Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen

 

“I wish, as well as everybody else, to be perfectly happy; but, like everybody else, it must be in my own way.”

If there is one author out there that seems to grow in my esteem with time and whose novels I am able to appreciate even more on repeated readings, it is the much beloved Jane Austen. My relationship with Austen got off to a rocky start with Pride and Prejudice, one of those "classics" that I found deplorable and never actually finished. What a daft, illiterate fool I was back in the day! Years later, I decided to give P+P another try and was pleasantly surprised to discover that she wasn't the dull, sappy writer I initially perceived her to be, an egregious mistake on my part. This time around, I found Ms. Austen's clever wit, sardonic humor and social criticism to be delightfully engaging. Having matured in my reading habits, I was able to better recognize the inherent subtle nuances of her writing, which went over my head on the first reading. Her novels aren't simply about women seeking love and getting married, there is so much more going on beneath the surface worth exploring if one is to fully appreciate Austen's ingenuity. There seems to be a certain stigma attached to Austen in which she only caters towards a female readership but this myopic attitude is a completely unfounded. Her works deal with universal themes of love, human companionship; tackling a wide variety of important social issues such as class and gender. As a dude who doesn't place much importance on asserting my masculinity in the first place, I am not embarrassed to admit that Jane Austen has now become one of my favorite authors.

Thus, this brings us to Sense and Sensibility, my third Austen novel, and one that I read last year for the Classics Club challenge. I really should have had the foresight to scribble down some notes at the time when the novel more fresh in my mind but alas, it was during one of my intense reading frenzies. I do look forward to picking it up again because it was excellent and dare I say it, even better than Pride and Prejudice! The story revolves around the Dashwood sisters, Elinor and Marianne who are left with a tiny inheritance when there father dies, thus, their prospects at finding respective husbands becomes greatly diminished. This concept might sound silly and archaic by today's standards but during Austen's time, the  role of women was  in the household, taking care of the children. Living in a patriarchal society, women rarely held an occupation and relied on their husband's income. For me, reading Austen is often like entering a time capsule into the past, allowing the opportunity to contrast older social customs with the present. It is important to note that the Dashwoods are not living in poverty, they still remain a part of the upper-class but as far as their fortune is concerned, they are positioned at the bottom tier of the wealthy elite. Hence, match-making is often based on the financial benefits to both parties, taking precedence over unconditional love. As a hopeless romantic, Austen's conservatism used to irk me but it took some time to understand that within a historical context, marriage was more of a business arrangement. I like to believe that times have changed since the 19th century, that people actually do marry for love instead of money but even now in Western capitalist society where cash is king, survival will be tough without a steady income. Therefore, for many people, marrying into money is a sensible move, ensuring a prosperous future and I can't condemn those who decide to take this route. However, with this novel, Austen places a higher value on love rather than financial pragmatism but also seems to suggest that the combination of both is even more ideal. Inner vs. outer experience is also an important aspect here that should not go overlooked. Austen cleverly shows how society dictates behavior, manners and decorum often restraining one from speaking their mind or expressing true feelings because that type of conduct goes against the norm. Hence, in an Austen novel, this miscommunication leads to many misunderstandings and broken hearts;  she uses this break down in human interaction effectively to create drama. In any other novel, using this particular plot device would likely hinder the narrative but Austen somehow makes it work with the appropriate stylistic panache.

The concept of marriage is always a recurring motif in Austen but the characters themselves must endure many difficulties, facing many obstacles on the paths towards of self-discovery in order to find love. As indicated by the title, the juxtaposition between Sense and Sensibility is the main component of the novel. The two sisters are radically different from each other in their approach to life and relationships. Elinor represents aspects of sensibility--rational, upholding societal values and propriety whereas Marianne is the complete opposite: quixotic, a free-spirit, impulsive, driven by her emotions. The tension between these contrasting dialectics builds up expertly throughout the novel; however, I am unsure whether or not she is successful in finding a balance between traditional values and a more liberal approach towards love.

Austen succeeds in creating such compelling characters full of complex emotions. The sisterly affection shared between the Dashwood sisters is most heartfelt. I am a sucker for a good romance and Jane Austen delivers the goods in spades. Incidentally, the movie adaptation directed by Ang Lee with Emma Thompson and Kate Winslet resonates with me even more than the actual text. The casting is perfect, everyone gives fantastic performances, even Hugh Grant who plays Elinor's love interest. Not to mention, the impeccable Alan Rickman who steals every scene as Colonel Brandon. The beautiful, haunting score is also most memorable. I don't remember if Shakespeare's sonnet #116 is mentioned in the novel but it is Marianne's favorite ("Let me not the marriage of true minds admit impediments") and this left me positively swooning. If I am considered effeminate because of my affection for Austen novels, so be it. I can live with that and frankly, I don't care what others think about my reading habits. She's a literary rock star and I look forward to reading the rest of her novels. Persuasion is next.

This novel is part of my Classics Club Challenge.

The Good Luck of Right Now by Matthew Quick

 “The universe hiccups, and we poor fools try to figure out why.”

Considering that I do no read a lot of 'contemporary fiction' and tend to stick mostly with the 'classics' or underground cult novels, I honestly don't remember what compelled me to pick up The Good Luck of Right Now by Matthew Quick. Although, I'm pretty sure boredom played a factor in my decision or was it the simple, yet expressive cover with the fortune cookie? Dunno.

The book was on display at the library with a bunch of other "popular reads" picked by library staff members and I suppose it could have been the blurb on the front cover that says "From the Bestselling Author of The Silver Linings Playbook" that sold me. Granted, I have never seen the movie adaptation with Jennifer Lawrence even though it has been highly praised by critics and recommended to be on numerous occasions. Regardless, having read this book back in March, my memory is a little hazy concerning specific plot details but I certainly recall being very disappointed. Matthew Quick's twee writing style never really gelled with me, the story rudimentary, predictable; the quirkiness overdone to the point of self-parody. If you are going to write a story about an underdog type character on a journey of self-discovery, they best be sympathetic. The author failed to give me any reason to care at all.

The story takes on an epistolary form, written entirely in letters to the famous actor Richard Gere by a 40-year old man-child named Bartholomew (Simpsons reference?) who suffers from some kind of mental condition--never really specified, but it is most likely some kind of bi-polar deficiency. Richard Gere never actually responds to Bart so the letters basically serve as a helpful method of self-reflection especially for someone who has difficulty with expressing his thoughts in a coherent manner and socializing with others. He has lived a sheltered life, nurtured and taken care of by his mother but when she dies from cancer, Bart finds himself in a troubling situation because now he has to step out alone into the scary world. He meets a bunch of other quirky friends who decide to help him out and at one point they go on a road to trip to Ottawa (much needed bonus points awarded to Mr. Quick for including Canada in his story).  For those who are unfamiliar with Canadian geography, Ottawa is our capital, the Prime Minster's main residence and Parliament Hill is the political epicenter of the city where government officials run the country. Bart and his friends decide to visit Ottawa not because they wish to see Canadian politicians in action but in search of his father. They also stop and check out the historical site of Parliamentary Cats that actually used to exist. It was a large sanctuary for roaming cats who lived on the government grounds. Pretty cool. Shame that it is closed down.

Despite my indifference, this book is a light, quick read and easy enough to get through without any difficulty. Too bad it suffers from long stretches of dullness and rendered insubstantial with very little redeeming qualities. The Good Luck of Right Now wasn't for me and it's doubtful I will pick up anything else by this author anytime soon.

Catch-22 by Joseph Heller

 “He was going to live forever, or die in the attempt.”

I've encountered these Joseph Heller types before--no, not similar writers per se but actual people who have come across my path at various social gatherings (especially when drinks are flowing and intellectual conversation is in great demand), reminding me why I rarely go out anymore because the experience is usually unpleasant. At some point throughout the evening after people have mingled for a while, eaten some fancy o'dourves, gulped down several glasses of wine, taken too many shots of hard liquor, become bored of talking about the weather or what reality television program they are watching, all of a sudden someone in the group will become the center of attention--not because this particular individual is loud or making a drunken scene; rather, they exude wit and sophistication outmatching anyone else in the room, possessing the capability to spin fabulous, outrageous stories and causing shock-waves of laughter from the party-goers who are astounded by the onslaught of hilarious jokes, executed with the perfect punch-lines. Of course, most of the guests will laugh at just about anything by this point due to the consumption of alcohol. Nevertheless, the speaker revels in flattery and self-gratification. It is as if the avid listeners are under a magical spell as they continue to laugh, and laugh until some are laughing so hard they spill their drinks or fall to the floor in epileptic fits of hysteria. Meanwhile, someone like myself who is an introvert, who would much rather stay at home curled up with a good book, never wanting to come to this party in the first place but ends up being dragged by some friends, happens to be nursing a carbonated beverage while quietly observing the entire ridiculous scene. 

Seriously, please stop talking. Yes, you are eloquent and clever but have been telling the same joke over and over again! You were mildly amusing at first but now I must resist the urge to throw my glass in the general direction of your head to knock you off that pedestal. My friends might find your antics hilariously entertaining but they seem unaffected by the law of diminishing returns. You made your point quite clear at the beginning but seem adamant to drill the argument home within different contexts and comedic sketches. You are fond of satire and paradox. You are in love with irony. War is bad. The military is insane, those in power are insane, soldiers are driven crazy by war. A solider can't be grounded because he thinks he's crazy and no one can vouch for his level of craziness because everyone else is crazy. It's a Catch-22. Yes, I heard you the first time, a Catch-22. Ok, I get it! It's a bloody Catch-22!

AHHHHHHHH!!!! I can't force myself to listen to anymore of your incessant rambling. I don't find these contradictions, breaches of communication and misunderstandings in your jokes to be funny anymore. It's annoying. Are you familiar with that Abbott and Costello routine "Who's on First?" I'm sure you do. Because you've been using that same set-up for what seems like an eternity! I'm so tempted to start taking cinnamon-whiskey shots and perhaps then you might be tolerable but unfortunately I'm the designated driver tonight. I'm going outside for a smoke until you eventually have to use the restroom to unload your bladder and then I'm grabbing my intoxicated friends and we are leaving. 

This novel is part of my Classics Club Challenge.

Mr. Sammler's Planet by Saul Bellow

“Being right was largely a matter of explanations.”

Note: This will be the first of several reviews that I have neglected to write for the last little while. Considering that my memory remains quite poor and the fact that many of these novels were read at the beginning of the year, most of them will consist of scattered, jumbled thoughts.

No, this isn't a science fiction novel. It is about a Jewish holocaust survivor, haunted by his experiences during the war, who is now an elderly man living in New York during the late 60's. He finds himself alienated by the emerging radical counter-culture: race relations, sexism, social media, greed, capitalism and a whole host of other issues disorient Mr. Sammler's psyche, clashing with his 'old-fashioned' ways. Hence, the writing often reflects his fragmented state of mind with the use of stream-of-consciousness and discursive intrusions as he struggles to adapt to this new world that is now foreign to him. 

Similar to some of his other works such as Herzog or Humboldt's Gift, this is a novel about ideas, not plot. Mr. Sammler is a keen observer of human nature, an erudite scholar and intellectual who is trying to find a rational explanation for these changes to society and perhaps discover answers to the big questions that might aid humanity towards a brighter future instead of letting the world go to hell in a hand-basket. From his perspective, society  has gone completely insane with technological advancements, mass production and material obsession. "Enlightenment" which includes freedom, liberty, fraternity, equality, social security, democracy, etc has turned society into total chaos and hypocrisy. Leading the charge is this new hyper-active generation that is all about self-perseverance rather than the collective good and everyone prefers to remain oblivious to the important problems rather than face them head on. Truth has become obfuscated; the break-down of moral values has lead to anarchy. Inspired by the works of H.G. Wells and feeling disconnected from the rest of his fellow human beings, Mr. Sammler envisions that a possible solution would be to leave Earth in its current state of moral decay (or blow it up, whatever is easier) and start a new civilization on the moon. Here I am thinking that my view of the world was pessimistic. Yeesh. You win, Mr. Sammler.

Seeing as much of the action takes place within the mind of the protagonist, this provides the perfect springboard for Saul Bellow's signature style of protracted prose with its unsparing philosophical discourse, social commentary and critical analysis. His acerbic wit, and oddball humor provides a counter-balance to the lugubrious subject matter. Bellow displays  such a command of language that is most impressive to me. He has a magical way with words, composing long sentences simultaneously overwhelming and captivating. It is perfectly understandable why many people often find Bellow to be insufferable to read because he does can across as self-indulgent, ostentatious and his novels tend to take the form of academic dissertations instead of focusing on an actual story. I usually revere his writing techniques with much earnestness but this is the first time that his incessant ramblings irritated me. There is even a monologue that extends for several pages that attempts to encompass his extensive ideologies about Western Civilization--history, scientific principals, individualism, misanthropy, the millstone of the human soul, the contradictions of transcendence, universal morality. It's all too much. 

Furthermore, one of the most distasteful aspects of the novel for me is Bellow's portrayal of race, especially that of African-Americans, which comes across as discriminatory. At the beginning of the novel, Mr. Sammler gets accosted by a "Negro" who is a thief (typical, eh?) and during their little ordeal, the black man pulls down his pants to reveal his genitals. Bellow is keen to describe the Negro as an animal, a sub-human prone to sexual deviance and violence. Reading this part left me flabbergasted and I admit to losing a bit of respect for Mr. Bellow.

Overall, this novel failed to generate any high level of enthusiasm from me and does not even come close to what I have come to expect from an otherwise consistent author. I would classify this novel as a minor Saul Bellow work that has ambitious intentions but fails to reach its full potential.

This novel is part of my Saul Bellow Project.

Tigana by Guy Gavriel Kay

"In this world, where we find ourselves, we need compassion more than anything, I think, or we are all alone.”

Stop the press! I hereby declare that Tigana may just be the finest stand-alone fantasy novel ever written. Yeah, it's that good. In fact, it transcends the genre and should be recognized as a great piece of literature in its own right. This is my my first encounter with the writings of Guy Gavriel Kay and it certainly won't be the last. Where has this author been hiding all my life? I'm kicking myself for not having read anything by him sooner. He's even Canadian! Shame on me.

I am not sure how his other novels compare, but based solely on the masterful work that is Tigana, it's a travesty that Mr. Kay has not received the recognition so rightfully deserved as one of the great Canadian authors of our time. Sure, he is much praised within fantasy circles, but rarely is he ever acknowledged amongst the more notable Canadian writers such as Margaret Atwood, Mordecai Richler, Michael Ondaatje, Robertson Davies, W.O. Mitchell or Alice Munro (just to name a few) who tend to steal the spotlight. I can't seem to shake off the nagging feeling that he has been wrongfully excluded because of a certain level of prejudice that exists against authors who write within the fantasy genre. This elitist attitude is completely unsound and downright infuriating to me. I really wish people would keep more of an open mind, embracing literature in its many forms instead of being quick to judge a novel as simply derivative just because it does not fall into the general consensus of serious literature.

So what is this story about? Well, for starters, it revolves around a conquered land known as the Palm, whose territory is divided up by two opposing empires, each under the control by a powerful sorcerer--Brandin of Ygrath of Alberico of Barbidor. For over twenty years, peace has been maintained by the two rulers but now tensions are beginning to rise as certain events are set into motion by a small group of rebels who aim to overthrow their oppressors. One particular province named Tigana has been cursed by Brandin due to particular circumstances and will soon pass out of all knowledge unless these individuals find a way to bring its name back into the world. Kay weaves a rich history of culture and religion that is nothing short of mesmerizing. He transports the reader to a fantastic realm that pulsates with authenticity and there is no limit to his imagination. It would be cruel to reveal more plot details and spoil the fun of discovering them on your own but it should be noted that the novel is surprisingly light on fantasy elements, the main emphasis placed on the characters and story. There is very little action, no large battles until the very end and the display of magic is marginal. Kay's decision to scale back the action is well-conceived because it allows more time to focus on the intricate narrative rather than wasting time on pointless fighting sequences. When these small bursts of action do occur, the stage has been slowly set up for awesomeness. One of the many interesting aspects of the novel is that the magic used in this world remains ambiguous and Kay is not adamant to go into technical detail at all. This approach is surprisingly effective, leaving room for the reader to use their imagination, to infer through context. He is a natural born story-teller, a very skilled writer who knows how to cleverly hook the reader into the narrative by revealing just enough information but not leaving them completely in the dark; dropping clues, calmly building suspense, and then knowing exactly when to divulge key plot points that are stunning in their turning points to move the story along towards its spectacular finale. He makes it seem so effortless.

Kay is able to take those familiar fantasy genre tropes and flip them on their head to tell a story that is truly unique full of depth and complexity. He imbues layers of ambiguity, metaphors and subtext that leaves the reader with plenty to contemplate. In fact, one can argue that the novel serves as a parable or allegory of colonial rule, the loss of cultural identity that often afflicts a conquered people. Tigana is a slow-burn and somewhat confusing at first since Kay drops the reader into this fantastical world without very little explanation, not to mention the plethora of characters to keep track of. Considering the many interconnected story-lines, Kay performs a miraculous juggling act with the use of shifting narrative perspectives to keep the story flowing at a steady pace. There are plenty of surprises and unexpected plot twists that dropped my jaw to the floor. As a stand-alone epic, I didn't think Kay could successfully pull it off without stumbling towards a lackluster climax but he continually surprised me and left me in awe. The penguin edition clocks in close to 800 pages and it's usually the sign of a great novel if it manages to keep me turning the pages at a brisk pace and by its conclusion, leave me wanting more. I honestly can't remember the last time I became so enraptured by a novel, reveling in the absolute pleasure of reading a great story that is entertaining as much as it is intelligently written, filled with elegant prose and memorable characters--heroes and villains that are not portrayed in black-and-white but come across as complex individuals struggling with their consciousness and who undergo moral dilemmas as a result of their actions. Kay also writes compelling female characters, strong independent women who do not fall into stereotypical gender roles. There are a few sex scenes (gasp!) but they are not gratuitous and believe it or not, actually serve a purpose to the story. Although it is difficult for me to settle upon a favorite character, Brandin of Ygrath stands out as one of the more fascinating villains I have come across in fantasy. He is a tyrant and has committed unspeakable crimes but he is a sympathetic antagonist whose cruel actions are understandable considering the circumstances leading up to his victory over the Western Palm. He might be a sorcerer wielding great power, but he is also human, someone who is flawed, blindsided by grief but also capable of expressing love, especially towards Dianora who plays a key role in the story.

  

On a somewhat related note, it surprises that no movie studios have decided to buy the rights to this novel. Kay's writing possesses a very cinematic quality that would translate well to the silver-screen and the epic story would certainly appeal to a mass audience but then again, it would also be very difficult to do the novel justice. Perhaps a mini-series would be the better way to go. This is one of those rare novels that still lingers in my mind and I can't wait to revisit it again. Even if you aren't a fan of the fantasy, do yourself a favor and give Tigana a chance. Like me, you might be pleasantly surprised to discover a newfound appreciation of the genre.

This novel is part of my Canadian Reading Project.

Humboldt's Gift by Saul Bellow

 “One must bear in mind the odd angle or slant that the rays of love have to take in order to reach a heart like mine.”

By my recognition, Saul Bellow has rightfully earned his place amongst the greatest American writers of the 20^th century so one can understand my high expectations when approaching this particular novel, which was awarded the Pulitzer Prize in 1975. Charles Citrine, the esoteric protagonist and narrator of the story recalls that his literary idol and mentor, a once famous poet name Humboldt Fleisher, admonished the literary award with ironic vehemence: “The Pulitzer is for the birds—for the pullets. It’s just a dummy newspaper publicity award given by crooks and illiterates. You become a walking Pulitzer ad, so even when you croak the first words of the obituary are ‘Pulitzer prize winner passes’” (3).  It makes me wonder if Mr. Bellow still harbored these negative sentiments or had a change of heart when accepting the award.

Humboldt’s Gift by Saul Bellow is a flawed masterpiece, a wildly ambitious tour-de force with the author in top form. Once again, his inimitable writing style featuring the harmonious fusion between scholarly discourse and virtuoso literary aesthetics is funny, poignant, insightful and overflowing with ideas but he is unable to maintain the same consistent momentum or quality of writing established in the first half of the novel. Despite the uneven narrative structure that seems to be split into two completely different novels altogether—the first part focusing on the narrator’s inner thoughts, personal reflections and philosophical reveries greatly overshadowing the second half that is more story-oriented, containing a bizarre series of events, odd character encounters (Charlie’s relationship with an eccentric mobster named Cantible is a perfect example) that seem so out of place, eventually leading to some  questionable outcomes—Bellow should still be commended for managing to keep the overwhelming amount of story material intact from imploding on itself throughout 500 pages even though the narrative gets away from him as it hiccups towards the end. Despite this minor hindrance, Saul Bellow is a very clever writer who uses irony to highlight the absurdities of the narrative—one is not supposed to take the novel at face-value, it satirizes the intellectual as a phony, a buffoon, a failure. At first, this approach hindered my overall enjoyment of the novel because Bellow’s flippant sardonic humor conflicts with my own literary aspirations. Why shouldn’t the artist be recognized as having a prestigious status if their talents prove worthy of esteem? Upon further reflection, it dawned on me that Bellow is using irony as justification for legitimizing the artist in a society that no longer recognizes them not as a group of intellectuals but rather as the creators  behind vapid ‘entertainments’ that come out of Hollywood every year. This irony becomes explicitly clear at the end of the novel when Charlie discovers Humboldt’s gift to him beyond the grave (hence, the title of the novel  takes on a double-meaning since it refers to Humboldt’s talents as a poet along with his “gift” bequeathed to Charlie that solves his financial problems). 

Furthermore, irony is used to subvert the haughty sententiousness of Charlie’s predisposition as an artist who intends to enlighten humanity and influence society through his work, yet his approach is passive; he theorizes eloquently and draws conclusions but is reluctant to take any immediate action to confront many of the contentious issues of living as an artist in a capitalist western society, nor is he willing to address the problems of his own life in a rational manner, which of course causes serious repercussions including divorce, various court proceedings, lawsuits, extortion, the involvement with hoodlums and failed relationships. Charlie recognizes the contradictions of his intellectual life: “What good is all this reading if you can’t use it in the crunch?” (87). Again, more irony. The falling-out between Humboldt and Charlie is a direct result of intellectual stubbornness by both parties, however, the latter is plagued by a guilty conscious after reading about Humboldt’s death in the paper (don’t worry, this is not a spoiler since it occurs in the first few pages) and this sends a flood of memories as he attempts to reconcile the past. Charlie prefers live in the metaphysical realm, avoiding direct experience by replacing it with art and philosophical discourse. With an air of self-righteousness, he believes that it is his responsibility as a distinguished writer and member of the intellectual elite to change the way people perceive the world through the influence of his art as well as continuing the work of other artists, like his late friend Humboldt Fleisher: “It means that the only art intellectuals can be interested in is an art which celebrates the primacy of ideas. Artists must interest intellectuals, this new class. This is why the state of culture and the history of culture become the subject matter of art” (32). As challenging as this endeavor seems to Charlie, his intellectual snobbery only serves to alienate those around him and drive them away.  

Charlie takes solace in meditation, to free the mind from all external influences in order to achieve an enlightened state of being. He refers to this activity as an “exercise in contemplation or Spirit-recollection (the purpose of which was to penetrate into the depths of the soul and to recognize the connection between the self and the divine powers)” (143-144). Religious connotations aside, Charlie spends the first half of the novel engaged in his own therapy session; stretched out on the sofa, he attempts to make sense of his entire life that is spinning out of control through this intellectual exercise of deep contemplation. His ramblings thoughts whirl in every direction as he reflects on the past, his adolescence, former girlfriends, the money grubbing ex-wife, his capricious girlfriend Renata, his tenuous relationship with Humboldt. Additionally, he tackles a great deal of complex issues and ideas, including art, history, pop-culture, philosophy, literature, science, religion, sociology—Bellow is full of encyclopaedic knowledge; he fills his pages with extensive references while expounding on so many different subjects with fervent enthusiasm.  In a similar style to many of his other works, there is less focus on a traditional narrative and more emphasis placed upon the exploration of ideas, an engagement of intellectual discussion. This time around, the main concern is twofold: anthroposophy (theories of the human soul) and death. Charlie is terrified of death (something that I can easily relate to) and is eager to justify his failed life with the belief that humans must possess an immortal soul that is connected to the after-life, otherwise life is meaningless. His intention is to write a significant work, a dissertation on “boredom” focusing on its impact on capitalist society, the connection to sleep and to the human soul. Just thinking about the many lengthy passages devoted to his theoretical undertaking makes my head spin. 

Similar to Philip Sydney or Percy Shelley, Bellow attempts to write his own “Defense of Poetry” for the 20^th century and ardently puts forth arguments supporting the artist—in this case the poet—but realizes the many contradictions associated with this role. Charlie goes on to describe the irony of Humboldt’s artistic yearnings:

“He wanted to be magically and cosmically expressive and articulate, able to say anything; he wanted also to be wise, philosophical, to find the common ground of poetry and science to prove that the imagination was just as potent as machinery to free and to bless humankind. But he was out also to be rich and famous” (121). 

This juxtaposition between the artist and capitalist society is an issue that is frequently addressed and Charlie struggles to come to terms with his success and sense of self-worth. Furthermore, the role of the poet in contemporary society is no longer considered prestigious, nor is it highly valued as a lucrative or profession that contributes much to society:

“The country is proud of its dead poets. It takes terrific satisfaction in the poets’ testimony that the USA is too tough, too big, too much, too rugged, that American reality is overpowering. And to be a poet is a school thing, a skirt thing, a church thing. The weakness of the spiritual powers is proved in the childishness, madness, drunkenness, and despair of these martyrs. Orpheus moved stones and trees. But a poet can’t perform a hysterectomy or send a vehicle out of the solar system.  Miracle and power no longer belong to him. So poets are loved, but loved because they just can’t make it here” (119).

The reference to Orpheus is an obvious hyperbole but the argument is clear:  Poets are no longer praised as valuable members of society like they were in previous centuries. With the advance of technology and the push towards rationalization, the poet is now obsolete, a memento of times past when literary traditions were regarded as important aspects of culture but now they no longer have a place in capitalist society. Charlie continues his position:  

“It was not the factory or department store, not the great corporation office or bureaucratic civil service, it was not the routine job world. If you could arrange to avoid that routine job-world, you were an intellectual or an artist. Too restless, tremorous, agitated, too mad to sit at a desk eight hours a day, you needed an institution—a higher institution” (135). 

The material world has changed, industries have greatly expanded and globalization is taking over.  Therefore, the poet, intellectual or whatever else title you want to call the artist, is someone who challenges the system by avoiding the 9-5 job in order to apply their time and energies to creative enterprises. Of course, this bohemian lifestyle is no longer practical and unless there is income from other sources, it is rare nowadays to be a full-time artist. This is only one aspect of the novel worth exploring. There is so much more story-material to unpack and ideas to analyze. 

Many are sure to find Bellow’s style to be obnoxious and preachy (this is true to a certain extent) but even if he does get carried away at times with his lecturing or philosophical digressions, his writing is such an absolute pleasure to read. He might be an erudite scholar but his prose is not dense or monotonous as one might expect. On the contrary, Bellow possesses such a command of language—his words possess an exuberant energy, sharpness and eloquence that is mesmerizing.  The descriptions are vividly realized, the attention to detail is most striking and his witty humor is spot on. Even though his characterizations may not be the most impressive, Bellow has a knack for writing great dialogue and it is always a joy to hear his characters speak, especially when they debate or bounce ideas off one another.  Unless you happen to already be a fan of Saul Bellow’s work, this is a difficult novel to recommend to newcomers despite being fairly accessible. Then again, it is bound to appeal to anyone with an inquisitive mind, those interested in studying literature or aspiring writers who are committed to mastering the craft. Academics and scholars also seem to be the intended demographic. Nonetheless, this is a richly complex literary work that appeals to my own sensibilities—Bellow being one of those special authors whose writing I find myself connecting with on a personal and philosophical level. Not to mention, I am also quite partial to novels about writers struggling in their artistic and personal lives. Humboldt’s Gift is a wonderful reading experience with my appreciation of its greatness rising as I continue to mull it over. There is very little doubt that I will enjoy it even more with a closer-reading.

 
This novel is part of my Saul Bellow Project. 

The Sense of an Ending by Julian Barnes

 “This was another of our fears: that Life wouldn't turn out to be like Literature.”

I don't read a lot of contemporary fiction and just happened picked this one up on a whim at the library. This might be a short novel  that can easily be read in one sitting (clocks in at 150 pages) but it is very well-written, full of powerful pithy observations about memory, adolescence, love, friendships, aging, remorse and death--in essence, Barnes is able to effectively tap into the many joyous and painful experiences that accompany one's life. Here is one of many quotes that bowled me over: 

"For the most of us, the first experience if love, even if it doesn’t work out—perhaps especially when it doesn’t work out—promises that here is the thing that validates, that vindicates life. And though subsequent years might alter this view, until some of us give up on it altogether, when love first strikes, there’s nothing like it, is there? Agreed?” 

Well said, Mr. Barnes. The novel is full of these wonderful insights, making it a delightful and worthwhile read but a winner of the Man Booker Prize? Nah. I wouldn't go that far. While Julian Barnes should be commended for his understated meditation on memory and engaging psychological character study, the story leaves much to be desired. Written in the first-person, the novel opens with the narrator  reflecting on some fragmented memories that connect to his childhood relationship with Adrian Finn, an intelligent and precocious schoolmate whom he greatly admires. However, it soon becomes apparent that Tony is trying to reconstruct the past in order to make sense of the present but his memories are distorted with the passage of time. The novel takes on the form of a mystery in which the narrator is searching for answers but they are hidden within repressed memories so he must plunge deep into his murky consciousness in order to extract the truth. Barnes is keen to emphasizes the dichotomy between history and memory. Adrian Finn believes that history "is that certainty produced at that point where the imperfections of memory meet the inadequacies of documentation" (59) whereas Tony has a more solipsistic view: "History is the lies of the victors or is it the self-delusions of the defeated?" (122). It is important to keep these two opposing viewpoints in mind since fact and fiction are constantly blurred. Tony cannot be trusted as a reliable narrator, his memories being altered by time and  manipulated by own consciousness in order to repress the truth of having a painful past.

Unfortunately, Barnes isn't as clever as he might think he is and the story falls apart in the final few pages once the true revelations come to light. For me, the "twist" ending is ludicrous, one of those WTF kind of moments that ruins the entire novel. 'Tis is a shame because everything up to this point is surprisingly great. Thus, I will eschew from revealing too much about the plot for anyone interested in checking this one out.   As a fan of brevity, Barnes is able to construct an adequate novel with great insight, sardonic wit and humor that is compelling enough for a quick read but not one that leaves an indelible impression.  

Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte

"If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger."

Well, that was a total waste of time. Why do I keep forcing myself to read such drivel when there are so many other great pieces of literature to discover? Alas, I do seem to possess certain masochistic tendencies, often going through the grueling process of self-inflicted torture just to reach the end of a novel but these unpleasant reading experiences are worthless undertakings bordering on near delusion as a form of self-aggrandizement. Reading should be an enjoyable and rewarding experience without mental suffering akin to shock-therapy. Much to my frustration (mostly at myself for the lack of willpower to just toss the book aside, although plenty of vitriolic criticism is reserved for the author as well), the only accomplishment obtained here is the fact that I can now claim to have finally read Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte, which is not exactly a noteworthy feat by any means. Besides, who really cares anyways if I have read a highly praised classic novel written in the 1840s? Did I gain any valuable insight from it or will I now be a better person for having done so? No.  However, one, if not the only positive aspect is the realization of how foolish and irrational I have been on my journey to re-discover the classics. From this moment on, I vow to stay true to myself and not give in to the ridiculous notion that it is imperative to finish a novel just for the sake of completion, either to please others or to comply with the general consensus. Seriously, life is too short for such futile endeavors. 

Sorry for that little rant, now we can proceed to the review. There is no surprise as to where my opinion stands concerning this novel. It is baffling to me how so many people praise Wuthering Heights as an alleged “masterpiece" of the English literary cannon and one of the greatest doomed love affairs between Catherine Earnshaw and Heathcliff ever written. Even if you have never read the novel or know anything about it, you have likely heard of this title or the names of these two famous characters, since the novel has achieved a type of iconic literary status. If I am to be considered a philistine for failing to recognize its “genius” or to be the least bit deserving of such fervent commendations, so be it. I have no reservations for denouncing this novel’s reputation, which as far as I can tell, has been championed largely by those who feel it prudent to jump on the literary band-wagon. Or maybe people seem to find something romantic about the relationship between Catherine and Heathcliff. She’s a snobby, selfish, temperamental upper-class brat and he’s a brooding, diabolical sociopath of pure evil who is hell-bent on seeking revenge against her for marrying someone else instead of him. A match made in heaven. 

This is not a love story folks. As a psychologically case study, Heathcliff makes an interesting subject for analysis. Adopted by Catherine’s father from undisclosed circumstances, he is treated horribly by Catherine and her brother, prone to incessant teasing and ridicule for being an outsider. All of these negative influences eventually turn him into a spiteful and malevolent villain. At first, it is easy to sympathize with the young Heathcliff since he is a victim of an abusive household. He runs away from the estate in distress after Catherine goes on to marry some dude named Edgar Linton, only to return a couple of years later as a wealthy man (the source of his fortune left ambiguous) but by then, he has transformed into an unsympathetic scoundrel. During his absence, he knocks up Edgar’s sister who gives birth to a son, but the boy suffers from poor health. Unable to stand his cold and unloving disposition, she leaves him, taking the child with her. Even after Catherine dies (sorry for the spoiler but it happens fairly early on in the novel, although her death should have occurred sooner—good riddance!) he still harbors resentment against her for slighting his affections all those years ago. Determined to achieve complete retribution, he patiently waits for her brother to die in order to gain control of the estate. However, Catherine leaves behind a daughter, who is also named Catherine but as a female, she cannot inherit lands and titles. Heathcliff is also unable receive the inheritance because he is not blood relation. Haunted by the past and unable to let go of his love for Catherine, he is driven to madness. He returns to Wuthering Heights with a devious plan to influence an impending marriage between Linton and Catherine Jr. Heathcliff despises his son, cares nothing for his well-being and only wants to use him in his malicious scheme. Knowing full well that Linton is sickly and all he has to do is wait for his early demise so that the inheritance will finally be transferred to him. Also, having Catherine Jr. as a daughter-in-law, places her in close proximity to him (her father being quite adamant to keep her away from Thrushcross Grange, Heathcliff’s place of residence). This living arrangement allows Heathcliff to treat Catherine Jr. as a prisoner, providing the opportunity to use her as a pin-cushion for all of her mother’s wrongdoings. This Heathcliff fellow sure is one classy act. I skipped over many extraneous plot details and will not spoil the ending but as a novel from the late Gothic romanticism movement, prepare to be disappointed if you are expecting sunshine and rainbows. The atmosphere of the entire novel is drenched in gloom and despair. 

It is important to mention that Emily Bronte utilizes a frame narrative, in which the story unfolds. One of the tenants living on the land named Mr. Lockwood and the housekeeper Nelly Dean are the two narrative voices that interpret the action, the latter providing the most dominant perspective. The novel begins with Mr. Lockwood meeting Heathcliff who forms a strange fixation on him and becomes curious to know more about his mysterious landlord. As luck would have it, his current housemaid, Nelly Dean, has also served in the region for many years and has been employed by the Earnshaw family where she raised Heathcliff as a young boy. Poor Nelly Dean! She definitely earns my sympathy for the endless amount of torment she goes through while serving two generations of the terrible Earnshaw family only to be sent off later to work for Mr. Heathcliff. Nelly Dean has the potential to be an interesting character as well as providing the novel with some much needed complexity but she only serves as an objective observer who never gets herself directly involved in any of the craziness going on around her. Just once, I would have liked to see her stand up to Mr. Heathcliff or slap Catherine Sr. and Catherine Jr. upside the head for being insolent rather than standing idly by on the sidelines. There are times when she voices an opinion or disapproval but fails to actually take any action of immediate consequence. Then again, one must take into consideration that the story takes place in the late 1700’s up until the early 1800’s, a time when English social hierarchy and decorum is strongly advocated. It would be considered highly unethical for servants to meddle in the personal lives of their employers. Anyways, she begins to tell Lockwood her side of the story but she also interprets other people’s stories, which is subsequently relayed back to Mr. Lockwood, who then filters this information to the reader. This narrative technique is all a little confusing at first but easy enough to follow once the story progresses and serves two main purposes—establishing Nelly Dean as an unreliable narrator and blurring the truth. An ominous or haunting mystery is one of many genre tropes associated with gothic romanticism. Heathcliff is a terrifying villain because the reader’s only comprehension of his character is presented in fragments, his true persona shrouded in uncertainties. Although his motives seem clear, he often acts unruly or increasingly temperamental; he is prone to violent outburst and fits of hysteria—almost as if possessed by demons (although, one can make the argument that he is in fact haunted by Catherine’s ghost, which accounts for his disturbed psychosis). At one point, he displays a creepy sense of necrophilia and even confesses to Nelly Dean of trying to dig up Catherine’s grave after she has been dead for 18 years during an episode of madness: “Being alone, and conscious two yards of loose earth was the sole barrier between us, I said to myself—I’ll have her in my arms again! If she be cold, I’ll think it is the north wind that chills me; and if she be motionless, it is sleep’ ” (210). Not exactly the ravings of a sane person. He is still so in love with Catherine that even if he was able to hold her corpse, it would feel as if she were only sleeping. Dude has issues.

Wuthering Heights is a horror story but not in the traditional sense. Emily Bronte seems to be playing around with the genre, subverting various conventions to establish her own anti-gothic romance based less on the supernatural and more on the harmful psychological effects of unrequited love. Unfortunately, Emily Bronte fails to deliver anything that remotely resembles genuine human compassion and the narrative distance created between the speaker and the reader diminishes any emotional connection to the characters whatsoever. Furthermore, the prose is incessantly dull and tedious with a story that quickly becomes absolutely ridiculous in its absurdities. Let’s just say that I was rolling my eyes in utter disbelief during every page. As I mentioned earlier, I will not be making the same mistake again by forcing myself to read a novel that produces nothing but vexation and contempt.

This novel is part of my Classics Club Challenge.