (it was born dead) and how this event effects the two of them. It all occurs around the backdrop of the electric company turning off the electricity every night for one hour, for five days.
Because the lack of light prevents them from their normal diversions from each other, they are forced to eat together, by candlelight, and play a confession game, where they each tell a secret about themselves.
As a recently wed man, this story has a powerful effect. Seeing a relationship grow/disintegrate at the same time is powerful. The couple is on the road to divorce, which , I have read, can often happen with the lost of a child (read Lorrie Moore's "People Like That are the Only People Here" from Birds of America), and from the onset of the story I wondered which of the two possible endings would be the resolution. Luckily, the author gives us a third. The story ends neither sadly, nor happily, but it does conclude, and we find out that the endings we look for are often not the endings we needed.
Ballad of the Whiskey Robber
I realize that its been a little while since my last post, which is party a function of the snow days we've been having lately. To some people, snow days would seem like an excellent excuse to curl up with a book, but, given that a large part of my reading is done in the car on the way to work, not going to work sort of impedes the progress. But, I finally finished reading Ballad of the Whiskey Robber...
On a recent visit to a Barnes & Noble to kill some time, Matt and I came across this Ballad of the Whiskey Robber, which, by the way, is a book about a Transylvanian pelt smuggling, hockey goalie, bank robber... that's also 100% true. After sneaking into Hungary from Romania (he was born in a little town in Transylvania), the Whiskey Robber (Attila Ambrus is his real name) starts working for the local hockey team, first as janitor, then Zamboni driver, and finally as a (terrible) goalie for 8 years. Throughout this period, he also becomes one of the greatest bank robbers in Hungary's history.
One of the most striking aspects of the book is that it takes place from 1988 - 2001, which is not only a time period that I actually remember (and never heard anything about this guy), but is also during the fall of Communism in Hungary. As the new, democratic, capitalist society takes hold in Hungary, it also brings with it a new wave of unemployment, desperation, and crime, which sets up the perfect scenario for a man who has nothing to lost to start robbing banks. The police force is grossly undermanned, and often has to share less than 3 working cars, and the banks are very rarely equipped with alarms or cameras.... So actually robbing the banks is not at all difficult. But Attila takes to bank robbing with a fierce dedication, carefully mapping out each location and assigning it a difficulty rating based on the number and gender of employees, cameras, and distance from the police station. Although Attila's personality contributed to his career choice (bank robber, as it says on his myspace page), the circumstances of the time definitely played a role as well. It was also interesting to read how the U.S. was (1) obsessed with the O.J. Simpson trial and Monica Lewinsky during this time period, and (2) declared Hungary to be a model country for the transition to democracy, even when 1/20 people would wake up in the morning to find their cars stolen and Attila was able to rob 29 banks over 8 years.
Arguably an even more interesting point is how much of a popular figure Attila became over the years. Due to extreme government scandal, many people saw him as an antiestablishment figure who wasn't robbing banks so much as just redistributing the wealth. Even though he never actually gave money to the poor, many people call him a "modern-day Robin Hood." And today, when I googled him, I found interviews, his myspace page (see link above; maybe I should think about finally getting one of these?), and youtube videos with comments from people who love him. He is currently serving a 17 year prison sentence in a maximum security prison, but people all over the world celebrate his birthday (October 6) by toasting him with some whiskey.
Its another example of a book with characters with a grossly different perspective on the world... And a good framework in which to think about the influence of circumstance on one's path in life. Even as Attila starts to break down from being on the lam for so long, he continues to rob banks (albeit usually sloppily drunk) because it is the only way he can think of to procure enough money to leave the country. "It is an ironic habit of human beings to run faster when we have lost our way." -Rollo May, psychologist (1909-1994)
On a recent visit to a Barnes & Noble to kill some time, Matt and I came across this Ballad of the Whiskey Robber, which, by the way, is a book about a Transylvanian pelt smuggling, hockey goalie, bank robber... that's also 100% true. After sneaking into Hungary from Romania (he was born in a little town in Transylvania), the Whiskey Robber (Attila Ambrus is his real name) starts working for the local hockey team, first as janitor, then Zamboni driver, and finally as a (terrible) goalie for 8 years. Throughout this period, he also becomes one of the greatest bank robbers in Hungary's history.
One of the most striking aspects of the book is that it takes place from 1988 - 2001, which is not only a time period that I actually remember (and never heard anything about this guy), but is also during the fall of Communism in Hungary. As the new, democratic, capitalist society takes hold in Hungary, it also brings with it a new wave of unemployment, desperation, and crime, which sets up the perfect scenario for a man who has nothing to lost to start robbing banks. The police force is grossly undermanned, and often has to share less than 3 working cars, and the banks are very rarely equipped with alarms or cameras.... So actually robbing the banks is not at all difficult. But Attila takes to bank robbing with a fierce dedication, carefully mapping out each location and assigning it a difficulty rating based on the number and gender of employees, cameras, and distance from the police station. Although Attila's personality contributed to his career choice (bank robber, as it says on his myspace page), the circumstances of the time definitely played a role as well. It was also interesting to read how the U.S. was (1) obsessed with the O.J. Simpson trial and Monica Lewinsky during this time period, and (2) declared Hungary to be a model country for the transition to democracy, even when 1/20 people would wake up in the morning to find their cars stolen and Attila was able to rob 29 banks over 8 years.
Arguably an even more interesting point is how much of a popular figure Attila became over the years. Due to extreme government scandal, many people saw him as an antiestablishment figure who wasn't robbing banks so much as just redistributing the wealth. Even though he never actually gave money to the poor, many people call him a "modern-day Robin Hood." And today, when I googled him, I found interviews, his myspace page (see link above; maybe I should think about finally getting one of these?), and youtube videos with comments from people who love him. He is currently serving a 17 year prison sentence in a maximum security prison, but people all over the world celebrate his birthday (October 6) by toasting him with some whiskey.
Its another example of a book with characters with a grossly different perspective on the world... And a good framework in which to think about the influence of circumstance on one's path in life. Even as Attila starts to break down from being on the lam for so long, he continues to rob banks (albeit usually sloppily drunk) because it is the only way he can think of to procure enough money to leave the country. "It is an ironic habit of human beings to run faster when we have lost our way." -Rollo May, psychologist (1909-1994)
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Alpha Girls - Dan Kindlon
After reading Stressed Out Girls the beginning of this year, this book left me refreshed. It justified the new-age, driven, female perfection we see so often. Let's face it, almost all my AP class is girls.
An alpha girl"
"1. a GPA of 3.8 or higher
2. At least one leadership position ........
3. Participation in extra curricular activities, in or out of school, for a min. of 10h a week
4. High achievement motivation score..
5. High self-rating for dependability...."
While many books, especially pop-psych books, leave females feeling victim of their time and power, this one left me hopeful. The working definition of feminism (as more equal than overpowering and "damn the man") and the role of positive media were pleasant surprises.
Yes, another psych book for Abbie's reviews.. but this one makes you kinda smile, and feel more normal for wanting to take over the world....
An alpha girl"
"1. a GPA of 3.8 or higher
2. At least one leadership position ........
3. Participation in extra curricular activities, in or out of school, for a min. of 10h a week
4. High achievement motivation score..
5. High self-rating for dependability...."
While many books, especially pop-psych books, leave females feeling victim of their time and power, this one left me hopeful. The working definition of feminism (as more equal than overpowering and "damn the man") and the role of positive media were pleasant surprises.
Yes, another psych book for Abbie's reviews.. but this one makes you kinda smile, and feel more normal for wanting to take over the world....
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
Ulysses: Since Last Time
I am still working my way through Ulysses, though it has taken a decrease lately as Sarah has had a lot of work (she is the student who is reading it now as well), and I've had a lot of prep stuff and grad school stuff to get through. I'd decided to read Interpreter of Maladies a bit more as it is a collection of short stories, and is significantly easier to work through.
But just this morning I decided I needed to get back to Bloom and his day of semi-infamy. I'm also inspired by Charlie telling me to quit summarizing and mention something of interest. To this I can merely say, "try reading the book again, and saying that to my face." At this point Charlie would roundhouse kick me about the skull; he is a black belt, and I am fearful.
I was stuck on Episode 7 of Ulysses, "Aeolus". In the Odyssey this is when Odysseus' men happen to release the bad winds (tee hee) which causes the crew, who is almost home, to get blown drastically off course. This is transferred, in Joyce's novel, to the office of The Telegraph, a Dublin newspaper where Bloom is trying to place an advertisement. As he goes from man to man trying to get this simple task done, he is blown about, unable to speak with any given character for very long.
As I'd briefly mentioned in an earlier post, the book does a good job of causing the reader to experience the same thing as the characters. I may not completely grasp every nuance of the story, but I know how Odysseus must have felt, having seen the end of his journey, only to be thwarted. I can see the end of this chapter, but can't seem to get to it. I myself was drastically blown off course upon first reading, but luckily I kept my fortitude. I've turned the boat around, adjusted the sails, and am slowly plowing the boat on.
But just this morning I decided I needed to get back to Bloom and his day of semi-infamy. I'm also inspired by Charlie telling me to quit summarizing and mention something of interest. To this I can merely say, "try reading the book again, and saying that to my face." At this point Charlie would roundhouse kick me about the skull; he is a black belt, and I am fearful.
I was stuck on Episode 7 of Ulysses, "Aeolus". In the Odyssey this is when Odysseus' men happen to release the bad winds (tee hee) which causes the crew, who is almost home, to get blown drastically off course. This is transferred, in Joyce's novel, to the office of The Telegraph, a Dublin newspaper where Bloom is trying to place an advertisement. As he goes from man to man trying to get this simple task done, he is blown about, unable to speak with any given character for very long.
As I'd briefly mentioned in an earlier post, the book does a good job of causing the reader to experience the same thing as the characters. I may not completely grasp every nuance of the story, but I know how Odysseus must have felt, having seen the end of his journey, only to be thwarted. I can see the end of this chapter, but can't seem to get to it. I myself was drastically blown off course upon first reading, but luckily I kept my fortitude. I've turned the boat around, adjusted the sails, and am slowly plowing the boat on.
300: Minutes and Men
I love comic books. I love superheroes, and horror comics, and magic comics and all that jazz. Comics often do things that few other mediums can do ("it's pictures and words, you can do anything with picture and words"). I collect them in monthly floppy format; I buy them in collection as trade paperbacks; I buy them as original graphic novels. It is a fascinating medium. It also, usually, doesn't take very long to read. I read one this weekend in less than 300 minutes.
Frank Miller's 300 is the story of 300 Spartan soldiers at the Battle of Thermopylae. Miller is most famous for Sin City and his Batman series The Dark Night Returns; 300 is similar in feeling, though not in content. While Miller is largely known for crime work, it is not the crime element that he does so well, but the toughness of the characters; and there are few tougher than the Spartans.
His style is very bare. He both wrote and drew this story and he uses the images to tell a lot, which reflects the Spartan action over Spartan words. The book has every element of a good drama (and will make a great movie this March). It has strong characters that you can get behind while not completely liking; it has smart characters that speak plainly but simply; it has blood. Lots of blood. This is not nice neat war, this is dirty war. This is kill a man and use him as shield; kill many men and build a wall. When the Persians come to fight the Spartans they know what will happen if they die.
The battle stems from Spartan pride, and, having little knowledge of how Greece worked at the time, a sense of united Greece. The Spartans know they are not Athenians (pussies!), but they see the valuable of each of the different states that made up Greece, and they fight for that. Repeatedly, King Leonidas talks about how Greeks are freemen, as opposed to the Persians who are following the Man-God Xerxes. Xerxes himself is a likable character as he only asks for the King to say that Xerxes is a step higher than Leonidas (with almost no other requirements). Leonidas, however, is free, and is willing to fight for that freedom.
I won't give away the end, but you can do the math (300 vs. 10,000). The book ultimately shows victory is defined by an individual, even in times of war, and treaties are not always the only prizes in war. It also shows how damn good comics can be, and that people should read them more.
Frank Miller's 300 is the story of 300 Spartan soldiers at the Battle of Thermopylae. Miller is most famous for Sin City and his Batman series The Dark Night Returns; 300 is similar in feeling, though not in content. While Miller is largely known for crime work, it is not the crime element that he does so well, but the toughness of the characters; and there are few tougher than the Spartans.
His style is very bare. He both wrote and drew this story and he uses the images to tell a lot, which reflects the Spartan action over Spartan words. The book has every element of a good drama (and will make a great movie this March). It has strong characters that you can get behind while not completely liking; it has smart characters that speak plainly but simply; it has blood. Lots of blood. This is not nice neat war, this is dirty war. This is kill a man and use him as shield; kill many men and build a wall. When the Persians come to fight the Spartans they know what will happen if they die.
The battle stems from Spartan pride, and, having little knowledge of how Greece worked at the time, a sense of united Greece. The Spartans know they are not Athenians (pussies!), but they see the valuable of each of the different states that made up Greece, and they fight for that. Repeatedly, King Leonidas talks about how Greeks are freemen, as opposed to the Persians who are following the Man-God Xerxes. Xerxes himself is a likable character as he only asks for the King to say that Xerxes is a step higher than Leonidas (with almost no other requirements). Leonidas, however, is free, and is willing to fight for that freedom.
I won't give away the end, but you can do the math (300 vs. 10,000). The book ultimately shows victory is defined by an individual, even in times of war, and treaties are not always the only prizes in war. It also shows how damn good comics can be, and that people should read them more.
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