From the back of the bookMikita Brottman wonders, Just why is reading so great? It's a solitary practice, one that takes away from time that could be spent developing important social networking skills. Reading is not required for health, happiness, or a loving family. And, if reading is so important, why are catch and juvenile slogans like "Reading Changes Lives" and "Champions Read" needed to hammer the point home?
Fearlessly tackling the notion that non-readers are doomed to lives of despair and mental decay, Brottman makes the case that the value of reading lies not in its ability to ward of Alzheimer's or that it's a pleasant hobby. Rather, she argues that like that other well-known solitary vice, masturbation, reading is ultimately not an act of pleasure but a tool for self-exploration, one that allows people to see the world through the eyes of others and lets them travel deep into the darkness of the human condition.
This book captured my attention right from the introduction with the combination of fascinating material and an easy going style. Sadly it was unable to hold my interest past chapter three.The first third of the book contains a spookily familiar childhood reminiscence (and coincidentally reading list). Here the author also manages to articulate feelings about reading, specifically Literature, that I would never be able to express so succinctly. But sadly after this the book runs off at a tangent that I was unwilling to follow.Chapter 4 sings the merits of celebrity tell-alls, and while I am uninterested in the subject (a situation the author believes impossible) I persevered in the hope of a return to the delight of the earlier pages. It wasn't to be. The beginning of chapter 5 offered little of interest. Skimming the rest of the book I simply found more of the same. Chapter after chapter devoted to various incarnations of 'gossip' pages. I would allow that the subject has a place in a book of this nature but I put it that it is unworthy of a book in its own right (which is what this book, to all intents and purposes, becomes). At the end of each chapter an attempt is made to relate the contents back to the original theme of the book. I believe these attempts to be singularly unsuccessful.This is not a book I would recommend but if the opportunity arose to read the first three chapters I would say go ahead and have a look but be willing to do as the author suggests and put it aside as soon as you find yourself no longer engaged. I think you can guess where that point was for me.- Lynn
I don’t know what I expected from Book Smart, but given its subtitle (Your Essential Reading List for Becoming a Literary Genius in 365 Days) I imagine it was a shortcut approach to all those books I know I should have read but haven’t. That’s not so far from the mark, less the shortcut aspect.
Mallison has grouped essential titles by category (“Towering Works to Read in Translation,” “”Strong Women, Admirably So and Otherwise,” “Unaccustomed Places, Real and Fancied”) and allocated each collection to a month – her suggestion is that the reader selects one book from each category (making one, I imagine, a tenth of a literary genius by years’ end), but hopes that some will opt instead for an alphabetical, chronological or otherwise themed (female writers, non-English-language authors) reading list.
Each month is introduced and Mallison explains the theme (for example “June is often a time for hitting the road or taking to the air, so it’s an appropriate month for traveling of the mental variety as well”), giving a brief description of each title (“Kingsley Amis’s Lucky Jim from England in the 1950’s, my all-time favorite, concerns the fortunes of a hapless history professor”). Each title then gets a couple of pages wherein Mallison discusses the plot, the author, the era and the impact of the book. Sometimes she follows this up with a boxed recommended reading section:
Strachey may have changed to some degree the course of biography but the whirligig of time brings its revenges. In 1967 and 1968 Michael Holroyd brought out a hefty (and excellent) two-volume biography of Strachey… its revelations of Strachey’s many same-sex affairs and ribald witticisms shocked readers of its generation much as Strachey’s arch volume has shocked his contemporaries. If you like the Romans, try Lives of the Caesars by Strachey’s first-century model, Suetonius.
Unfortunately I found Mallison’s voice a little condescending and didactic, which interfered with my ability to get involved with the writing. The preface was stuffed with quotations to such an extent that I suspected she’d drawn them from a collection (there are five quotes about books or reading just on page xiii), and in some places I felt as though she were showing off her erudition. The self-congratulatory section on “the joys of being well-read” was particularly annoying. It’s enough to be discussing the book in question (primarily novels but there is also a smattering of biographies, a hefty dose of poetry, and the odd work of non-fiction), many of which I was wholly unfamiliar with, without bringing in other esoteric works.
In fairness, at least some of my displeasure was probably unrelated to the merit of Mallison’s writing and due, instead, to a broader disenchantment related to a combination of disappointing books and external pressures. Though I read a lot, being reminded of my preference for accessible over worthy works probably didn’t help - of the 120 books listed I’d heard of only half (and of the sixteen which I’ve read most were when I was at school). If would probably do me good to work my way through at least some of Mallison’s suggestions, but not just yet. - Alex
Simon’s life completely changed when his beloved parents were killed. Now living with his maternal parents, the shy sixteen-year-old has retreated deeper into the books he’s always loved, aided and abetted by Winnie, his book-loving grandmother, much to the irritation of his grandfather, whose fear and hatred of books grows throughout the tale. Every Saturday Simon and Winnie take a bus from their small British village and explore, looking for new charity and second-hand bookshops. When they discover The Great Big Book Exchange they know it’s amazing, like nothing they’ve seen before, but they don’t know how much it and the people they meet there – owner Terrance, with false arms and a tragic past, and his teen Goth assistant Kelly – will change their lives.
The book is a tribute to bibliophilia, with loving descriptions of books unread: “Their pages were onion-skin but perfect, as if they’ve never been read before. Others were reassuringly far and their spines were uncracked… bottle green detectives; scarlet translations of European classics; sickly yellow horrors and science fiction with covers that glittered midnight blue.”
A voracious reader myself (no surprise!), many elements of Exchange resonated with me, particularly Simon’s realisation that “I’ll never have enough time to read all the books I want to. Even if I read every hour, every day of my life… I’d still never read everything,” and the awareness that reading can be a way of escaping living in the world and distracting yourself from real life issues. And like me, Simon hates going anywhere without “the security of at least two novels… two, in case he finished the first. He needed to make sure he had enough to read…”
Magrs has an interesting voice, which I appreciated more here than in his later book, Never the Bride - I didn't realise it was the same author until I came to write the review and noted the unusual surname. In Exchange he writes in third person from Simon's perspective, allowing the reader to see the deterioration of his grandparent's marriage, fraught with long-repressed issues, while allowing Simon his innocence. The past has a strong presence, and Magrs' writing is deft and sure. It didn't change my life, but I enjoyed the journey, and think this could be a good book for shy and reclusive bibliophilic teens, particularly those who need a little encouragement to leave the safety of books, at least a little. - Alex
Anne Fadiman was reading a copy of CS Lewis's The Horse and His Boy (the fifth in the Chronicles of Narnia) to her eight year old son one evening. Though not as much a favourite as the more well known The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, she had loved the book as a girl but had not reread it as an adult. On rereading it she was surprised and disturbed to discover blatant misogyny and racism that she had been blithely unaware of (as was her son) when reading it as a child. The change in perception made her think about the experience of rereading a well-loved favourite for the first time in decades. Editor of the literary quarterly The American Writer, Fadiman decided to turn this concept into a regular feature - every issue "a distinguished writer chose a book (or a story or a poem or even, in one case, an album cover) that had made an indelible impression on him or her before the age of twenty-five and reread it at thirty or fifty or seventy. The object of the writer’s affections might be famous or obscure; a venerated classic or a piece of beloved trash; a fairy tale read as a child, a novel read in the throes of first love, a reference work that guided the early stages of a career."Unlike most reviews of the sort, these weren't critical or deconstructive - instead they tended to be about the relationships we have with some books. Fadiman has selected seventeen of her favourites from these columns, chosen for their diversity and breadth of literature covered. And they do cross a wide range of genres - I haven't read any of the authors and only three of the books (plus a poem and the featured album) - Helen Dore Boylston's Sue Barton books, Pride and Prejudice, "The Snow Queen," by Hans Christian Andersen, the Walt Whitman poem "Song of Myself," and the classic Beatles album Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band.For me this was very much a pick and pan book - I skimmed over the opening paragraphs of all the chapters but only continued with a handful, primarily on those I'd read myself. The standout essay was by Diana Kappel Smith, who revisited A Field Guide to Wildflowers of Northeastern and Northcentral North America, by Roger Tory Peterson and Margaret McKenny; this book, picked up almost randomly one summer, shaped Smith's career and the essay is a homage to what impact the right book at the right time can make.I saw Rereadings at Borders a few weeks ago and added it to my list because I love Fadiman's work. I read it last week while waiting an inordinately long time in Borders for a delayed friend, and am glad I read it but no less glad I didn't buy it. - Alex
Less a sequel than a companion piece to Book Lust, More Book Lust explores other favourite books, arranged topically. As witht he first of librarien Pearl's books, I found a number of interesting-sounding titles to add to my wanted listed, and a few authors who sounded promising. And, also like the original, I was frustrated by the lack of information about many of the titles - were they just chosen because there weren't enough other titles for this category, or is this book particulalry special? If so, why? If you're interested in expanding your reading, or in exploring a particular genre, regional area, or theme, this is for you. And as I start seeking out and reading some of Pearl's recommendations I'll feed back my thoughts. - Alex
Librarian and book lover Pearl has divided her favourite and most highly recommended books into some 175 categories, ranging from run of the mill themes (biographical novels, Cold War novels, Westerns) to unique groupings ("Christmas books for the whole family to read", "Dinosaur hunting", and "A... my name is Alice" - books written by women named Alice). Arranged alphabetically, the book also periodically lists authors "Too good to miss", with a suggestion of places to start and a little information about what makes them so good - the writing style, setting, what sets them apart from the rest of the herd, and Perl's favourites.And that was my biggest gripe - for many writers or individual novels there was barely any information to let me decide if this was something I wanted to read myself. Opening at random, for example, I find the section "Gay and lesbian fiction: out of the closet" where Pearl gives a brief overview of the genre, including the delineation between American gay and lesbian fiction before and after 1970 (or the effect of the Stonewall riots on gay and lesbian fiction). Then she writes: "Merle Miller's What Happened and Edmund White's A Boy's Own Story are both set prior to Stonewall. White followed up A Boy's Own Story with The Beautiful Room is Empty and The Farewell Symphony." Nothing at all to tell the unfamiliar reader why these novels are notable, or even what they deal with - presumably the experience/s of being closeted, realising the protagonists' sexual orientation, and coming out, but how are we to know?Despite this flaw, the understandable American bias, and the disagreements I have about some of her picks, Book Lust is well worth the reading. I consider myself to be quite well read, in terms of breadth and sheer volume, though I've managed to miss many of the classics and a whole chuck of literature, but the vast majority of authors Pearl recommends were strangers to me. This hopefully says as much about the increasing volume of publications as it does about my reading habits. I barely went three pages without finding something I wanted to follow up or try out - though I won't be buying any of her suggestions, armed with too little information about the books, I came away from her lists with several pages of suggested reading, and a library copy of her follow up, the creatively named Book Lust 2. And a resolution to make sure that I'm clear in these reviews about why I did and did not like the works discussed. - Alex
Sutherland addresses pretty much every aspect of the novel, from its evolution through the future incarnations (will e-books ever replace paper and ink?) to the impossibility of hearing of more than a fraction of what’s available, let alone reading it all. He talks about publishing, reviewing, awards, hardback vs paperback, the impact of the Internet, margins and marginalia, films from books, dust jackets and blurbs.
According to the blurb of this book, “We assume reading is like riding a bicycle – you can do it or you can’t. But reading well is almost as difficult as writing well. This book is a guide to how to do it.”
Not so much. The title is certainly catchy, and the blurb lead me to buy the book (despite my book budget), but there’s little hear about how to actually read a novel. There is, however, quite a lot about how much awareness of place affects your reading of a novel – Sutherland discusses at length a review of the well received novel Saturday by Ian McEwan. Lauded in the UK, and broadly tipped to take out a major award, the book was reviewed by John Banville, an American novelist, just prior to its US release. Banville, in the first review of Saturday published in the US, savaged the novel; although his review was attacked, it’s highly likely that the resultant brouhaha cost McEwan the award that, not entirely coincidentally, Banville received.
Sutherland is highly critical of Banville’s errors in the review – chiefly that he believed McEwan’s protagonist won a squash match (described, moment by moment, over 17 pages) he lost, which evidently colours the rest of the text, and places the action in North London when it takes place in West London, a location as “tight, precise and integral to the novel” as its time frame. “If you know central London the novel has a distinct Fitzrovian feel to it… [it] is a quintessentially Fitzrovia-Bloomsbury novel.” Does not knowing this affect the reading of the novel? Sutherland says it absolutely makes a difference – although errors the author made (like the hours a gentleman’s club are open, and whether or not a given gym has a squash court) are evidently “truly piddling.”
There is a section on hearing the characters’ voices – “Zadie Smith’s On Beauty is set… in New England. She herself spent a couple of years there… What accent should the reader’s ear impose on the [text]? Smith’s Cambridge, England voice or her Cambridge Mass. voice? … Snooty cis-Atlantic, homely trans-Atlantic or bland mid-Atlantic? The passage means something different in each case.”
And these two aspects – emphasis on location and emphasis on voice - capture my issue with the book. It’s taken me over a week to write the review, because I’ve had trouble articulating how I feel about it. Far from helping me improve my ability to read a novel, my technique in approaching literature, or even my selection of what to read, I finished this tome feeling undereducated, Colonial, and unable to appreciate the delicate nuances of fiction. I quite clearly shouldn’t even attempt reading On Beauty, as I don’t even know what a “cis-Atlantic” ("this [the speaker's] side of the Atlantic") accent sounds like, and I don’t hear accent when I read anyway, unless it’s to notice annoyingly-rendered dialect. Maybe I should stick to novels set in the inner and eastern suburbs of Melbourne, instead. Or give up on reading and just watch television. - Alex
Toward the end of 2003, Hornby was commissioned to write a monthly column for Believer magazine about his reading, and this volume comprises two years worth of contributions. An otherwise extremely liberal and catholic publication, the Believer has one overarching editorial principle, which Hornby characterises as “thou shalt not slag anyone off.” Fine in theory, but more difficult when Hornby read books he didn’t like; they’re reviewed incognito, like “Unnameable comedy thriller – Anonymous” but Hornby found the experience useful, as he began reading fewer books he didn’t like.
Each column begins with a list of books bought during the month and books read, and the writing is as much about him as it is about the literature. On occasion there’s an extract from his favourite book of the month. The process of reflection has made Hornby more aware of connections between books, spates of similar themes, and the limitations of his reading palate (though not nearly as limited as mine – though not writing about non-fiction I read for school, I’m nonetheless a little self-conscious about the vast preponderance of fiction and the relatively small range of genres I’ve covered).
This is an evil book that must be avoided if you have anything else you need to be doing – since beginning this blog a year ago I have started the (previously deplored) practice of turning over a teeny corner of pages I want to use during the review: quotes that illustrate the writing, salient plot points I want to include, amusing lines and set ups, hideous inconsistencies…
Never have I bent so many corners of a book I loved – an average of one every sixteen or so pages. Most of these are for books I now want to read, but some are because they encapsulate the kind of writing I would like these reviews to be. Hornby’s writing is funny, reflective, deft, literate and modest. And addictive – I spent most of this morning telling myself I’d only read this column, then move on, only to promise myself just one more, until the entire book was read.
He has a similar attitude to me about literary pretension, and about literature (though he reads swathes more of it, and as a result I now want to read Chekov and Dickens, among others), and I so identified with some of his observations that I felt as though I was reading what I’d produce if only I were better (and older, married, a parent, masculine, British and an author).
For example, when he read Gabriel Zaid’s So Many Books, he discovered the following: “the truly cultured are capable of owning thousands of unread books without losing their composure or their desire for me.”
Hornby’s response? “That’s me! And you, probably! That’s us! ’Thousands of unread books!’ ‘Truly cultured!’” Where he surpasses my response is that this then prompts him to not only reflect of what causes him to buy books that he known he’ll almost certainly never read but to then articulate this beautiful idea:
“But with each passing year, and with each whimsical purchase, our libraries become more and more able to articulate who we are, whether we read the books or not.”
I’ll be keeping The Complete Polysyllabic Spree in my reference section so that, after I read any of his recommendations, I can see if I think what he thought. Watch for Hornby quotes in the coming months. And buy this book. – AlexNB For another take on book lists (in this case 1,001 Books You Must Read Before You Die by Peter Boxall), read this New York Times review, by William Grimes
In 2002, in the wake of September 11, New Yorker “editor, reporter, reviewer, mother, daughter, wife and compulsive reader” decided to keep a diary of a years’ worth of reading. She set herself the achievable (for her) task of reading and discussing a book a week, and set out with a list of appropriate books – ones she’d always meant to read – while leaving space for the other books she knew would appear in her life. And in the very first week her plan derailed.
This is a fascinating book for bibliophiles – Nelson’s discussions about why she picked (and sometimes abandoned) books, and her ruminations about the nature of reading, are as interesting as the descriptions of the books themselves. On many occasions I found myself nodding in agreement: over the distressing potential of running out of reading material when away, picking the right book for the right occasion, the risk one takes recommending books to friends – or accepting recommendations of friends, the quirk of Public Books (“the ones we pretend we’re reading”), and the disturbing pretentiousness of being seen with the right book in the right situation – “I liked the idea that my friends would think me unusual and sophisticated; I have a lot invested in people thinking I don’t just run with the herd” struck a chord with me.
Based on what she wrote, not just about the books discussed but also others she mentioned in passing, I now have a list of twenty three books for my ‘one day’ shopping excursion – that ‘one day’ being when I don’t have a gazillion books awaiting me.
Nelson is clearly well read, but is not pretentious about her reading material – Jackie Collins is mentioned at least once – and though she references great works and name-drops the occasional author, the writing is clear, vivid and wholly accessable. - Alex
