Sons and Lovers

I've had some trouble figuring out what I was going to say about Sons and Lovers by D.H. Lawrence.  I read it by the recommendation of friends and fellow book bloggers, but it was not at all what I had in mind.  My earlier impression of Lawrence must be coming from what I've heard of Lady Chatterly's Lover because this was so different.  And when I finished, it took me some time to dissect how I felt about it.  But I did really like it, and I do think it's valuable literature.

Overall, I think there is a lack of excitement in Sons and Lovers.  The plot moves steadily, and there are no significant high moments or thrilling achievements.  I'm not saying it's boring; I'm just saying it's not The Three Musketeers.  Yet I think that the slow pace may have contributed to my uncertain feelings at the end of the novel.  I didn't feel like it was moving toward a dramatic climax, and the one thing that the story seemed to be moving toward wasn't even realized.  (I won't explain this any further to avoid spoiling it for you).  In the nature of the plot, I found that there wasn't even something in particular I was hoping would happen.

However, it didn't take me long to realize the true strength of this novel.  In fact, I was almost startled when it occurred to me because I should have picked up on it right away.  The characters in the story are extraordinarily realistic.  Lawrence so carefully developed each of them that it is hard to believe they are fictional.  Each character of focus has a significant back story to help us understand how he or she become the person in the story.  For example, by learning all about Mrs. Morel's ambitions and desires, we see how her marriage became a bitter disappointment.  This also helps us to understand why she began to live through her children.  And yet it's not so simple as an unhappy marriage.  In a delicate way, Lawrence weaves in an underlying and reluctant love between man and wife.  They fight and they put each other down, but they are bonded in an inseparable way until the very end.

I thought William was going to be the protagonist and was surprised when the focus shifted to Paul.  And somehow, by carefully crafting the personal and emotional details of William, we are prepared for an even deeper understanding of Paul.  As for Paul, he is a tormented character, and I was frustrated with him for most of the story.  However, I could thoroughly understand his actions even when I didn't agree with them.  Even Miriam and Clara, Paul's two loves, have a significant amount of depth to them.  They are very different women, and their respective attraction to Paul comes from unique needs and desires.  Naturally, this adds dimension to the relationships he has with each of them.  There is just nothing silly or frivolous in this novel.  All of the characters are flawed and yet so very real.  It feels so profoundly human that I began to view the characters in a different way than I usually do for fictional people.  I think I was processing their motives and feelings on a deeper level because they themselves have so much depth.

Despite the remarkable realism in the characters, Lawrence somehow achieves this subtly.  He is not imposing the background stories on the readers or forcing us to attach ourselves to them.  In fact, in my opinion, there's not a single character we are meant to really love.  There are no heroes, and yet this is the genius of it.

Although I enjoyed it, I don't think I'll be rereading Sons and Lovers.  The characterizations are not enough for me to go back repeatedly to the text the way an exciting plot might pull me in again.  I read somewhere that this is Lawrence's most autobiographical work, which is probably how he managed to create such realistic characters.  So I have a feeling his other works may be more exciting, and I will read them at some point.  But for now, I just want to rest in admiration of how truly human these characters seemed to be.  What do you think of the novel?  Was this similar to your experience?

Passing

As I write this post I realize that I have only blogged about one female African American author, and I don't think that's sufficient.  I want to consciously review diverse and interesting literature just as I want to read a variety of work.  And please, don't hesitate to recommend authors of backgrounds and nationalities that I have so far overlooked.  So today I want to talk a little bit about Passing by Nella Larsen.

In my opinion, Passing is one of the somewhat hidden gems of the Harlem Renaissance.  The protagonist of this story is a fair skinned, African American woman named Irene.  Her foil is the equally important Clare, who also has light skin.  Both of these women have discovered that because of their light skin tone, they can actually "pass" as white.  Irene takes advantage of this from time to time, but Clare has made a decision to permanently present herself this way, even marrying a racist white man and hiding the truth completely.  When these women reunite at a chance encounter, their lives are torn in the comparisons they make.  Irene is swept up in Clare's glamor, and Clare discovers an intense longing to reconnect with her people.

Irene is precisely the kind of character who fascinates me in fiction.  I have followed a number of characters who struggle with their identities, but Irene's internal division is so powerful that it is represented externally as well.  She can literally choose how she wants to present herself - as a black woman or a white woman - and it shapes the way others interact with her.  The presence of Clare brings an enormous amount of insecurity to Irene, as she questions her own physical and emotional value.  With time, Irene's life revolves almost completely around the various pretending she does, which is not limited to pretending to be white in restaurants.  Instead, she must constantly pretend that she likes Clare as a friend and that her marriage is healthy and stable.  Her marriage is likewise a source of great stress and pain, as it crumbles into a detached coldness.  Unable to reconcile the various definitions of herself, Irene is likewise unable to connect to her husband, and the emotional distance between them becomes increasingly great.

In the second half of the novel, things spin rapidly out of control.  By the end, Irene is so frazzled that she falls into great, self-destructive tragedy.  When I first finished reading this, I explored the idea that perhaps Irene had developed Delusional Disorder, as the division she created in her life tore so deeply that it penetrated her mind.  I theorized that the things she believed were happening might actually have a logical explanation from someone else's perspective.  This is cerainly not a view that scholars have yet adopted, but I found it to be an intersting interpretation.  Regardless of the validity of this idea, the key themes of the story are issues concerning one's foundation of self as an African American and as a woman.

I read some bloggers who felt that some of the poignancy of the story has faded since people don't try to pass as white anymore.  As a white woman myself, I am certainly not the best person to make a statement about this, but I do want to share some of my thoughhts.  I have heard some African American friends be accused of "acting white" because they are invested in academics or participate in certain social activities.  It bothers me that academic and similar success is still often equated with whiteness.  I think it's important to cherish unique aspects of indvidual culture, but it becomes a problem if it creates significant obstacles for a person striving to live his or her best life.  I guess I just want to encourage people to stay conscious of the barriers we still put up among races, even though they are taking different forms.  Ok, I'll step off my soap box now, but I would be interested to hear your thoughts about any of this if you would like to share.

Oblomov, another Russian

Since my last post was about the fun and popular Great Gatsby, I am allowing myself to talk about an obscure Russian book again.  Please forgive me if this is starting to drive you crazy, but I do believe that some of you may find these books genuinely interesting and worth your time.  I really am not trying to sound pretentious and academic; I just happen to have acquired an affinity for Russian literature.  This time, I want to talk about Oblomov by Ivan Goncharov.  It's actually fairly difficult to find a good review of this book online, but maybe I can offer a decent one for you.

Although many native English-speakers are unfamiliar with this novel, it is quite embedded in Russian culture.  For example, it inspired the word "oblomovshchina," which means something along the lines of "lazy, lethargic, and listless."  It was a very popular book in Russia in its day, which was around the 1860s, a booming literary era in Russian history with extraordinary contemporaries like Dostoevsky and Tolstoy.

In so many ways, I think that Oblomov embodies everything about the quintessential Russian style.  First of all, the story is written from the perspective of a narrator who does not exist in the story and yet nevertheless breaks in to offer his opinions now and then.  I love this style because the narrator can "objectively" retell the story, but his scattered commentary is humorous and adds to the content.  Similarly, much of the interaction between Oblomov and his servant Zakhar is funny and ironic.

If there were ever a character who displayed the potentially existential depression of listlessness, the "superfluous man" if you will, he is Ilya Ilyitch Oblomov.  His story, very simply, is that of a man who cannot seem to get off the couch.  It is not that he is physically restricted to the couch, but that he lacks the desire and motivation to get up and take action in his life.  From the very beginning, we learn that there is noticeably an "absence of any definite idea" as well as a "total lack of concentration" in his countenance.  Throughout the story, Oblomov frequently decides that he ought to get up, but somehow he never seems to be able to do it.

Despite the restriction to the couch, Goncharov is able to keep the story moving.  Part of this comes from a number of visitors who stop by and talk to Oblomov.  We also learn a lot about Oblomov's past, which helps us understand how he got in this situation.  An interesting dynamic of the novel is his relationship with the two prominent women in his life - Olga, his former flame, and Agafya, the landlady he marries.  They represent the two natures within him, as well as the one which conquers.

I don't want to talk about the plot much more because I think it is the language that makes the novel so wonderful.  It's not so much about what happens but about how the story is told.  There are a number of interesting themes to consider, to be sure, and anyone who is intrigued by the superfluous man would enjoy this character.  But I particularly love the book for the narration itself.

Because Oblomov reviews are somewhat hard to find, I want to include an excellent link that provides much more information about the book if you wish:  http://www.powells.com/review/2007_01_25.html

The Great Gatsby

I am eager to get back to blogging, and I figured there would be no better way to restart than with F. Scott Fitzgerald's beloved classic, The Great Gatsby.  There are few people who are not familiar with this text, and I think people commonly enjoy it.  It's very different than some of the more serious books I've discussed, but I think variety is important on any great book list, and I don't want to neglect Gatsby just because it's fun.

As it's been quite a long time since I actually read the book, the main aspect of it that stands out in my memory is, of course, the lavish "Roaring 20s" parties.  I remember talking about this on one of the blog hops, and a lot of people shared my desire to crash one of those fabulous Gatsby parties.  However, I think this is probably a somewhat unfair memory because of all the devastation at the end of the story.  Somehow, I sincerely doubt that Fitzgerald was hoping his readers would walk away from the book with feelings of envy.

I think it's interesting that Fitzgerald included destruction and depression in this portrait of the 1920s.  I have a feeling that people living in the 1940s, and even today, might have a tendency to idealize the "Roaring 20s" after living through the Great Depression and World World II.  Yet Fitzgerald was able to recognize the superficialities and problems of the 1920s even while he was living in them.  Although the characters were blessed with decadence and celebration, they lacked fully formed identities and stumbled through the plot in various ways to gain superficial confidence.  Despite his outwardly suave appearance, Gatsby is desperate for Daisy's affirmation.  Deep down, he's just an insecure, lovesick boy who builds an idealistic dream.  When he is forced to confront the reality of his dream, he is left feeling lost and confused.  Likewise, Tom cannot imagine an existence in which his wife doesn't adore him, even though he has acted out in a number of affairs.  Daisy is a difficult character to admire, for we see her as shallow and insincere.  She doesn't live up to be a great literary heroine, with moving emotions and admirable actions.  We are never shown a deeper, more intimate side of her, and we struggle to believe that she deserves the devout admiration of both Gatsby and Tom.  

Nick is our most stable character, who is able to see the grim truth behind the opulence he encounters.  He leaves his hometown to seek out a more desirable life but in the end decides to return contentedly to the Midwest.  I think Fitzgerald uses him as a guide for readers who might be inclined to wish for extravagance to instead appreciate their practical lifestyles.  Even though he doesn't accomplish some herculean task or save the day with an impressive insight, he is our hero for successfully avoiding the muck of extravagance.

There are also a number of symbols in the book, along with some intriguing characters like the "owl-eyed" man.  I know that I really enjoyed reading the book, and I think it was written very well.  I like that Fitzgerald gives us an Oz-like "view behind the curtain" of the marvelous 20s, and I think it can confidently rest among the shelves of other great literature.  But I'm curious to hear from any of you what it is that you like (or don't like) about the book.  What are some of the meaningful messages you think Fitzgerald presents?  Or, perhaps, do you think the book is overrated?

A Hero of Our Time

First of all, I need to give a big shout out to Ingrid of The Blue Bookcase.  Way back near the beginning of my blog, I made a list of great Russian authors of the 19th Century.  Ingrid noticed that I did not mention Mikhail Lermontov, so I added him to my lengthy "To Read" list and picked up a copy of A Hero of Our Time at a used bookstore.  Little did I know that I had a magnificent Russian treasure sitting on my shelves, which I absolutely devoured once I opened its pages.  So Ingrid, thank you for the suggestion!  This is exactly why I love the book blogging world, and I hope any of you who may read my blog can likewise send recommendations my way!

To quickly summarize, A Hero of Our Time can be divided into two parts.  In the first part, the narrator listens to a third party, (Maxim), talk about his experience with the protagonist, Pechorin.  In short, Maxim tells the narrator how Pechorin kidnapped a young girl for a bit of fun, enjoyed the challenge of winning her affection, and then promptly lost interest in her.  Then, the narrator has a brief encounter with Pechorin himself and offers a direct description of him.  In the second half of the novel, the narrator has turned over Pechorin's personal journal, and we read about three of his experiences.  Now we get an inside perspective of Pechorin, which reveals a largely depressed man who is utterly listless about life.

A Hero of Our Time is delightfully Russian.  Lermontov writes in the typical Russian-style narration, in which the narrator frequently interjects in his story with humor, irony, and ample commentary.  Even as I sat in public, I couldn't help but chuckle at some of the narrator's comments as he directly addresses his readers.  Of course, this only occurs in the beginning of the novel before we reach Pechorin's journals.  (If you're curious, Gogol, Goncharov, and Turgenev all write in a similar fashion.)

Another prominently Russian feature of the text is the subject of the "superfluous" hero.  Pechorin is a young, handsome, and wealthy citizen who has tired of the various social engagements and romantic flings he encounters and succumbed to the dreaded ennui.  He's bored.  Repeatedly in his diary, Pechorin laments his lack of feelings and his inability to get excited about things in life.  Many Russian characters display similar problems, and it seems that Lermontov was the first author to create a protagonist like this.  However, I think that Pechorin has many more layers than this.  He frequently contradicts himself, particularly whenever he interacts with his former flame, Vera.  I think these various interactions are really important for understanding the character.  In another contradiction, Pechorin claims that he enjoys having enemies because it makes life more interesting.  However, when he overhears people talking about him negatively, he is shocked and hurt by their remarks.

I liked A Hero of Our Time because it's written well, with an intriguing design to the story and an interesting and multi-dimensional main character.  If this weren't enough, the novel's even more remarkable for its innovation.  Lermontov was one of the leaders of the flourishing 19th century in Russian literature, greatly influencing those who followed him.

As I Lay Dying

I find it a little hard to believe that I've come this far along and have yet to discuss William Faulkner.  I whole-heartedly include Faulkner in any list of brilliant authors, and he is often picked out as one of the best American authors of all time.  In fact, I had the opportunity to attend a short lecture series on American literature while I was in England, and the professor focused primarily on Faulkner.  And if you have a sense of my taste in literature so far, you will not be surprised to hear that I find his dark material irresistibly fascinating.

As I Lay Dying is the first Faulkner novel I ever read.  This was also my first exposure to stream of consciousness in writing, although I didn't know it by that term yet.  Each chapter is written from the perspective of a different character, and their myriad writing styles reflect the dramatic differences between them.  The story follows the eccentric and dysfunctional Bundren family as they carry their dead mother's body in a wagon pulled by mules across a number of towns in the south to bury her in Jefferson.  The story is bursting with dark humor and biting satire, as they experience a series of misadventures that hardly honor the dead.  Yet behind the quirkiness, Faulkner compels readers to reflect on the significance of death, the relativity of sanity, and the meaning of family.

Without question, my favorite thing about this novel is the diversity of characters.  I love the way he takes turns unveiling their perspectives, such as little Vardaman associating his mother's death with killing a fish.  There are fifteen different narrators in all, and even Addie, the dead mother, gets a chance to speak beyond the grave on a chapter.  The most frequent narrator is Darl, whom I find to be the most fascinating character.  For much of the novel, he appears to be the most sane and level-headed of the siblings.  It is easy to notice the father's faults, Cash's obstinateness, and Dewey's selfishness.  Darl, on the other hand, assumes a leadership position among his siblings.  At the same time, he demonstrates a level of sensitivity that the others seem to lack.  Moreover, because the rest of the family speaks with improper grammar and elementary descriptions, Darl's elegant prose and intellect convince readers of his superiority and reliability.  However, as the novel progresses, our perspective of Darl spirals out of control as we eventually realize that he may actually be the least sane of them all.

As I Lay Dying is stylistically innovative, insightfully astute, and generally entertaining.  Faulkner masterfully balances humor with social critique, making this both a fun and stimulating novel.  He also pioneers the stream of consciousness movement, inviting us into the radically diverse minds of fifteen different characters.  I highly recommend it to everyone and happily stick it in my "Classical Literature" shelf.

Blood, Guts, and War: The Iliad

Lately, I have allowed more time for reading and less time for blogging.  I found myself in a mess of a reading pile, trying to complete four completely diverse books at once without making any real progress.  So I put my nose to the grindstone and polished them off one by one.  I hope I did not lose any of you followers while I was doing this, but it needed to be done!

One of these books was Homer's epic poem, The Iliad.  This book was my inspiration for starting a "To-Read" list about seven years ago, and I'm a little embarrassed to admit that I've only just completed it.  When I read The Odyssey, I promised myself I would read the other epic because I had enjoyed Odysseus's adventures so much.  Thus, I wooed it in bookstores, settled it on my own bookshelf, and stroked it longingly to no avail for these past seven years.  Somehow, it became this ominous text floating on my To-Read list that I never quite approached.  There's no logical reason for it; I've read much more challenging and lengthier books in place of it. I wonder if any of you have a book like that on your mental checklist, or maybe I'm just a little crazy.

Anyway, as I finally settled in Homer's meter, I realized that this epic poem was nothing like I anticipated.  The whole scope of the story takes place in the heat of battle.  When it begins, the war has already been raging, and when it ends, the war is not yet complete.  All of those famous stories about Paris seducing Helen and Odysseus creating the Trojan horse are not to be found in The Iliad itself.  Instead, the poem is devoted purely and unabashedly to gruesome battle and bloodshed.

I get the feeling that people in today's society believe that our sense of gore is much more heightened than ever before.  However, these people have clearly not encountered Homer, who wrote somewhere around the 8th century BCE.  His descriptions are so graphically full of gore and fighting that every film version I've ever seen of it now appears paltry in comparison.  So for fun, I thought I'd pick out some of the most wonderfully awful descriptions he uses.  Amazingly, I think Homer manages to kill people in a different and creatively gruesome way every time.  But I should warn you - you might not want to read them if you are faint of heart.

"When Meriones, giving chase, caught up with him, he lunged with his spear, and the point went in the right buttock, under the bone, and into the bladder beneath." (Bk V)

"Phyleus' son Meges, renowned as a spearman, drew near and hurled his sharp spear through the nape of this man's neck.  The point cut off his tongue at its root and lodged between his teeth, and Pedaeus fell in the dust and bit the cold bronze." (Bk V)

"Then bringing his huge sword down on the collarbone of the other, he sheared his shoulder clean off from the neck and back." (Bk V)

"Not without great effort could a man of our generation, no matter how young or strong, so much as lift it with both of his hands, but Ajax raised it up high and hurled it down, smashing the four-hornet helmet and crushing the skull of Epicles, who pitched from the wall like a diver, as spirit took leave of his bones." (Bk XII)

"But not in vain did Deiphobus let the lance fly from his powerful hand, for he struck Hippasus' son in the liver under the midriff, and immediately unstrung his knees." (Bk XIII)

"But Meriones came at him hotly and hurled his spear in between his privates and navel, where Ares is cruelest to suffering mortals.  Deeply he planted it there, and Adamas leaned toward the shaft, writhing about it like a stubborn bull that herdsmen rope in the hills and drag away resisting.  So Adamas twisted and writhed for a while, but not very long - just until the warring Meriones came and wrenched the spear from his gut.  Then darkness enveloped his eyes." (Bk XIII)

Well, I could go on and on, but I think you get the idea.  And if you want to explore 400 pages of this, just check out the book.  :)