The Adjustment Team

"The Adjustment Team" will sate nearly any conspiracy lover as it is a story about secret organizations that set day to day life on the correct path.  I'm more interesting, however, in thinking about it as a metaphor for a supernatural creator/designer.  Knowing Dick's own fascination with God, it makes for an inert testing crossover between religious belief and illuminati-like secret organizations.

I've recently had a fascination with Baudrillard's idea of the simulation and simulacra,  as expressed in Turkle's work (so I don't have a deep understanding).  I connect it here because, in the the world of "the Adjustment Team", the world is more a program of cause and effect, with the Adjusters being able to see how events relate and lead from one to another.  It questions whether the world should have a Designer or not; then, assuming there is a designer, it asks if the designed should be aware of it.  I've  a feeling I will continue coming back to this: Dick wonders if there is something beyond us, then asks us if we want to know or not.

(Also, not the best post.  I blame being on a long weekend vacation, and typing on an iPad.)

I wouldn't have remembered that retail.

A love of Jonathan Lethem, a new job involving technology in education, and some mild issues with identity and identity formation lead me back to Philip K. Dick.  It began with a paranoid day caused by reading the prologue to Alone Together: Why We Expect More from Technology and Less from Each Other.  In that book, Turkle mentions a book called Love and Sex with Robots.  Long story short: this lead me to think of a conversation with my father-in-law (do NOT make a connection there).  His theory was that my grandparents generation would have an issue with inter-racial marriage, while his generation, okay with inter-racial, has an issue with homosexual marriage, while my generation is okay with both (we're almost to the point).  I, looking into the future, believe that my generation will have an issue with human-technology marriage/relationships.

That lead me to purchase Bladerunner and attempt to re-read Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep. My standard inability to finish things I start, lead me to put down Androids... and pick up The Selected Stories of Philip K. Dick.

(I had initially written something like this intro two weeks ago in my head.  I then forgot it, and remembered it today.  I mention this only because it seems reflective of Dick's work itself.)

"We Can Remember That for You Wholesale" was the inspiration for the movies, Total Recall, and it becomes clear fairly early that the writers of the movie put a lot of effort into expanded a basic idea.  "We Can Remember That for You Wholesale" creates the interesting premise that the movies turn into a two hour long action movie.

Similarly to "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind", the story deals with memory and memory alteration, and how memory is less about recall and more about creation, as well as a belief that personality and memory have an unusual connection.  What "Wholesale" posits is that certain personalities will always want certain things; a secret agent who has been to Mars will always want to go to Mars even when those memories have been taken away.  

It has been too long (coincidentally, the same amount of time a ReKal vacation is) since I read the story, and can't seem to say anything of value.  Maybe I'll try coming back to this one someday.

Remainder

A night or two ago, I finally finished Tom McCarthy's Remainder.  According to the note on the front cover, I began the book in late '09. I faintly recall getting somewhere around halfway and putting it down.  Christmas '12 I restarted the book.

I got about 2/3 of the way through and put it back down.

Then on January 2014, I sort of resolved to read more, particularly before I sleep and particularly to avoid just watching TV shows I've already watched. I also cleaned up and organized my ReReads account and decided to start a clean slate of books I've read.  There were far too many books with a simple star rating.  I wanted to remember the books and have a written document of that memory.

This is why it is serendipitous that I am writing this for Remainder.  In Remainder, the narrator has been the victim of an accident that has left him disabled and amnesiac (at this writing I have only suddenly realized the narrator has no name, or that I have no memory of it).

Because of the settlement he receives because of the incident that caused his amnesia (which he cannot recall and is legally unable to discuss), he ends up with several million pounds which become more than that after some excellent investment.  After a night at a party and a crack in a wall, he decides to use his money to make full, 1:1 scale reenactments of a few moments in his and other people's lives.

This is not a book for those who worry about their own authenticity.

If you've seen Synecdoche, NY, the set up is similar.  The book grapples with a person's feelings about authenticity, particularly in their actions.  What the narrator never seems to realize is that the same issues he has with fluidity are not unique to him.

Originally his issues stem from the massive physical therapy he has to undertake, requiring every motion to be a conscious one.  After viewing Pacino in Taxi Driver, the narrator is bothered how fluid the characters motions seem to be.  He obviously could not hear my screams in regards to an actors' movements never being truly genuine.  Having just yelled at pulped tree, I clearly had some re-examining to do.

Because it is late, and I'm typing this on a phone, I'm inspired to close it.  I loved picking up this book with only the shadows of memories of the books plot and characters.  Though I had put the book down twice, neither instance was due to the book being uninteresting.  It felt oddly comforting to come back to(especially since I didn't want to restart the book again). It was a fascinating read.  Unfortunately, I choose to leave you the same way the book left me: unclear on whether it had ended or not.

"A Real Durwan": We love stuff.

So, there is a homeless woman with a lot of grand stories, and she lives near the mailboxes in this apartment complex. Because she has stories of days when she was rich, and because she acts as a sort of guard dog, the tenets like her. The story as a whole is a greed story. The Dalal's buy two basins (sinks); they install one in their apartment, and another in a common area for all to use. The other tenets slowly get envious of them, and decide that they too have every right to have nice things inside their apartment. The homeless woman slowly gets out placed as the people decide to redo the entire building and make it prettier. Everyone is very upset when the basin in the common area gets stolen; there was no one around to protect it anymore. There is a lesson in simplicity present as stuff begets more stuff and wants begets want. As the tenets slowly work their way out of simpler living, the push the old story teller out as well, and end up paying the price for having stuff: they gain the fear of losing that stuff.

The Plague by Albert Camus

It took me a long time to read this book, but it is so good. Camus is a good writer because he makes you think. He does, however, fall into what Patrick Marton and I always referred to as “French-people-can’t-write-fiction.”

The book doesn’t necessarily flow very well. Sometimes, it seems to bop around to whatever topic the narrator (and therefore Camus) feels like talking about. This could reflect the chaotic environment that would besiege a town that has been quarantined., but it doesn’t not make for easy reading. Reality doesn’t translate well to fiction.

That being said, I love reading this book because Camus also falls for what Patrick Marton and I often referred to as “French-People-Know-How-to-do-philosophy-stuffs-especially-when-it-is-literature-based.” If you are anything like me you like stories where something happens to humanity as a whole, and humanity as a microcosm gets interesting (Russell has an interesting game like this; if there are only a 1000 people left on earth, what does the world do?). Unlike the Stranger, Camus does pretty well in painting people in a positive light. At one point there is a discussion about God, and one person talks about how he doesn’t believe in God. What is interesting is that it is a similar complaint that I’ve heard Russell make about people. The character says there cannot be a god because it takes people’s attention away from life. “Stop praying and save a poor person!” he would say. Russell and I have talked about how annoying the idea of waiting for heaven is. Don’t wait for the Kingdom of Heaven, it is upon us now.
The scary thing about this is when the Kingdom gets plague, which is what happens in this novel. Despite their words many people are good, and work to do good. In the event of this crisis, people do not act like animals, even if that simply means standing upright as you walk to your death (Camus’ Sisyphus idea).

My caffeine levels have gotten a little high, so I think I need to stop here. Read the Plague, and get rid of your adjectives sometimes. If anyone has questions, I can answer them in comments.

Promethea: Books One & Two

I feel a little bit better about reading this comic because, unlike 300, it will take me days to read this. Promethea was part of the America's Best Comics line, which was all governed by Alan Moore, one of the mediums best creators. He is the man behind From Hell, The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, The Watchmen, Swamp Thing, its spin-off Hellblazer (Constantine), and V for Vendetta (yes, most of the movies were crap). In the late 90s, Moore came out as a practicing magician; the comics world sighed, said, "wow that's great, can we have more comics please?" and a lot of people just let it slide; Alan Moore was never known for being completely sane.

Promethea is where he explains a lot of what he knows about magic. Promethea is a story that lives. When the story of Promethea is written about, someone becomes Promethea. I'm making this all sound like crap.

The interesting part is how Moore does nothing to chastise other belief systems. This is not, "go Wiccans, F*** the Christians!" It is largely about showing how all belief systems work much better together than they possibly could apart. In the last chapter of the second book, the Tarot is explained as a means of talking about the history of mankind, from the big bang on, each card representing a different chapter in the history of time and the universe (the zero card, for example, is The Fool and represents the lack of knowledge because of... well... the lack of everything). One of the most interesting parts he throws in is the interpretation of the genesis creation story representing an amoeba first finding out it could separate into more amoebas, hence why Eve came out of Adam's side.

I'm big on inclusion (stop laughing) and I'm bigger on new ideas. Promethea, even on a second read, does this. And if you don't like what it says, you can always just tell yourself it's a comic book. And it isn't like the characters we read about really exist. Right?

A Canticle for Leibowitz: Clever Subtitle for Post

I had planned on doing three posts on this book, but have failed as I have finished the book, but never felt like writing anything up. I have not been doing very well emotionally lately, and as I sit here thinking about the book, I realize how nice it would be for me to blame this book for that. I could get away with it. The book looks at how we, as humans, often repeat ourselves throughout history. When we destroy our history, there is a fair chance the same mistakes will be made.

This is, of course, a simple view of the issue, and the book deals with it quite well. Human's have flaws, but we have learned from ourselves in the past. We have overcome some of those flaws, but the greatest flaw may be thinking that now-we is better then then-we and that translates into now-we thinking we are better then tomorrow-we will ever be. The world is destroyed twice in The Canticle for Leibowitz; while difficult to find the silver lining here, note that humanity, like the cockroach seems able to be beating down, though not destroyed.

I'm rambling. I think the most important thing to learn from this book is to be weary of facts and texts. Stories (which I love) have to remain their own category of thing, separate from truth. I cannot believe every word of the bible is true, as there were far too many translations, and far too much separation between event, author, first draft, second draft, and so on. But there is a worthwhile story there, and in learning a story, we begin to discover truth; they are small, and they are gradual, but each step gets us closer.

Sympathy Telepathy

"How often have I lain beneath rain on a strange roof, thinking of home."

I am just about 1/3 of the way through As I Lay Dying by William Faulkner. This is the second book on my list that is also a book I am teaching in class, and, just like the previous times I've read it, I have realized that if you read Faulkner for too long, you begin thinking like his characters. The book is told in 52 chapters, by 15 voices, with each chapter signaling a change in POV. Everytime it switches, you have to slightly rewire your brain to fit the character. Everytime you finish a chapter, you have to step out of that characters head.

I believe it is fitting then, that one of the main characters is apparently psychic (though some students proclaim he's probably just making it up). It seems so very appropriate that a character fits the same role that the reader does; to be inside the head of a boy who has watched his mother's dying breathe, but not have the words to explain, or even understand it; to see a girl watch her mother slip away, as she also, very recently find herself soon to be a mother herself. It has taken me a few times (I believe this is the fourth), but I believe i can now read this book for pleasure, with minimal extra work.

I was inspired by the quote at the beginning of this post though, and i feel it is best to be responded to. Darl is far from home, knows that is mother has passed on while he has been gone, and is laying down thinking big thoughts. Although he is one of the stranger characters (if that is even possible), I do not think it is an accident that he is the one character that audience has the most time to relate to. Inside all of us, I think there is a little crazy.

"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.

"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.

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.

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.

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.

Into the Wild: the Conclusion

So today is the march for life, so a lot of students are out. Because of this I am allowing my students to have a reading day. I think reading is important, and if we don’t model it for them, they see no reason to do it, so there I am, in my chair, front of the room, reading with them. I just finished Into the Wild for the second time, and I’m nearly crying. There are few surprises in the book, especially after having already read it, but there is still something that speaks to the reader, particularly if the reader feels for Chris McCandless.

As the cover states, in April of 1992, Chris McCandless walked into the Alaskan Wilderness after tramping around the country for two years. His body was found four months later. The mystery that builds is not a question of what happened to McCandless as much as why did it happen, and why did he do it. The story of McCandless has resonated with my students, but a large number of them cannot fathom why a man would do these things; the first answer is almost always “mental illness”. What could inspire a man to leave his family, give up his money and most of his belongings, for some grand dream of … something? Krakauer looks to the story of Chris, the people he met along his “quest”, the journal he wrote throughout, as well as the accounts of other men who’ve gone on similar journeys to try to get an answer; he goes so far as to tell his own story of hubris in trying to climb The Devil’s Thumb.

I have to say I admire what McCandless did. I could not leave my wife, or abandon my family the way he does; I also, however, see this as one of the downsides of relationship in general. I am big on freedom and choosing ones own path, but with that comes the realization, at least for me, that I must give up some of my freedoms for other things. McCandless simply does not do this, and the reason most would disagree with him is because it is easier for them to identify with the victims of this choice: the family and friends that are left behind. By becoming angry with McCandless for being selfish in his decision only supports the selfish views of the people that say he is selfish. “How could he do that do his family” could easily be argued with “how could his family prevent him from doing what he needed to do.”

I don’t think I would ever go off into the wild to live by myself, on my own, or even could. I would however love to find out how to live a bit more independently, and I don’t think my wife would completely disagree. We like having access to people, but don’t like having them around all the time, and McCandless, at his roots, believed the same thing (as witnessed in his constant relationships and repeated returns to society).

I would love being able to live independently; without a need for a job, or so many of the requirements that we really seem to put upon ourselves. And I, like the man, Rosellini, from the book, believe that humans may have gone too far (at least Americans) in that we can no longer live solely off the land. We have become a powerful tribe that needs the people around them to survive. I don’t like needing; I’ve always preferred wanting.

Ulysses: Episodes 4 & 5

Episode 4 introduces us to Mr. Leopold Bloom who likes fried kidneys because the slight taste of urine that they have. Leopold is making Molly, his wife, breakfast while she remains in bed, and he craves kidney (they are out). I know this feeling. Often time I’ve been making breakfast (I am the breakfast maker, Kate prefers making the other meals usually) and I’ll crave sausage, also because of its unique taste. Sometimes I will even run out to the store for that specific purpose, which is exactly what Bloom does. The stroll to Buckley’s shop (this is the second book I’ve read with a “Buckley” in it) is well described and the reader gets a hint that Bloom is specifically trying not to think of something in regards to his wife. When he returns, he fries up the kidney, serves his wife breakfast, and proceeds to… relieve himself… no… do #2… no too crude as well. You get the point. While reading on the toilet he also speaks about the death of a friend, whose funeral is the focal point of the sixth episode, “Hades”.

Episode 5 sees Leopold taking a circuitous route through Dublin on his way to the post office where he gets a mystery letter from a wannabe lover of his. Again, Bloom tries to control his thinking; whenever negative thoughts of Molly pop into his head, he quickly seems to notice any and everything around him. He ends up at the Turkish baths where he buys some soap and makes his way home.

Describing this book makes it sound ridiculous, and I know I am doing it a great disservice. At the moment, these foul and sparse notes are really the best I can do, which is kind of sad. It is so much fun reading this book because of the amount of work and concentration it takes. It, like The Dead Father, is more about the act of reading, then the story itself. The way that Joyce juxtaposes the Odyssey with Bloom’s day should make everyone feel that their days are vastly meaningful; unfortunately, if you can’t make that leap, I can definitely see where a person would not enjoy this book.

“I can’t go on, I’ll go on”

Ulysses: Episodes 1-3

So you know how Ulysses is credited as both the best book and one of the most difficult books ever written; they were kind of right. I've finished the first three episodes of the book (Telemachus, Nestor, Proteus) and am currently intrigued though little has happened. It seems to be the Seinfeld of the literary world. It seems to be about nothing.

Episode 1 introduces us to Buck Mulligan, who lives in a tower with Stephen Dedalus and a man named Haines. Buck is a bit of a prick but is totally aware of it, as opposed to Haines who is seems clueless to his own behavior. I found the episode relatively easy to read, although a quick gander at spark notes has since made me feel like i may have missed the last part of the chapter.

Episode 2 shows Stephen teaching at Mr. Deasy's school and there is an interesting conversation between Stephen and his student, Sargent. Sargent is not very good in school, and wrote his numbers (?) as a punishment. Stephen asks if he is able to do so without copying from the board and the boy says no. In the ineptitude of the boy, Stephen sees a shade of himself; he also compares how the boy's mother must love him to the relationship Stephen had with his now dead mother. This is a continual reference; Stephen did not pray with his mother and has not yet fully reconciled how he feels about her death in regards to this (Buck's aunt has also blamed the death on Stephen because he would not pray).

Episode 3 was tough and I think I wasn't quite prepared for it. It is non-narrative and takes place largely inside Stephen's head. I am unsure what is more unsettling: reading an entire chapter and not always being sure of what was going on, or reading a chapter of a character's thoughts and being able to follow it perfectly, if only at times.

This is the end of the episodes that focus on Dedalus, and from here the action apparently shifts to Leopold Bloom. I fear that this blog will sound pathetic as I am obviously missing quite a bit in regards to the book. I'm happy to be reading it, as I love Joyce, but I am continually reminded of how i did not get Portrait of the Artist on first reading, and, once again, am already looking to reread a book on this list.

Next book is going to be an easy one.

The Dead Father is Dead; Long Live the Dead Father

That was certainly an adventure.

Barthelme's The Dead Father was an enjoyable, albeit perplexing read. Since my last update the group read aloud the Manual for Sons which discusses various aspects of fatherhood and what types of fathers you should look out for (the falling father being one of the most dangerous). It was in this section of the book that I found the quote that inspired me to get the book itself:

"He is mad about being small when you were big, but no that's not it, he is mad about being helpless when you were powerful, but no not that either, he is mad about being contingent when you were necessary, not quite it, he is insane because when he loved you, you didn't notice."

This largely sums up the purpose of the book-within-a-book as the fathers are often there to bother their sons. The startling conclusion, however, is that it is also the son's job to become the father, but to try to water down the role.

The chapters directly after quickly conclude the book. A horsemen who has been following the group is revealed, and quickly, as her name/position would imply, is sent away. Julie and Thomas have the most sterile and mechanical sex scene I have ever read, and the ways that people can make life so routine is revealed in the same way that humans can most affectionately express themselves. The book ends as one might expect, though it still is a bit unsettling.

Though a quick read, it deserves some time, and it would be a good idea to have a notebook or journal handy while you're reading. There are things that fascinated me that i know i am not recalling simply because there were so many additional things that ended up stealing my attention. This is the book that makes me wish i was in a "20-Century American Novel" class as I am sure it deserves more company.

The Dead Father: Half way to the yellow stuff

The title does fit the chapters, I swear.

I am just past the half way mark of The Dead Father and I cannot wait to be able to read this book again. I see something of great value in it, but am just not quite there yet. It is an adventure in itself as the reader is thrown into a world that doesn't quite make sense and is forced to figure it out. Everytime I understand a societal relationship a little better I have a bit of pride in my accomplishment.

What, might you ask, is The Dead Father? No, you'd never ask this question because you would assume, as did a fellow co-worker today, that the book is about a father who is dead. This is half correct. The Dead Father is one of the main characters, and he is a jerk. He is a part-man, part-machine being that changes size. Sometimes he is giant and goes on killing sprees. Sometimes he is more manageable and simple demands impossible things from his "children". I assume they are his children as the Dead Father seems to create much. My favorite creation is the deity Libet, as explained in an earlier post.

There is something attractive about the usual simplicity of the language. The confusion comes from the language as well though, as there are assumptions that the reader knows things that the reader cannot. The book is "highly symbolic", but I am not quick to infer what the symbols represent. The Dead Father seems to be the dead father figure of the 1950s. The one that takes the credit for creation, and passes the blame on the rearing. The book was written in 1974, so I'm not sure how much that image of the father had disappeared. In that sense the Dead Father, being still alive, would seem more closely to represent an image that needed to be dead.

The side characters are also interesting though ambiguous. Emma, Thomas and Julie are the main ones, but there are more characters with equally usual names, and differentiation can be difficult. This is the type of book that I should be taking reading notes on; I am trying to convince myself that I'm doing it for fun though, so I refuse.

Juxtaposed to Kate's most recent Marquez read, this book has much happening, but with less plot. Each chapter is an episode in dragging the Dead Father to a land, whose name escapes me, so that he can recharge.

80 pages to go and I can't wait to read it again.

From The Dead Father:

"The deity Libet who does not know what to do and is thus an inspiration to up all."

Into the Wild: Ch. 8-10

In Ch. 8-10 there is a shift in the book from telling the audience about Chris McCandless to telling them about various other people that resemble McCandless. There is then a very quick chapter that records his "death announcement". This being the second time I've read the book, it is so interesting to see, more in detail, how it is crafted.