You are currently browsing the monthly archive for October, 2007.
As much as I enjoyed the Harry Potter series, I didn’t want to get involved in the announcement that famed Harry Potter wizard Dumbledore is gay because the whole thing seemed much ado about nothing. (He’s not real, people!)But of course now it’s a political issue and the Christian right has stepped in:
“Roberta Combs, president of the 2.5 million strong Christian Coalition of America, said she was disappointed that Rowling chose to label Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster of fictional Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, as gay.
‘It’s not a good example for our children, who really like the books and the movies. I think it encourages homosexuality,’ said Combs, who has called for a ban on the seven-book series.
‘I would never allow my own children or grandchildren to read the books or watch the movies, and other parents should do so too,’ she added, according to the U.K.-based Daily Mail newspaper.”
Just like most Christian thoughts on homosexuality, these comments are just intolerant, stupid and unnecessary. Do they really think a children’s book will do that much damage? I’d argue that the Bible has been far more harmful to the world– from the Crusades to the justification of slavery– than Harry Potter ever will be.
The Gathering, a novel by Irish writer Anne Enright, won the Booker Prize last week. (The Washington Post calls The Gathering “the Dubliners of the new millennium.”)
Each year the Booker Prize is awarded to the best English language novel in the United Kingdom commonwealth and Ireland, so obviously it’s a huge honor. Estimated month and year I will read The Gathering after I get through my current to-read list: June 2012.
Shortcomings
Adrian Tomine
If you asked me if the graphic novel was literature a few years ago, I might have said, “don’t be ridiculous.” (I may or may not have sounded like Balki Bartokamus.) But like most stupid and ignorant opinions, my view would have been based on prejudices and not actually experience.
My opinion began to change after reading The Watchmen by Alan Moore. Considered by many to be the greatest graphic novel, The Watchmen turned the superhero myth on its head with its multi-layered storytelling and dissection of the usual comic book good vs. evil paradigm. Although still dealing with costumed superheroes, only one of the characters had actual superpowers, making each of the main characters as frail and flawed as any regular joe. To call The Watchmen a comic book doesn’t do it justice. It is literature through and through.
But could a graphic novel escape the superhero genre? I wasn’t sure. That was until I discovered Jimmy Corrigan: The Smartest Kid on Earth by Chris Ware. Innovative, funny and yet tragic, the novel tells the story of a hopelessly awkward and lonely man who is reunited with his long-lost dad. Confronting family, history and despair with humor and unwitting honesty, Jimmy Corrigan: The Smartest Kid on Earth manages to be as complex and poignant as a great prose novel. Oh yeah, the art is beautiful too.
My latest foray into graphic novel genre is Adriane Tomine’s Shortcomings. Set in the San Francisco Bay Area (where I coincidentally grew up), Shortcomings follows the life of Asian-American Ben Tanaka, a negative, self-absorbed slacker who has a thing for white girls. Not exactly your usual comic book material.
Ben’s relationship with girlfriend Miko is falling apart. They argue constantly. In fact most of the novel’s first half is focused on this doomed relationship. Tomine manages to get these scenes just right. Each line of dialogue feels painstakingly real (believe me I know), but what makes these just about perfect is the art. It’s beautifully drawn and real to life. Tomine manages to accomplish in one frame what might take a prose write two pages to accomplish.
As the story moves forward and Ben’s life falls apart, Tomine’s characters become fully formed and earn a note of dignity; despite their shortcomings, each takes on an air of individuality that avoids any Asian American clichés. You won’t find any engineers here. In fact Ben runs a movie theater. That’s pretty unambitious for anyone. And Alice, his Korean best friend, is the Don Juan of lesbians. She hits on anything that moves. (Isn’t that awesome?)
In the end as the story moves to New York City and a climax and Ben’s whiteboy rival pulls out some kung fu moves, I couldn’t decide how to feel about Ben’s absurd plight– should I laugh, cry, pity him or watch with judgment as Ben’s fate became sealed by his own flaws. But one thing was clear to me: without any seeming effort, Adrian Tomine has taken the graphic novel and made it something very personal and original. Like the best literature, Shortcomings is not only great storytelling but has the themes to match; few novels ruminate on the unseen power of race and love with as much humor and dramatic grace as Tomine’s wonderful work.
I found this interesting article today on npr.com, discussing why women read more than men. Not only that, the article mentions “that the typical American read only four books last year, and one in four adults read no books at all.”
You have to wonder why this is. My feeling is that our lives are busier than ever and sitting by yourself reading a book doesn’t feel like the best way to utilize free time for many people. They’d rather do something social like watch a movie with friends, play video games or go to a bar and get hammered.
So why should anyone read? Well, people who read a lot are generally smarter, more empathetic and more in tune with the world around them. Not buying that argument? People who read a lot generally make more money too.
However, more important than any of that: unlike the more technologically advanced forms of entertainment, which favor superficial instant gratification, reading’s patient pleasures are far more satisfying. (There’s a reason why books are almost always better than their movie counterpart.) It’s the difference between swigging from a great bottle of wine or savoring each flavor. They both get you drunk, but only one gets to enjoy it on another level.
Essential Writings
Thich Nhat Hanh
In a world where authentic spirituality seems to have dried up and been replaced with caustic irony and scorn for anything that’s too earnest, it’s become increasingly difficult to reach people. (The exception seems to be the faux spirituality of retail outlets like Urban Outfitters, which reaches thousands of young people. Want a taste of religion with a sardonic edge? Try Buddha as a spiritual icon and a piggy bank.)
But despite it all, some spiritual leaders actually do reach people. Some are great, some are terrible, and all are fighting for the minds and dollars of the spiritually empty. They are the end-all-be-all to all your problems, selling redemption in mass production with their pristine churches and hardcover books on sale. They are God incarnate in a salesman’s visage, armed with a sharp tongue and a slick suit.
Buddhist spiritual leaders are a different breed, however. Instead of power suits, they wear modest robes. Instead of groomed haircuts, they go bald. Instead of fancy mansions, they live in unassuming monasteries. It lends them an air of authenticity that Western spiritual leaders usually do not have.
Maybe the most famous Buddhist spiritual guru behind the Dalai Lama is Vietnamese monk Thich Nhat Hanh. If you’ve ever visited the “Eastern Religions” section at Barnes & Noble, you know who he is. His books pepper the walls. And considering how many books he has written, his Essential Writings, an excellent summation of his more than 30 books, are probably the best place to start. It’s sort of like a greatest hits album; it gives you little snippets of his most popular and fundamental teachings, but never delves too deep out of fear of scaring away the newbies.
The book is broken into five chapters, each an introduction into Hanh’s strongest beliefs, including his most important teaching, mindfulness, the teaching that we must be aware of the present moment above all else to end suffering. The writing is simple; it never drawing attention from the wisdom of the words (and there is wisdom here). Like Buddhism itself, each sentence is concentrated on its present task of teaching. It never meanders to the past or future but focuses on the now. Its lack of flash may not dazzle you, but by the end its simple language and message of compassion casts a spell on the reader. And who knows, it may even change your life a little.
Hanh’s poetry is also interspersed throughout Essential Writings. These literary attempts lack the complexity and egocentric attitude of contemporary American poetry. The line breaks and imagery for example are very straightforward. But this isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Without the “I” being the center of every line, the poetry is reflective and humane about our natural surroundings without any pomposity, never going for some grand epiphany about life. Like a mirror, Hanh’s poetry only reflects what he sees, and what Hanh sees is often beautiful. And not even Urban Outfitters can make fun of that.
Run
Ann Patchett
September 2007
HarperCollins
Ann Patchett is not a writer who appeals to my head; she appeals to my heart. Sure, I can intellectually appreciate the artistry with which she crafts her characters, can appreciate the language, can look for symbols and connections in the plot–but that all comes later. While I’m reading one of her books (to date, this is my third), I am sucked in on a visceral level: thinking about it while at work, in conversation; holding the pages open to sneak in a paragraph while the coffee brews or I’m waiting for the elevator. It sticks to my ribs.
I had this reaction to Bel Canto, and (to a lesser degree) repeated it with Run. Set in Boston over a 24-hour period, Run is a novel based on its characters. The cast includes Bernard Doyle, a widower/former mayor of Boston, his three sons (two adopted), the birth mother and her daughter, and an uncle who is an aging priest. The story is about family relationships, which are catapulted by a car accident in the middle of a snowstorm. The boys are reunited with their birth mother and her daughter (their sister).
The character of the sister, Kenya, is the runner of the title: a track prodigy who could be an Olympic hopeful. The passages describing her running are among the most beautiful–she almost flies off the page. But “run” perhaps figures in most directly as an unspoken option that each ponders at one point (at least) in the book. The oldest brother is the one who takes this option, running off to Africa as an escape from early life tragedies. But each thinks it: running away from birth mothers, family expectations, obligations. How each chooses to deal with the desire to escape defines the struggle at the book’s core.
Kenya is really the heart of the book. As soon as she’s introduced, she becomes the focus of both the narration and the family. She is a level-headed and kind eleven-year-old, who is almost unrealistically mature. She’s the central female character (her mother’s in a coma, and the Doyle mother is long-dead). Kenya’s also the moral center: she does the right thing, she is the reason for the reunification of the dad and his oldest, prodigal son.
But the truth is, everyone does the right thing. Perhaps this novel is most accurately a study of what comes of growing up with wealth, patience, and parental devotion. Sibling and parent-child conflicts arise, but are overall benign. The conflicts in the plot do less to create drama than internal exploration. Maybe it’s unrealistic–entirely cast by well-intentioned, loving characters–but maybe it’s just hopeful. And that’s why this book is worth a read: it’s subtle, internal, and ultimately very hopeful.
Manifest Destinies
Laura E. Gomez, NYU Press (October 2007)
Check out my review at PopMatters.
Congratulations to 87-year-old Doris Lessing for winning the 2007 Nobel Prize in Literature. I’d say it was much deserved, except I’ve never read anything by her. I will have to now.
Her quote in yesterday’s Guardian got a laugh out of me: “I’ve won all the prizes in Europe, every bloody one. I’m delighted to win them all, the whole lot. It’s a royal flush.”
I guess when you win a Nobel Prize, there’s no longer any need for modesty.
Atonement
Ian McEwan
“Men are not punished for their sins, but by them.” –Elbert Hubbard
No matter your religion, it is forever being drummed into us that sin will lead to eternal damnation. I suppose this puts the fear of God into people, so they act “moral” but that threat has never resonated with me– I’ve always viewed sin with casual indifference. It’s all preach and no penalty, too obsessed with what you can’t do, rather than with why sins are destructive. The Judeo-Christian concept of sin for example has rarely been updated in the last 2,500, leaving us with outdated affronts to God like “you shall have no other gods before me.” I guess us Buddhists/Hindus are in trouble.
What is far more interesting to me than obsolete laws handed down from high above are the consequences of sin– how a terrible act can destroy what people hold dear. In Ian McEwan’s Atonement, a devastating, beautiful novel, the consequences of sin are given full treatment, spanning over 60 years in the lives of its characters as they recover from the effects of aterrible sin and its aftermath.
In the novel’s first half, McEwan follows the lives of three people on a summer day in 1935– 13 year old Briony Tallis, an aspiring writer, her older sister Cecilia, and Robbie Turner, the son of Tallis’s maid. Intertwining each person’s story through an intense psychological narrative, we delve into the minds and souls of each character in a way few books or writers ever do. It’s not quite the stream of consciousness style of Woolf or Joyce– it strays outside of the consciousness of a character too often to be considered so– but it is nevertheless effecting, as Briony, Cecilia and Robbie become full, fleshed out characters.
As the first half moves slowly along and the plot becomes clearer, we see that Robbie and Cecilia are in love and are beginning to realize these feelings. But precocious Briony, who has little understanding of adult affairs, sees their love as something else, something she believes, for reasons I won’t get into, as terribly wrong.
Eventually the first half comes to a close, and a terrible crime takes place. And suddenly Briony’s perception of her sister and her lover comes into play. Suddenly the lives of all the characters are forever changed by a 13-year-old’s word.
The rest of the novel traces the fallout of Briony’s actions. It continues through to World War II and the battle of Dunkirk. This section, which is from Robbie’s point of view, could stand alone as a exemplary set-piece of combat; it captures the horrors and boredom of war with language that is always beautiful and emotionally powerful but never self-conscious or maudlin. After recounting the battle, we get into the 18-year-old Briony’s world, as she is now a nurse in London during the war. We see how Briony has grown up and how the horrors of that day five years earlier still haunt her.
Eventually the novel heads to Britain in 1999. The principal characters who have survived are now all frail and wizened. We see the impact of the war and that day in 1935 on the characters lives. McEwan builds up to an ending that calls into question everything that came before it. It is here where Atonement’s impact becomes deeply felt, and that the novel’s theme became clear to me.
McEwan, I think, chose the novel’s title not because it was apt but because of its irony. The atonement of sin, it seems for Briony and maybe for all of us, isn’t as easy a simple sorry or making amends. Sometimes atonement can never happen because the sin is too great and becomes apart of you forever. To me, that sounds a lot scarier than eternal damnation.
