My Ántonia

My Ántonia by Willa Cather

I wonder why Willa Cather chose to write about her own experience from the point of view of a boy. It seems to me that the experience she had growing up on the frontier of Nebraska would be pretty different from the experience a boy would have. Perhaps that isn't true, but it just strikes me as odd that the book is so close to autobiographical except for that one glaring difference. Laura Ingles Wilder did not choose to write her experience as a boy. Did it have to do with targeting readers at that time? Or was it Cather's way of exploring her own experiences through the eyes of someone else. 

Either way the imagery in the novel is sublime. It makes me want to visit Nabraska! Which is not a place I've ever considered worth exploring. I have to say though, so far, the book reminds me of every other novel that bemoans the hardships and relives the joys of trying to survive on the American frontier. What makes this one so great? Was it the first? or just the most loved? And perhaps it will become more clear to me as I read further. 

Stay tuned!

My Ántonia

My Ántonia by Willa Cather

I began reading this book a long time ago; back when I believed that classic literature was the only think worth reading. I never got past the first chapter. But now I find myself once again holding this book in my hands, unsure of how it got there but eager to find out. I reread the first chapter and it seems so enchanting now. The metaphors and phrases that Cather use are unique yet familiar. Reading this book so far is like spending time with an old friend. I hope it continues to feel that way. 

Diary 3

Final thoughts on Diary by Chuck Palahniuk.

SPOILER ALERT- I AM ABOUT TO TALK ABOUT THE END OF THE BOOK, READING IT WILL SPOIL THE MYSTERY FOR YOU.

The second half of this book turns from angry and resentful to twisted and convoluted. The most fascinating part for me was the way that the houses on the island where almost characters of their own- more so then the families that lived within them. The inhabitants are known by their family name and they are as transient as the money they represent.  

By the end of the story I was not any closer to really understanding what was happening which is eclipsed by the phrase repeated throughout the book, "What you don't understand you can make mean anything"

The ideas that struck me most; Art that is so beautiful, or fascinating that people will walk into a fire in order to look at it; The thirteen year old Tibbi who betrays her own mother in a plot to kill all the people she loves most, and secure the financial security of everyone in her generation (as well as the next 100 years of island inhabitants). I can understand her being brainwashed by her grandmother. But that this same brainwashing led to her being convinced to burn her most beloved Granmy alive? really? who's the real psycho here? How do you convince a 13-year-old that she needs to starve her mother, fake her own death, and then set fire her own mentor/brainwasher? 

I have to say though, the entire set up for the plot is extremely well thought out, original and fascinating. It's fairy-tale meets horror film. It reminded me of something that might have appeared on the Twilight Zone- a seemingly perfect island community, but scratch the surface and you find psychologically disturbing conspiracies hiding behind each flawless facade. 

Diary 2

Further thoughts on Diary by Chuck Palahniuk.

The style of writing is so aggressive and angry that I wonder often if the author is expressing some dark part of himself or if he has created the anger for the character out of imagination and fascination with the character. Are all of his novels this angry? There are so many layers and illusions woven into the plot that it's hard to tell what's really going on. The three main characters, Grace, Misty and Tibby, The mother the wife and the daughter remind me of the three fates in Greek mythology; the maiden the mother and the crone. The link between them all, Peter Wilmot, is physically absent. The story is written from the point of view of Misty, his wife, who is writing a diary for him while he is in a coma so that he will know what happened when he wakes up. Or at least, that is what I am being led to believe as the reader right now. There is an underlying current that makes me feel like something else is really going on. Some twist that will reveal itself as the story-line works itself out. What is the deal with Grace and her red diary? Who are these artists that Misty feels the presence of everywhere? Well the book is nothing if not compelling!

Diary

I started reading Diary by Chuck Palahniuk today. 

I have never read any of his books before. This one, although not his most popular book, was recommended to me by a friend who has read several of his novels. I know little about Palahniuks work other then what Hollywood has done with Fight Club and the way that movie haunted me and followed me from year to year. It, the movie, is both brilliant and disturbing, but I tend to think everything disturbing is also brilliant. That's why I idolize artists like Cindy Sherman, Edgar Allen Poe, Tim Burton, Stephan Sondheim, Diane Arbus, and Henry Toulouse-Latrec. I love anything that dives down deep into the psyche and explores the inner demons that hide within us all. None of them try to explain it away or make it into something it's not. The most brilliant of artists are those that can find something deep within humanity that lurks in subconsciousness and smells like denial, and hold up a mirror so that each of us can see it for ourselves. The most brilliant of brilliant artists will also make us laugh at it... although we often feel guilty for laughing. Perhaps that is the experience I am hoping for in picking up this novel. I'm searching for a disturbing sort of brilliance. 

An introduction

When I read books, they pervade my existence. Everything is suddenly shaded by the framework of the novel (I mostly read novels). I record every book I've ever read in my diary as if that gives me a context in which to judge the corresponding emotional jottings. I want to talk about what I'm reading; I want to talk about it in a place where it doesn't bore by friends because they can choose not to listen. I sincerely doubt that anyone will ever be as interested in my thoughts on the books I'm reading enough to want to read my blog and there in lies the beauty of this idea. If no one reads my blog then no one will notice that my thoughts are boring or inconsequential. I am free to write anything, everything, or nothing. And so, to all the persistent readers out there, be aware that what you read here is not written for you, will not entertain you, and is anything but relevant.