January: None. The first reading list did not exist until Feb. 2006.
February: Slaughterhouse-Five [290] by Kurt Vonnegut.
March: Fahrenheit 451 [210] by Ray Bradbury.
April: Catch-22 [460] by Joseph Heller.
May: A Clockwork Orange [190] by Anthony Burgess.
June: Brave New World [290] by Aldous Huxley.
July: A Farewell to Arms [340] by Ernest Hemingway.
August: The Last Temptation of Christ [510] by Nikos Kazantzakis.
September: Lolita [320] by Vladimir Nabokov.
October: One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest [340] by Ken Kesey.
November: Rabbit, Run [270] by John Updike.
December: Lord of the Flies [190] by William Golding and On the Road [350] by Jack Kerouac.
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23 comments:
Slaughterhouse-Five
I've never actually been in a book club before, so I don't know how much individuals are "supposed" to have read after a certain time [so's we don't ruin anything for others by reading ahead], or what things we're "supposed" to discuss [personal interests vs. "importance"]. I figured that it might just be enough motivation to [this'll sound super gay] attempt to become well read and well rounded [not to be confused with FAT], and maybe read an good book or two. Plus, it gives me someone to "talk" to about a book that isn't myself [yeah... I know... I'm a loser]. Anyways... The first half is pretty good. Jambled, but good.
"... and Weary [a really interesting character by the way] growled at Billy, 'Get out of the road, you dumb motherfucker.' The last word was still a novelty in the speech of white people in 1944." This is an interesting view of language looking back forty years at someone looking back twenty-five years.
And this is particularly descriptive, talking about a man with pneumonia: "Every time he inhaled his lungs rattled like greasy paper bags." Ew. But who here has had pneumonia? Kinda makes it difficult to run... or just breathe in general.
Okay. I'm done talking, but here's something that might shed a little light to those of you who aren't huge history nerds: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bombing_of_Dresden_in_World_War_II
timmah
Slaughterhouse-Five
I am really into the book. It isn't one of those"can't put it down" books to me, but it is instead one of those "can'twait to read it later" books. Sort of a different feeling about areally good book. Anyway here are a couple of quotes that I read overand over cause I liked em "It was the craziness of a dying young man with his shoes full of snow" "He was in the back seat of his car, which is why he couldn't find thesteering wheel" and of course..."so it goes"
T-Why
Slaughterhouse-Five
I didn't like his style of writing that much at the beginning, but I'm getting way into it now. I wanted your guys' feedback on his use of the "Spoons" throughout the book. He talks about everyone spooning, compares people to spoons, and then when Derby gets caught in the Slaughterhouse with the nutrient syrup it involves spoons. I'm very curious about that.
I'm very into his notion of time over-lapping and past/present/future existing on top of one another. That's what annoyed me about his story-telling in the beginning, but is my favorite part of it now. The explanitation that he's seen things that have happened to him repeatedly from the same perspective is awesome, but I'm curious to get to the end of the book and see if that's a part of his madness/post-traumatic stress from the war, or if Trafalmadore (too lazy to get the right spelling) is more significant than a dillusion.
I also love the push/pull/drag techniques that Vonnegut uses to take the reader throught he story. There are quirky funny bits, very sad, and outright disturbing bits of imagry that make the story so complex and interesting.
Twan
Slaughter House-Five
Review - 4 out of 5 fingers
I just finished this book and I must say that I thoroughly enjoyed it.It is difficult for me to remember much of it because it was all overthe place. But it seems to me that was the point. If I was toexperience Billy's plight of traveling all over a time continuum, thenI was glad Vonnegut wrote in this manner. I do feel like I need toread it again, which I may do since I have a few days before we startFahrenheit 451 (which I bought and can't wait to read). At any rate, I was puzzled that the whole "anti-war" message was notmore prevalent. I mean all I have ever heard about this book was thatit is a great "ant-war" book. I noticed it in many spots, but not asmuch as I had anticipated. Maybe I will get more out of a secondreading. My favorite part about the book was the way Vonnegut made BillyPilgrim such a lost soul. His apathy was very interesting in manyparts of the book. It really helped make him a memorable character. AsI type this, I wonder if Billy's numbness comes from war? Maybe thatwas the great message that I missed. Once again, I might catch it on asecond read. Anyway, I liked this book a lot and I will be sure to read some moreVonnegut in the near future (if I have time you slave drivers). I willleave you with my favorite quote from the book. This quote sums up mylife. "Montana was naked, and so was Billy, of course. He had a tremendouswang, incidentally. You never know who'll get one."
Peace
T-Why
Slaughterhouse-Five
Here we go: my meager attempt at teaching this anti-war lesson [I used to be an educator in my youth... I think... maybe... I don't really remember anymore]. First of all, I'd like to concur that the book was quite exceptional. However, I was a bit disappointed in HOW it ended, but not so much the ending itself. It might be because the novel seemed to build and build and level and build, but then it drops off all the sudden and is over. It was almost like Vonnegut said, like Forrest when he stops running back and forth across the US, "Eh... I’m kinda tired, I think I'll just stop writing now." This all may be because I had a difficult time pinpointing the [yucky school term] climax, and therefore didn’t know what type of resolution to expect/prepare for. The closest I could get, maybe, would have to be Billy's death. Since the story is not exactly what we would call chronological, although neither is the character's view of time in general, it makes it hard to locate the outcome of the main conflict. You might be able to say the actual bombing might be the climax since the time line is mostly built around the war, with flashbacks and flashforwards and flashsideways intertwined, but the man is the focal point and the effects of war on humanity, not so much the war itself... I digress.
To the book as spreading an anti-war message... As far as the philosophy of the work is concerned, the message as a whole is generally serious: the devastating history lesson and number and type of casualties and the feelings of apathy and helplessness you’re left with. BUT since it is written as a satire, the point is made much more colorful by the consistent jabs [i.e. see HUCKLEBERRY FINN for a good example of poking fun at faulty reasoning] at the war mentality:
CH I: "It is so short and jumbled and jangled [referring to Dresden], Sam, because there is nothing intelligent to say about a massacre. Everybody is supposed to be dead, to never say anything or want anything ever again. Everything is supposed to be very quiet after a massacre, and it always is, except for the birds.
"And what do the birds say? All there is to say about a massacre, things like ‘Poo-tee-weet."
CH II: "The speaker at the Lions Club meeting was a major in the Marines. He said that Americans had no choice but to keep fighting in Vietnam until they achieved victory or until the Communists realized that they could not force their way of life on weak countries." Hmmm. Holy irony, Batman. "...forcing their way of life on weak[er] countries..." Isn’t that what we do with our [quote unquote] "democracy," or whatever it may be called!? [to Twhy] This one and the next quotation might be my favorite passages because of the sheer disdain Vonnegut seems to show for these absolutist military types. Side note: this novel was written in 68-69 before the outcome of the Vietnam War was known, and maybe that conflict might have been the inspiration for the book which, to me, would definitely add to the meaning. Also, just think of what else could have been included had the author waited about five more years before writing it... This snippet goes great with the next one.
CH V: "But the subject of war never came up until Billy brought it up himself. Somebody in the zoo crowd asked him through the lecturer what the most valuable thing he had learned on Tralfamadore was so far, and Billy replied, ‘How the inhabitants of a whole planet can live in peace! [note the exclamation mark] As you know, I am from a planet that has been engaged in senseless slaughter since the beginning of time. I myself have seen the bodies of schoolgirls who were boiled alive in a water tower by my own countrymen, who were proud of fighting pure evil at the time.’" Seriously, what brilliant choice of words and content in general for the narrator to relay to an audience unfamiliar with the fine details of humanity!!!
Earlier in CH V: [super depressing back and forth between the "good guy" and the "bad guy"] "[after being struck for making an ill-advised comment] The American was astonished. He stood up shakily, spitting blood. He’d had two teeth knocked out. He had meant no harm by what he’d said, evidently, had no idea that the guard would hear and understand.
"‘Why me?’ he asked the guard.
"The guard shoved him back into the ranks. ‘Vy you? Vy anybody?’ he said." Enough said...
[takes deep breath] Well, there are my two cents, if it’s even worth THAT much.
timmah
p.s. For those of you who are interested in reading more Vonnegut, I’ve heard that BREAKFAST OF CHAMPIONS and CAT’S CRADLE are also very good. For something shorter [meaning VERY short], I can personally recommend a story called "Harrison Bergeron."
Fahrenheit 451
My New Favorite Book?
Holy fucking shit I loved this book. I started it a little early. I was finished with everything else I’d been reading, but I read it in like 4 sittings over 7 days. The plot itself was awesome, but there were particularly wonderful nuances in the story that grabbed a hold of me that most books do not.
I really liked the way Bradbury projected a future society (in what I’m guessing is the next decade) that became too obsessed with technology and material wealth. “If we had a fourth wall, why it’d be just like this room wasn’t ours at all, but all kinds of exotic people’s rooms.” Like our society, people do not seem to be satisfied with anything they own. There’s a void and they try to fill it with things that can be purchased. Don’t get me wrong, I love having things, but the world in the story and our world are too obsessed with them. I think that Bradbury exaggerated to make a point. Just because gratuitous gadgets and extravagant technology are accessible doesn’t necessarily mean that one should indulge to the point that s/he loses what it means to be human. I see Bradbury as advocating a balanced life in which one engages in thought, discussion, and interaction. He also alludes to overpopulation and too much individualism. “There are too many of us, he thought. There are billions of us and that’s too many. Nobody knows anyone. Strangers come and violate you. Strangers come and cut your heart out. Strangers come and take your blood.” It’s bizarre to me that even in the fifties he was concerned with overpopulation and television’s impact on communities. The part about front porches really struck me. I’d had a conversation with my dad about that notion years ago. Television is awesome, but it is a slippery fucking slope. It is not hard for one to correlate a totally disengaged (fucking ignorant) society with a lack of interaction. The characters outside of Montag, Beatty, Faber, Clarisse, and the old men are drones. “Well after all this is the age of the disposable tissue. Blow your nose on a person, wad them, flush them away, reach for another, blow, wad, flush. Everyone’s using someone’s coattails. How are you supposed to root for the home team when you don’t have a program or know the names? For that matter, what color jerseys are they wearing as they trot out on the field?” They are slaves to routines that keep them busy enough with their gadgets to keep them from advancing in society. The quote, “Give people contests they win by remembering the words to more popular songs or the names of state capitals or how much corn Iowa grew last year” reminds me too much of how the middle class and poor have a constant images sold/advertised to them to keep them in line, and allow the rich to stay rich. Might sound Marxian, but that’s because I’m a dirty commie.
The use of firemen spoke volumes to me. I guess he derived the thought of using them because of the obvious book-burning that is so integral to the plot. I believe that the burning of books is a subliminal reference to fascism, especially given the timeline. America was terrified of non-democracies, and it’s interesting to me that Bradbury’s “future” society could be seen as an application of those governments. However, I find it interesting that he delivers fascism via capitalism. It hits a little too close to home for me, give the current state of affairs. I could launch into a really long commentary about the danger our nation is in (a danger that far exceeds even the reddest terror thread level) regarding a completely complacent and utterly isolated population, but this is a book report. So, then, back to the firemen. I think firemen represent fascism and liabilities to liberty. I think it’s very interesting that that sense of fascism started with the opposite of racism. The book is a complete endorsement of freedom of speech for all people. The beginning of fascism is limiting what people can say that offends groups or individuals. “Colored people don’t like Little Black Sambo. Burn it. White people don’t feel good about Uncle Tom’s Cabin. Burn it. Someone’s written a book on tobacco and cancer of the lungs? The cigarette people are weeping? Burn the book. Serenity, Montag. Peace, Montag…Burn all, burn everything. Fire is bright and fire is clean.” In regards to censorship, I find myself in complete agreement with Bradbury. It’s easy to advocate free speech in the name of art in our society, but when someone calls into question social norms and mores, it causes a ruckus. For instance, I, despite my propensity to use racial slurs and the word “fag,” believe in equality. However, I also see the importance for people who do not to have the right to say what they feel. Freedom of speech, by definition, cannot be conditional. Now, has anyone seen my airbrushed “It Wasn’t Earned to Burned” American Flag Shirt? (I actually had one in Jr. High…there goes me running for president in 2020 on the Hamas ticket.)
Again back to the firemen (I’m finding out that the tangential qualities of my logic are directly related to my intake of marijuana. Did you guys see Drawn Together last week? I wonder if I turned my alarm clock off this morning. Why is this coffee shop so filled with bobble heads?). So, I’ve established that I think the firemen, with their burning represent fascism, but that fascism is delivered by a cult of technological capitalism. So what about the homes? The homes also reek of symbolism. They’re safe! They’re fire proof. They’re all you need. Go straight home from work and interact with your fake TV family and don’t be afraid in your house. They’re fire proof. In fact, the whole society is safe. Paradise is yours and all you have to do is submit, without questioning. It’s another means of control. People were miserable enough to commit suicide, but they were convinced that everything was ok. There was no interaction with others. No connectedness. That’s the trouble I see in our society today. I think it’s awesome that Bradbury eloquently illustrated the concept that warm blood coursing through one’s veins does not necessarily indicate a person who is alive. Which, all homosexuality aside, that’s why I’m so happy that we’re doing this UFC. We’re breaking the trend, and proving that it’s ok to be smart (and gay).
What struck me more than anything was the description of Clarisse. She struck me as being a weird looking girl. The way she floated above the ground and the reference to her eyes being reflective. “He glanced back at the wall. How like a mirror, too, her face. Impossible; for how many people did you know who refracted your own light to you? People were more often – he searched for a simile, found one in his work – torches, blazing away until they whiffed out. How rarely did other’s people’s faces take of you and throw back to you your own expression, your own innermost trembling thought?” That excerpt makes me wonder if she’s a personification of epiphany. She comes out of nowhere, makes Guy see something that makes him change his entire focus, and disappears as quickly as she came. The copy I had has an afterward in which Bradbury discusses reader disappointment Clarisse’s brief appearance in the story. I think it’s perfect. It goes back to my whole philosophy about the beauty of things that cannot be explained.
My favorite part of the book is when Guy meets up with the old men in the woods. That had a lot of personal symbolism for me. Guy was isolated and miserable in his life. He broke away, and the pursuit of knowledge was his salvation. My plan to return to academia really felt a connectedness to that aspect of the story. I also liked how the men were counter-culture. The line “bums on the outside, libraries on the inside” was cool.
The duality of fire also struck me. There is a great metaphor about human nature. We are capable of wonderful and horrible things. We are addictive as a species. We take a good idea and pervert it with our tendency to do too much. Religion. Consumption. Lifestyles. Working. Everything. Most of our societal problems stem from someone doing too much of something that in moderation has merit. Bradbury used fire to suggest this. Guy associated all of these bad feelings about fire and burning, but when he was cold and wet, it was fire that was his salvation. It was fire that warmed his food when he was hungry. One could argue that it was fire that served as the executioner and mother for all of mankind.
I’ll end with what I think is the coolest part in the story. I’d be lying if I didn’t think that it was very applicable to our global situation.
There was this silly damn bird called a phoenix back before Christ, every few hundred years he built a pyre and burnt himself up. He must’ve been first cousin to Man. But every time he burnt himself up he sprang out of ashes, he got himself born all over again. And it looks like we’re doing the same thing, over and over, but we’ve got one damn thing the phoenix never had. We know the damn silly things we just did. We know the damn silly things we done for a thousand years and as long as we can see it, someday we’ll stop making the goddamn funeral pyres and jumping in the middle of them.
Hopefully we’ll see the mistakes we’re making before it’s too late.
Twan
Fahrenheit 451
Well put, Anthony. I’ve got to admit that the book hooked me quite unexpectedly. As a general rule, I shy away from fiction with a strong lesson or overriding opinion. I find that when a writer uses fiction to speak his philosophy or warn us of our readers, the characters suffer as a result.
Take books by Chuck Palahniuk, for example. Well, take Fight Club and Choke, the only books of his I’ve given a chance. Now I know I’m going to catch flack from some of you UFCers for only having read some of those two books (that’s right; I put them down) and not being part of the collective blowjob we’ve been giving the guy for years. But Chuck’s a smart ass, and his protagonists are smart-asses, and they live a life of extremes and are caricatures for Chuck’s opinions. Not that I’ve found myself disagreeing with Chuck’s opinions, but I’d like him a lot more if he wrote nonfiction instead of shoving them down the asses of his characters Blueberry Hill style. And the writing itself lacks humility and any sort of awe for the world around us. (Let it be noted that if I’m completely off-base here, I’d like to know, as my opinions come from quite limited exposure.)
So, going into 451, I was afraid I was going to be getting into the same trap. Luckily, Bradbury’s a fine writer. “When it was all over he felt like a man who had been thrown from a cliff, whirled in a centrifuge, and spat out over a waterfall that fell and fell into emptiness and emptiness and never—quite—touched—bottom—never—never—quite—no not quite—touched—bottom…and you fell so fast you didn’t touch the sides either…never…quite…touched…anything.” You get the sense that Bradbury’s not writing this way just to be stylish. Typical sentences have limitations, and Bradbury defies those limitations to better communicate varying levels of tension without having to go through the stodginess of a typical description.
There’s many, many more sentences in the book that just felt giddy, exhausted, paced, and assured, all at once. Remember Granger’s passage about his grandfather near the end of the book? “It doesn’t matter what you do, he said, so long as you change something from the way it was before you touched it into something that’s like you after you take your hands away. The difference between the man who just cuts lawns and a real gardener is in the touching, he said. The lawn cutter might just as well not have been there at all; the gardener will be there a lifetime.” This is my favorite passage out of the whole book (though that phoenix passage is second) for more than one reason. First, I think it applies to Bradbury. He takes speculative fiction and instead of “cutting the lawn” by masturbating over gadgets and rockets and bombs and THE FUTURE like some fanboy with a typewriter, he takes the genre (and the English language) and makes it something it wasn’t before he touched it.
Second, I connect to it very deeply on a creative level. I dread the idea of being in an original band (cover bands are excluded from this argument, as the Reagans rock) and cutting the lawn. If anything, I respect a cover band more than I respect an entirely derivative original band. At least with a cover band, the audience already knows the lyrics to songs they’ve heard a hundred times. I want to make new things, and my measure of success is simply whether or not what I make has myself within it. Make sense? Hope so.
Finally, along with Granger’s ideas on not being important and being dust jackets for the books inside, the passage about his grandfather seems to teach the important lesson that it’s what you do and who you are that matter, and that it matters just enough. Everything that we have in us, whether it be humor, capacity for caring, curiosity, creativity, responsibility, or anything else—those are the books we carry. And the world will take those books as they need them, and as long as we cultivate what’s inside and what we are, we’re doing the best thing we can. It’s funny that the book I started out hesitant about ended up spelling out how I try to live my life. I stay fairly politically informed, but I don’t stress it. I’ll vote and I’ll engage in discussion, but most importantly, I try to lead a life I’m proud of and create and cultivate and love, and let that influence be picked up however it will be.
Holy fuck. Sgt. Gay-bo, signing out!
Evan
Fahrenheit 451
I don't disagree with your opinion of Phalaniuk, I think our tastes in books are just different. I like the "character" books that develop people, but I also like to hear people rant about their beliefs on something. I can appreciate clever turns of phrase, beautifully descriptive language, and an author who creates characters who are thoroughly developed, but I'd rather read something that makes me think about societal problems.
My favorite book until I read 451 was Choke. I really enjoyed the characters in Choke, but mostly because of the undertones of the story, and how characters fit into the story. Maybe that's an indicator of someone who is only just beginning to read novels. It makes sense that someone who has read mostly nonfiction and has been a lover of films to enjoy more "plot-based" books than "character-based" books. However, I did love The Corrections, and that was totally "character-based."
Basically, Evan, what I'm trying to say is, "Go to hell and don't you ever say an unkind word about Phalaniuk again."
Twan
F451:
It is amazing to read a book that 53 year ago was obviously lumped in with the science fiction of its time, and yet today seems almost prophetically observational about the culture and times that surround us. Wall sized TVs, portable downloadable music, speeding streamlined cars, criminals chased on television, and a world that hates our country. (All things that would seem like science fiction to readers in 1953.)
I've heard rumors; the world is starving, but we're well fed. Is it true, the world works hard and we play? Is that why we're hated so much?
Bradbury looked unflinchingly into the dead eyes of the emergent so-called "mass media" and followed its rotting trail into the future. At the time, America was in post-Hiroshima euphoria, riding these new things called highways and "we like Ike" buttons to global supremacy. (I agree with Anthony's point on Fireman/book burning/Facism. Bradbury uses the political overtones of this theme as the concrete of the foundation to his story.) But the insidious flickering screen in the corner of every living room caught this author's eye. He connected the dots and saw a great withering of the written word, and the spoken thought, and of conversation. Books became a mode of transmission, with the knowledge they impart; a virus.
The slow, eroding collapse of intellectualism is happening all around us. And though it might not be so overt as to be firemen spraying kerosene, we are tip toeing the path Bradbury has tread previously. We are encouraged to join the flock; even the rebellious now have mass outlets from which to select their own propaganda. (See Hot Topic at your local mall for more info on this.) Libraries are made to feel outdated, with rows of shiny computers lined up to distract would-be readers from the shelves of dusty, old-fashioned books.
My thoughts get tangled up here, twisting so fast and jumping from point to point, that I'll try and spare you all from the verbal vomit. Lets just say that as a biblio-phile, even a well-read and quasi-learned biblio-phile, I understand Montag's feeling of insanity as he goes to see Faber. The advertisements ringing loudly, the lines of the book blurring in my head, and original introspective thought impossible with all the clamor and mis-direction... It hurts sometimes.
Reading is special, and the act of doing so is sacred and rebellious enough in its own right. If it takes a book like this to scare me into continuing to do so, good. If it takes Bradbury's world emerging all around me to scare me into continuing to do so, not so good. But when the bombs come, oh Lord oh Lord, please let me be walking the railroad tracks. With Keroauc's "On the Road" walking in front of me, and "Brothers Karamozov" behind; a walking library of bums, photographic memories all, turning around to make our way back, to sift through the ashes.
Hallelujah!
Jay
Fahrenheit 451
"‘Fire is bright and fire is clean.’" Good work, Jay. Beautifully written! And I also hope that I'm one of the outcasts trekking the once simple, yet modern marvel at the time, steel tracks into the wilderness if and when the wrath comes.
Although I would like to be one of the ongoing scholars, I fear that most likely I would end up as the truly sad and tragic character, Faber. A man who dies [not DEFINITELY, but most likely in the attack] because of a beaten down will and a disintegrating sense of hope, he apparently waited too long to make his mark, and he became convinced that he was forever something he didn’t have to be: "‘Why waste your final hours racing about your cage denying you’re a squirrel?’"
"‘But that’s the wonderful thing about man; he never gets so discouraged or disgusted that he gives up doing it all over again, because he knows very well it is important and WORTH the doing.’"
It is so interesting how Granger and Montag are conversing around a campfire of sorts when this is spoken. Then, together, they put out the fire with dust from the earth, with their bare hands, and Montag seems to be seeing/learning/realizing for the first time that the "fire" [possibly a metaphor for the irreversible wrongdoings of man?] CAN be extinguished... instead of fueled.
...
[Side Note] Something struck me as quite interesting, and I wanted someone else’s take on it: Montag murders Beatty with the flamethrower [bit of irony? and SUPER unfortunate because think of all the book knowledge Beatty apparently had photographed in his mind]. WELL... Beatty would have most likely died a short time later during the bombings, SO... do you think that Montag, or any human being for that matter, would cope with his actions by repeatedly telling himself that the man would have died anyway? Because don’t we all sometimes justify our actions using Cause and Effect in a sort of retroactive manner?
timmah
Fahrenheit 451
Because don't we all sometimes justify our actions using Cause and Effect in a sort of retroactive manner?
Of course, we all do. But I have an inkling... if anyone else has info gleaned from author's forwards, postscripts, etc please let me know... but I have an inkling that Beatty's "knowledge" was of a more superficial, piecemeal format. Kind of like a "fire captain's handbook" of literary quotes to have on hand to confuse and enrage book-hiding firemen. So, I don't believe that Montag would have any second thoughts about his actions. To have someone attempt to squash a newly expanding mind, at such a fragile stage, after having just burned his own house, and holding Faber's voice in his hands... it seems to me a no lose situation. All of the dominos had fallen to that point.
Just my initial thoughts on the question.
Jay
Fahrenheit 451
Good thoughts gentlemen!
I really both liked your contributions about the book. Hopefully Twhy and Timmy primed the pump with SH5 and we'll all write book reports.
Cause and effect...hmmm...I could definitely see that Tim. I'm constantly covering up poor planning at work with an "End justifies means even though I had no idea that we'd arrive at this end when I was executing the means."
On a related note, I'm not sure Guy would feel much remorse. Beatty was ready to put the hounds on Guy. I think that was a survival instinct, and I'm not convince Beatty would have arrived at any state of mind where he'd want to be a "library." His rant while Guy was home sick was more than enough to make me think that he was true to the salamander.
Twan
Catch-22
I would have to say that this has been one of the funniest novels I have ever read, even though it’s sort of depressing on some levels, like when people who have died [who were somewhat close to Yossarian (who is not technically the narrator, but it almost reads as if he’s retelling the story about himself from the third person)] are mentioned, it is generally rather brief and detached: "Kraft was a skinny, harmless kid from Pennsylvania who wanted only to be liked, and was destined to be disappointed in even so humble and degrading an ambition. Instead of being liked, he was dead, a bleeding cinder on the barbarous pile whom nobody had heard in those last precious moments while the plane with one wing plummeted." Then it just moves on as though the lad was then forgotten about [but he is mentioned at other times]. There are, however, numerous shots at the futility of war, as the narrator sees it: "Yossarian, on the other hand, knew exactly who Mudd [the dead man who lived in his tent] was. Mudd was the unknown soldier who had never had a chance, for that was the only thing anyone ever did know about all the unknown soldiers - they never had a chance." Or, in my personal favorite chapter thus far [17], there are many statements about the worries of the world, especially how in the real world hospitals are often seen as a place where sick or injured people end up before they die, whereas in war, it’s the safest place to be: "There was a much lower death rate inside the hospital than outside the hospital, and a much healthier death rate [further explained]."
timmah
Catch-22
This is probably the best book I've ever read that started out with a line as weak as "It was love at first sight." Right away I liked Yossarian and the chaplain. I liked Nately, too. From there, though, it took me a while before I really felt any depth. Not until the guys got to Rome. The exchange that Yossarian has with the old man in Rome about wars is probably my favorite part of the book (I'm tempted to say more and spoil everything for you, Tim, but I'm too tired to go into more details; consider yourself lucky, yo).
John
A Clockwork Orange
For a reference, visit this location: http://courses.nus.edu.sg/course/ellpatke/en4241/nadsat%20dictionary.htm
Greetings, my little droogies. Appy polly logies for not having the raz to write with rabbit and all that cal... Yeah. It’s kind of a puzzle figuring out what in the hell "poor little Alex" was talking about a good deal of the time. However, as the story progressed, what words that were important made perfect sense to me, and those words that weren’t important didn’t matter anyways. All in all, the novel reminded me a lot of the first time I had read THE CATHER IN THE RYE because of the point of view: that kind of all knowing innocense that REALLY was just a cover up for bullshit and ignorance.
I guess I’ll begin with comparisons to the film, since that always seems to be on everyone’s mind when A CLOCKWORK ORANGE is mentioned. There are many, many similarities in the two [basically the same story and many of the lines in the film are direct quotes from the book], obviously, but a couple of the differences are HUGEmongous differences: number one, Alex is only fifteen when the story begins [which really makes a difference when he’s doin’ the pair of ten year olds in the book as opposed to two adults in the film]; two, Alex kills another person in prison; three, the last chapter of course, which is cut from the film entirely; and four, probably the biggest difference in my opinion, you get to learn Alex’s motives via the first person narrative. Now, enough of that.
"‘- The attempt to impose upon man, a creature of growth and capable of sweetness, to ooze juicily at the last round the bearded lips of God, to attempt to impose, I say, laws and conditions appropriate to a mechanical creation, against this I raise my sword-pen -’" [pt 1 ch 2] From F. Alexander’s novel [What was it called again?], kind of sets the tone for the novel, spilling the theme of choice, which was not to be overshadowed by the theme of the dangers of a tyrannical government. Although, I know it was hard for me, at least, to feel very much pity for Alex when his free life became a constant torture, but I blame that on Burgess for making him such a likeable/hateable character.
Speaking of government, and this goes along with the language [nadsat], the fact that, apparently, most of the nadsat words Alex and his droogs use, as the doctor in prison indicates, are derivatives of Russian [see link], could mean that Burgess saw the England of the future as one dominantly influenced by Eastern Europe/Northern Asia [aka the Communists]. However, I don’t recall Communism [as the world may have seen it in the early sixties when the book was written] coming into play in the story, specifically, although the view of the police [sparse yet harsh] and correctional facilities [crowded with psychological testing] and the view of the government [everyone is required to work] might be some indicator.
"‘What gets into you all? We study the problem and we’ve been studying it for damn well near a century, yes, but we get no farther with our studies. You’ve got a good home here, good loving parents, you’re got not too bad of a brain. Is it some devil that crawls inside you?’"[pt 1 ch 4] says P. R. Deltoid. But who freakin’ knows? Someone once said to me [it was Bradley Dizzle Blizzard as a matter of fact] that parents whose kids don’t use drugs, for example, are merely lucky because both good and bad homes with smart and dull kids in wealthy and poor societies produces habitual drug users, and no matter what you do, as teachers especially know, some kids just become lost.
Okay... I’ve lost my writing buzz, so I’ll end by quoting this philosophical/theological question, "‘Does God want goodness or the choice of goodness?’" as Burgess constantly brings religion into play.
timmah
p.s. Oh yeah. And probably my favorite line [which applies to all of you vonny stinking grahzny bratchnies]: "‘I am everyone’s friend... Except to my enemies.’"
Brave New World
About BRAVE NEW WORLD, I want to say this one thing upfront: It's becoming a reoccurring theme, to me anyway, with many of these political [political/philosophical] novels that there is some sort of explanatory monologue/dialog toward the end [either shortly before or just after the climax] that I think takes away from the readability, as in BRAVE NEW WORLD. I don't know if that's what Evan had meant all along when he says that he generally doesn't like it when authors use their work to express a political/philosophical view [a platform of such]? However... I don't think that the information makes the work less good, because the details are really important, but it's kind of a short chore to chew threw until the stories come back [other examples might include: NATIVE SON, 1984, FAHRENHEIT 451, and I can't think of anymore right now]. Because I really like it when books take subtle and not so subtle jabs at mankind and society… … SIDENOTE: To go along with this [and I’ve been trying harder and harder to be more objective when it comes to judging art (namely film, literature, and music)… whether you all you know me well believe it or not], I saw AN INCONVENIENT TRUTH the day it came out and was all excited. WHAT A PIECE OF CRAP! [I apologize to those of you who want to see it but have not yet had the chance] I was expecting to see an interesting documentary about Global Warming and its effects on the earth, but instead I received an hour of Democratic political propaganda and Republican bashing [not that I minded that part too much, but it was pretty one sided], 30 minutes of good information that may have been better on the Discovery channel with just a narrator voiceover, and 15 minutes of speculation. Sorry again, especially to my buddies who fiercely want to go down on Al Gore, but I was utterly disappointed. WHO KILLED THE ELECTRIC CAR? Looks much better. And what about the hydrogen fueled car with 0 [that’s right… ZERO!] emissions? Where’s the film on that!?
Okay. Time is at a premium [at the public book depot].
Scattered thoughts: I liked how everything was dated from Henry Ford. I like all of the Shakespeare intertwined [I could pick up a lot of it, but I’m sure there was much I missed. The quotations that were in the narration rather than the dialog were much more difficult to spot].
“‘…that is the secret of happiness and virtue – liking what you’ve got to do. All conditioning aims at that: making people like their unescapable social destiny.’” Instead of now how everyone wants to be the upper class [or at least “they” try to make us think that we do], everyone WANTS to be the class they’re in and no other… Odd, ain’t it?
“’…when you’re not accustomed to history, most facts about the past do sound incredible.’” Not sure what to say about this one other than isn’t that why we learn it? So we don’t have to repeat the mistakes, or you’re not so shocked when they happen.
“A mental excess had produced in Helmholtz Watson effects very similar to those which, in Bernard Marx, were the result of a physical defect. Too little bone and brawn had isolated Bernard from his fellow men, and the sense of this apartness, being, by all the current standards, a mental excess, became in its turn a cause of wider separation. That which had made Helmholtz so uncomfortably aware of being himself and all alone was too much ability. What the two men shared was the knowledge that they were individuals.” Such a fascinating look at the individual…
“Everyone works for everyone else. We can’t do without anyone. Even Epsilons are useful. We couldn’t do without Epsilons.” Although they are conditioned to have an aversion to the differences in the other classes [classes/sexes/races/etc. in the real world… however], they also are taught their importance… their necessity.
Then there’s a glitch [the elimination of a “must have” in our world]: “’Talking? But what about? Walking and talking – that seemed a very odd way of spending an afternoon.’” & “’Nothing emotional, nothing longdrawn. It was all perfectly healthy and normal.” I’d like to expand on these, but again, time is short.
Another good line [this one is for Twan and Twhy and their most favoritest person on earth… W]: “A man can smile and smile and be a villain. Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindles villain.”
“’If one’s different, one’s bound to be lonely.’” How freakin’ sad is that? And how eerily true in many ways… especially of adolescents.
Brilliant: “’… intellectual eminence carries with it corresponding moral responsibilities. The greater a man’s talents, the greater his power to lead astray [that’s huge!]. It is better that one should suffer than that many should be corrupted.’” Not sure exactly how much I agree with the last part though.
Death conditioning [chapter 11]. There’s a thought [scratches temple].
Again Brilliant: “One of the principal functions of a friend is to suffer (in a milder and symbolic form) the punishments that we should like, but are unable, to inflict upon our enemies.” That is some profound shizzle right there. Hadn’t really thought of it that way, but maybe THAT’S why I’m so mean to my good friends, and I merely ignore my enemies… =P
Okay one more [two parter]: “’But do you like being slaves?’” John [the “savage”] asks of the conditioned folk. & “’Actual happiness always looks pretty squalid in comparison with the overcompensations for misery.’” Claims the Resident World Controller for Western Europe. So… to those of you who’ve read my Ourspace blog in the past, the question of happiness and it’s inherent important to us all comes up again. How important is it? Is everything worth giving up if you could forever be happy along with everyone else? AKA Maybe a better way to ask… Which is more important: Liberty [or freedom, or whatever you choose to call your ability to make decisions of YOUR OWN] or Happiness?
timmah
A Brave New World
Well, after the brief May hiatus (I couldn’t get into Clockwork – shows what a literary poser I am, I suppose) I was thrilled to get back into a book that had me sitting in the front row of the church screaming “preach on.” I was very excited with the messages about over-consumption. It’s a lesson all Americans need to learn right now.
Huxley seems to think that our learned dependence on gadgetry, buying, and inflating our economy makes us as individuals powerless. “There is no reason why the new totalitarians should resemble the old. Government by clubs and firing squads, by artificial famine, mass imprisonment and mass deportation, is not merely inhumane (nobody cares much about that nowadays), it is demonstrably inefficient and in an age of advanced technology, inefficiency is the sin against the Holy Ghost. A really efficient totalitarian state would be one in which their army of managers control a population of slaves who do not have to be coerced because they love their servitude. To make them love it is the task assigned, in present-day totalitarian states, to ministries of propaganda, newspaper editors and schoolteachers.”
We talk often about freedom in this country. This book helped remind me how little freedom we really have. We’re free to live as we like, so long as we continue to produce, multiply, and consume.
I like that Huxley, even 70 years ago, had the guts to question the relentless pursuit of progress. Why do we feel like we need to continue to invent, manipulate, and change our world? When will it be enough? “One egg, one embryo, one adult – normality…Making 96 human beings grow where only one grew before. Progress.”
The savage’s relationship with Pope was also fun to read about. Huxley did a great job of what I feel was switching the protagonist mid-story. Maybe it’s more accurate to say he didn’t even introduce the protagonist for the first 100 pages. This book was solid. I didn’t care for the preachy Christianity hooey. It’s strange that progressive thought nearly a century later strongly associates with half of his points, but radical conservatism associates with the other half. Maybe there is a lesson to be learned in questioning our individual freedom. Our freedom to do and go wherever we want might be at the cost of the future of our species.
Twan
A Farewell to Arms
Sometimes it seems that every other book written happens to be about war or religion or love, and in the case of A Farewell to Arms, we get the first and the last with little bits of the middle sprinkled here and there. Frederic Henry, an American who is a Lieutenant in the Red Cross ambulance division of the Italian Army, describes the bleak events of his life during the middle of World War I: from injury to recovery to romance to desertion to tragedy.
I was supposed to read this novel in high school but couldn’t get into it, plus I wasn’t much of a reader back then anyway [not that I’m Evelyn Wood now or something]. However, now that I have read the book entirely, I can understand why that former me had little interest in completing it. AFTA was not the profound war/romance epic that I had hoped it would be, but rather a nearly emotionless firstperson retelling of numerous, what I would imagine to be, heavy events. When a character narrates the story, I generally expect to feel a bit more, but didn’t [maybe that was just me, though]. The first thing that struck me was the dialog. It was so difficult at times to chew through all of the [paraphrased], "You’re sweet... No, you’re sweet... No, you are... No, you are," that I was sometimes relieved to finish a chapter rather than satisfied. And that was just the discussions between the men and the women. The soldiers conversing with each other and with civilians often seemed forced as well. Another thing that disappointed me was all of the talk about food and liquor. It’s not that I don’t find these things interesting, especially if the flavors and consumption experience is shown to me instead of plainly told, but it was more like [paraphrased], "I had a bottle of brandy and a hunk of cheese," then a couple paragraphs later, "We had several glasses of cognac and some cheese," etc. throughout the entire novel.
Enough of what I didn’t like. This is a well respected book and is studied often at the highest levels, so those little spurts of brilliance must be there if you look closely enough. For instance, although I didn’t much care for the dialog, I really liked the scene between Henry and the hundred year old Italian man, Count Greffi, as they played billiards, especially when he would say something that only an old man could say: "...that is the great fallacy; the wisdom of old men. They do not grow wise. They grow careful." That’s just so grim, but in a playful way. Also, because of Hemingway’s no pause style, much of the playful banter between the friends, especially Henry and Rinaldi, flows nicely, although still not very realistic, even to the point that it wasn’t necessary to assign the speaker.
Overall, Book III was definitely my favorite [and the last chapter of Book II and last two chapters of Book V]. The most, and best, feeling and suspense and worthy detail of the entire novel seemed to be in these sections. From Henry boarding the train after his shortened recovery, to the retreat, to the capture and escape [all with the author’s style, never having a second to breathe as the ambulance crew ran], then the ultra depressing birth episode [minus all of the times Henry left to get food], this was the novel that I wanted to read.
Thoughts on War:
[ch 9]"‘It could not be worse,’ Passini said respectfully. ‘There is nothing worse than war.’
‘Defeat is worse.’
‘I do not believe it,’ Passini said still respectfully. ‘What is defeat? You go home.’
‘They come after you. They take your home. They take your sisters.’
‘I don’t believe it,’ Passini said. ‘They can’t do that to everybody. Let everybody defend his home. Let them keep their sisters in the house.’
‘They hang you. They come and make you be a soldier again. Not in the auto-ambulance, in the infantry.’
‘They can’t hang everyone.’...
‘I think you do not know anything about being conquered and so you think it is not bad.’"
We the people of the United States, at least for the last hundred years or so, have a unique luxury of having little or no fear of every being conquered by another country [not any time in the foreseeable future, at least]. Unlike small nations [small referring to population, acreage, and economy], we believe that no opposing government will ever claim all of our major cities by force, toppling our government, and setting up another one that benefits them the most. Especially with nonthreatening nations like Canada and Mexico on our boarders, who depend on the US quite a bit, and that we are one of the five largest countries geographically, and even if you look past our obscene military spending [I’ve heard stats that claim we spend as much as half of the world budget - meaning all of the others put together might equal what we spend each year], the middle North American land mass cannot be an attractive target as far as possibility of success. But it’s so sad to think that some nice, law abiding, open minded, tax paying, family man in, let’s say Luxemburg, might one day find out his country had essentially been taken over, and maybe he didn’t even know that a war was going on, and he had to immediately leave his family and report for military service or be killed and his family made to do... whatever.
This one seemed kind of fitting in the year 2006 [and not just to us]: [ch 9]"‘There is a class that controls a country that is stupid and does not realize anything and never can. That is why we have this war.’"
[ch 12]"If anyone were going to die they put a screen around the bed so you could not see them die, but on the shoes and puttees of doctors and men nurses showed under the bottom of the screen and sometimes at the end others would be whispering. Then the priest would come out from behind the screen and afterward the en nurses would go back behind the screen to come out again carrying the one who was dead with a blanket over him down the corridor between the beds and some one folded the screen and took it away." If you get a chance, read some poems by Wilfred Owen. He served in the British Army and died during WWI, but before he went, he had some interesting things to say about the value of a life during war. Which brings me to the next quotation:
[ch 27]"I [Henry] said. ‘Tell me, I have never seen a retreat - if there is a retreat how are all the wounded evacuated?’
‘They are not. They take as many as they can and leave the rest.’
‘What will I take in the cars?’
‘Hospital equipment.’
‘All right,’ I said."
That sounds about right. The end.
this is tim
p.s. Twan, Diddy was right [wow, that felt weird to write =P]. "Mr. Savage" hanged himself. I don’t know exactly how we missed that, being a pretty important detail. I know that I misread it the first time, thinking those where the visitors’ feet climbing the stairs, and the savage had left.
Lolita
I'm not sure what edition of the novel each of you read, or didn't read, but mine has an interesting introduction by a John Ray, Jr., Ph.D. [whoever the hell that is], in which he states that "'offensive' is frequently but a synonym for 'unusual.'" This is a fine thing to keep in mind when evaluating this work, or any art [And I know what you may be thinking: What constitutes "art?" Could any ruthless dictator use as his defense, "Don't judge me. You say 'genocide.' I say 'art.'"? Or could some hack spill a bucket of acrylic paint on a large sheet of paper and say, "This is my masterpiece. I call it... 'Despair.'"? I, myself, have yet to find an exceptional definition. Moving on.] for that matter. There are several things to consider about Mr. Humbert's moral character, concerning Dolores Haze [Ironic choice of name, isn't it? Rhymes with...], NOT including his other numerous "abnormalities." Ask yourself this question: What are his true feeling toward the girl? Is it love [caring about her happiness and well-being as much, or more than his own], or is it lust [viewing her solely as a means to his own gratification], or is it somewhere in between?
Side note: Did you notice that nary an "obscene" word [something that would come before a censorship board] was used in this first person narrative? This detail might slip by without someone having explained. To go along with this skew, if any of you have seen the film THANK YOU FOR SMOKING, as my buddy Marty pointed out to me, not once is someone shown actually smoking a cigarette in the entire movie... Just thought that was neat.
Let's consider the context a bit. Humbert is a middle-aged man, in his late thirties, and Lo is a pre-teen girl, twelve to begin. Immediately, most people in most industrialized countries would think that any flirting or sexual contact between these two would be completely inappropriate and, most likely, immoral. AND this seems [has the feeling of] like a standard that has been around since the beginning of mankind. However, if you think about this standard compared to what has been considered acceptable throughout recorded history, it is inconsistent. In Chapter 5, for example, Humbert describes several instances in the past in which it was common for much older men to bed and often wed much younger girls, historic leaders from all over the globe. He didn't, although, mention what would seem to be the best known example of what we would now call an "inappropriate sexual relationship:" Joseph and Mary. Maybe he didn't want to bring such well-honored religious icons into the fray, but it is well-known that at the time, in the region, established adult males often married virgin girls who have just reached child-baring age, often pre-teen. And in the Judea-Christian world, the is probably one of the two holiest of unions between a man and a woman [Adam and Eve possibly being the other]. Marriage, however, may be viewed as something completely different than what H.H. and Lo had.
Let's examine this a bit from a modern point of view. The protagonist and his nymphet had a difference of about 25 years, and that is considered wrong when one partner is "too young," and possibly strange no matter what age the younger one happens to be. But let us use three [3] years as our benchmark instead. What if these couples were sexually active [assuming the male is the elder for society's sake]? This is pretty much the way I interpret it. Eleven and eight [beginning with a girl at the age of eight - the widely accepted age of reason] through thirteen and ten: both seem too young to be sexually involved, possibly not understanding what they are doing [not acceptable]. Fourteen and eleven through sixteen and thirteen: by fourteen, most boys' sexual drive is beginning to kick into high gear, while girls are just now reaching puberty [menstruation begins for most at twelve], this is not necessarily worse than the previous age range, but it has a different level of unacceptableness, and from a cultural perspective, a sixteen year old male is possibly a junior in high school where as a thirteen year old girl is still in eighth grade [not acceptable]. Seventeen and fourteen through nineteen and sixteen: boys are at their sexual peek whereas girls are only halfway there, but these ages can be looked pasted, especially if the two are a monogamous couple [somewhat acceptable]. Twenty and seventeen through twenty-one and eighteen: these are very common, and the latter is not only acceptable, but it's almost a standard [acceptable]. Emotional maturity seems to play the biggest role in the view here, but I wonder if there's not something else going on here? For societies' leaders' take on the subject, check this out: http://www.avert.org/aofconsent.htm. Now, one must understand that law is not necessarily considered moral and vice verse, but this will let you know a lot about what is considered appropriate from a national standpoint [p.s. Pay close attention to the homosexual age restrictions].
So what is it? Is Humbert a monster because of the massive age discrepancy and his sexual thoughts? Or could it be considered acceptable if you believe he is in love with Lolita and only wants a monogamous relationship with her for the rest of his life? Also, not that this matters to anyone, but compare him to this Quilty fellow that is expired by his revolver. One could be determined as love, the other is clearly lust and perversion. Are they still equally monstrous?
A story of my own to go along with this: A few friends and I were attending the wedding of another friend, and we were discussing the attractive ladies that we had seen. We were talking about who was really attractive, who we thought used to be attractive several years ago, and briefly about who we thought would be attractive in a few years. One girl in particular caught our eye that we all thought was gorgeous - between five six and five seven, a hundred ten to a hundred twenty pounds, blond hair, blue eyes, lightly bronzed skin, slim and yet curvy, all around soft and pretty features. The guesses of her age ranged from late sixteen to about nineteen. We found out later that the girl was only twelve. Immediately, everyone was in disbelief, but the facts held up. Some felt pretty bad that they thought what they thought, and the rest still found her attractive, but now in a different way. I guess the point is that what is physically appealing stands on its own until we find out something else that conflicts with our beliefs. The hardest part has to be finding the person attractive mentally. But what if you are attracted physically and mentally, but unaware of an "unacceptable" difference? Or if that difference has no meaning to you?
Side note: Speaking of society having the most important role in acceptable sexual activity. I'm not positive of the validity of this example because I've never actually been able to verify it with hard evidence, but I once heard of a study done on an indigenous people of a remote island in the Pacific Ocean. It was explained to me that there is a society in which prepubescent boys perform fellatio on pubescent boys until the boys are coupled with their arranged wife. The belief is twofold: one is that they believe that the more semen a boy ingests before he can create his own, the more potent he will be by the time he is able to procreate, and two is that the pubescent boys become comfortable with someone else handling their sexual organs. Now think about something like this going on in the United States...
Enough of that. To the story. It's a beautifully written story. And the writer's native tongue is Russian [and I wish that I had footnotes for the French parts] which is kind of humbling considering his vocabulary far out ranges my own... Okay. I completely forgot what I was going to write about since I stopped last night and tried to pick it up again today, so I'll move on to passages I liked:
"You can always count on a murderer for a fancy prose style." Chapter 1. The story is written as a memoir intended to be published after both H.H. and Dolores are dead, and this is our first example of how pompous the narrator is and possibly how unreliable he is to become as the story progresses. But it kind of goes along with the U.S. mentality of fascination for the morbid. We always seem to be so interested in what anti socials and psychopaths have to say [look at some of the books we've picked for the UFC Book Club] even if we already know what's coming. I guess we're always hoping something shocking will surface at any time.
"...I switched to English literature, where so many frustrated poets end as pipe-smoking teachers in tweeds." This is a humorous, yet harsh, statement about he American poet [and English teachers]. It goes along with that old saying, "Those who can't do, teach." Which isn't a very fair statement, by the way: Mozart and Beethoven, for example, both had pupils. However, the exceptional artists are few and far between. I'll agree with that.
"The passion I had developed for that nymphet - for the first nymphet in my life that could be reached at last by my awkward, aching, timid claws - would have certainly landed me again in a sanatorium, had not the devil realized that I was to be granted some relief if he wanted to have me as a plaything for some time longer." Chapter 12.
"Her weekly allowance, paid to her under condition she fulfill her basic obligations, was twenty-one cents at the start of the Beardsley era - and went up to one dollar five before its end. This was a more than generous arrangement seeing she constantly received from me all kinds of small presents and had for the asking any sweetmeat or movie under the moon - although, of course, I might fondly demand an additional kiss, or even a whole collection of assorted caresses, when I knew she coveted very badly some item of juvenile amusement." Part 2 Chapter 7. I find it fascinating how the relationship evolved into this. It seems fitting.
"As I waited there, in my prostatic discomfort, drunk, sleep-starved, with my gun in my fist in my raincoat pocket, it suddenly occurred to me that I was demented and was about to do something stupid." Part 2 Chapter 24. It SUDDENLY OCCURRED to him? His life was filled with actions not thought out clearly. He constantly tries to convince the reader that he's completely level headed, but he acts on emotion just as much [more when it comes to certain things] as any other passionate person. And two to go along with this:
"Whatever evolution this or that popular character has gone through between the book covers, his fate is fixed in our minds, and, similarly, we expect our friends to follow this or that logical and conventional pattern we have fixed for them."
"...the less often we see a particular person the more satisfying it is to check how obediently he conforms to our notion of him every time we hear of him." Part 2 Chapter 27. Again he seems to "unintentionally" reveal his own character and how flawed it is. However, all emotional abnormalities aside, brought to climax with his final two actions [not killing Dolores as he planned, yet killing the man who stole her from him], Lolita seems to be, other than himself, of course, the only thing he truly ever cared about.
this is tim
One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest
Psychology is the newest and one of the most powerful worldwide religions. The community of psychologists, psychiatrist and other medical staff, and anyone who took a few classes on human behavior has transformed into the new clergy that not only serves as a moral and ethical guide, relaying acceptable human standards, but also has somehow inherited the power to pass judgment on whether or not someone has the mental fitness to be a safe and productive member of society. How did this come to be, you may ask? The answer must lie somewhere in humanity's appreciation for education, research, statistics, and generalizations and man's subsequent submission to this data as truth. Someone unable to adjust to the social conformities of his surroundings has a place to go, or to be put in some instances, where trained professionals can dissect as many of his thoughts, feelings, and actions in order to compare them to the norm and draw a conclusion as to why the person thinks and acts the way he does and how to correct those thoughts and actions so he can fit back nicely into the society that he was rejecting or that was rejecting him: "Yes. This is what I know. The ward is a factory for the Combine. it's for fixing up mistakes made in the neighborhoods and in the schools and in the churches, the hospital is. When a completed product goes back out into society, all fixed up good as new, better than new sometimes, it brings joy to the Big Nurse's heart; something that came in all twisted different is now a functioning, adjusted component, a credit to the whole outfit and a marvel to behold. Watch him sliding across the land with a welded grin, fitting into some nice little neighborhood where they're just now digging trenches along the street to lay pipes for city water. he's happy with it. He's adjusted to surroundings finally..." Part 1.
ONE FLEW OVER THE CUCKOO'S NEST was not what I was expecting. Having been exposed to this story since I was a lad, I was thinking we would see one R. P. McMurphy, Mack to his crazy friends, shining page after page in his endless battle with the evil Big Nurse Ratched, but instead I got the not so centered thoughts of a troubled American Indian, "Chief" Bromden, who feels society left him behind, and his transformation, along with those he observed, from frightened peon to mental giant: "I lay in bed the night before the fishing trip and thought it over, about my being deaf, about the years of not letting on I heard what was said, and I wondered if I could ever act any other way again. But I remembered one thing: it wasn't me that started acting deaf; it was people that first started acting like I was too dumb to hear or see or say anything at all." Part 3
"What Chronics are - or most of us - are machines with flaws inside that can't be repaired, flaws born in, or flaws beat in over so many years of the guy running head on into solid things that by the time the hospital found him he was bleeding rust in some vacant lot." Part 1. Why are people the way they are? This is a question that has been asked forever.
"What makes people so impatient [to die] is what I can't figure; all the guy had to do was wait." Part 1. An interesting way to view suicide. Little bit of foreshadowing as well.
"Maybe he couldn't understand why we weren't able to laugh yet, but he knew you can't really be strong until you can see a funny side to things. In fact, he worked so hard at pointing out the funny side of things that I was wondering a little if maybe he was blind to the other side, if maybe he wasn't able to see what it was that parched laughter deep inside your stomach. Maybe the guys weren't able to see it either, just feel the pressure of the different beams and frequencies coming from all directions, working to push and bend you one way or another, feel the Combine at work - but I was able to see it." Part 3. I would imagine that constant feelings of self doubt and inadequacies would cause men, over time, to feel that they have no place in society, even if these feelings have no real foundation. A person can convince himself of anything, really, and it's too bad that there's not always someone around like Mack [in attitude and not necessarily in action] to be there to help lead him back in the right direction.
"...people, being like they are, sooner or later are going to draw back a ways from somebody who seems to be giving a little more than ordinary, from Santa Clauses and missionaries and men donating funds to worthy causes, and begin to wonder: What's in it for them?" Part 4. This paranoid skepticism, along with the feelings of inadequacy, teamed with inevitable obsessions and compulsions, leads these men to where there are in life. I just wonder if the presence of one boisterous man, for a relatively short period of time, would be enough to permanently change their condition.
this is tim
Rabbit, Run
We are all products of our environment. No matter how much we may hope to change the world we live in, having some sort of impact, dreaming of making a major contribution, it will never compare to the amount that it shapes the way we are: what we do and what we think. And even though it’s not really a moment we remember, not something we may even realize until we look back on our lives and evaluate our own existence at some point, that there is a time, unfortunately, that we understand we didn’t, and were probably never going to, become the great hero or make that huge difference we always aspired for as a youth. That’s not to say that we couldn’t possibly make that contribution at an older age, but a sudden and strong feeling of failure, or at least inadequacy, could instill an attitude of hopelessness in a man that he may never be able to outgrow. And this feeling of hopelessness [helplessness], if it lingers, will never allow that man to find happiness in his station in life. Nothing will satisfy him.
Rabbit, although not very likable, is quite an interesting subject, and the narrator [supposedly an impartial third-person, although baring more and more resemblance to Harry Angstrom as the story progresses] wastes no time painting a picture of his extraordinary, but actually probably closer to mediocre [or just above average], past and his current unsatisfactory situation. The story begins with Rabbit imposing his superior basketball form on a group of unsuspecting children, and just as you begin to believe he may have in fact been an athletic superstar at one point in his life, you find out about his short-lived “B-league scoring record” “in the town of Mt. Judge, suburb of the city of Brewer, fifth largest city in Pennsylvania,” somewhat overlooked by the narrator, but actually of great importance. It must be noted, however, that many a outstanding player in all sports and games throughout history have come out of small towns. A man’s inherent talent and the extremes of individual desire are not bound by the size of his community. But I don’t this applies in Harry Angstrom’s case because although he was a big deal at his high school, and a small range of surrounding towns, in his day, and according to those who knew him he spent more time practicing than anyone else they knew personally, the minor level of competition and amount of success and post high school achievement that he experienced indicates that his talent and desire may not have been what he was made out to be. His mother in law, although a somewhat cold and rash woman, may have stated it best when she describes Rabbit’s personality, and that of his son, to Reverend Eccles: “Well, he’s [Nelson] like his dad [Rabbit]: spoiled. He’s been made too much of and thinks the world owes him what he wants.” It could be thought that his distaste for women, except for their physical greatness and their ability to carry his children, comes from his time in the military, his father even being ashamed at his son’s unquenchable thirst for “chasing ass,” but the inability for the girls in his life to please him stems farther back.
Lines that begin to scratch the surface of Harry “Rabbit” Angstrom:
Referring to the small boys playing basketball, “…he wants to tell them there’s nothing to getting old, it takes nothing.” This sounds like the motto of someone who had a relatively easy life growing up, but is not exactly proud of his existence.
While watching the Mickey Mouse show, “Janice and Rabbit become unnaturally still; both are Christians. God’s name makes them feel guilty.” Religion seems to play only a supporting role in Rabbit’s life, but enough of one that the years of Christian conditioning leave him with unwanted feelings of obligation and respect for those who know and speak of God.
Referring to the old man at the filling station, “Everybody who tells you how to act has whisky on their breath.” In tune with the personality of the “modern man,” Rabbit not only takes little stock in those who critique his behavior, but he unwilling feels resent when it happens, even if the giver is one hundred percent correct [or maybe I should say especially if]. See other examples: “He is getting slightly annoyed at the way the minister isn’t bawling him out or something; he [Eccles] doesn’t seem to know his job.” Rabbit is expecting a lecture, and when it doesn’t come, he is confused. “You know how it is with fathers, you never escape the idea that maybe after all they’re right.” Yet another bad moment – the realization that something your parents said or did was correct even though you “knew” otherwise at the time. And even Eccles states one time, “The truth shouldn’t be able to hurt us.” Oh, how it does, though!
“There is this quality, in things, of the right way seeming wrong at first.” Yet another proclamation of the modern man: If I hadn’t thought of it and accepted it by now, it mustn’t be true. Why are we such skeptics? Has life been that unfair to us?
“With women, you keep bumping against them, because they want different things; they’re a different race. The good ones develop give. In all the green world nothing feels as good as a woman’s good nature.” I don’t disagree with this statement, but it still seems kind of sexist. Doesn’t it?
*** [this one gets a star] “If you’re telling me I’m not mature, that’s one thing I don’t cry over since as far as I can make out it’s the same thing as being dead.” I’m not so sure about he “being dead” part, but this, actually, is a topic I’ve pondered over much recently. Why DO we put so much emphasis in being “mature,” whatever that means? As long as you’re responsible, should your maturity level really matter? Or, if you ARE responsible, does that MAKE you mature? I doubt it. Whatever the answer is, I hope that sarcasm, and crude jokes, and bodily functions, and what little kids say, and people being in non-critical accidents, and all other unusual things never cease to be funny!!!
“Usually, the dream is worse than the reality: God rules reality. The actual presences of people are always bearable.”
“The difficulty with humorists is that they will mix what they believe with what they don’t – whichever seems likelier to win an effect.” I’ll have a difficult time critiquing this statement because I fall into this category. However, I hope it doesn’t mean that humorists actually have no real opinion, because I don’t think that would be a fair assessment.
“Rabbit becomes obsessed by Harrison’s imperfections.” Yet again, modern man: no matter how many similarities you may have to share with someone else, possibly creating and solidifying a friendship, we focus on the differences, and, unfortunately, usually the unappealing ones.
“He loves kids; their belief is so real to them and sits so light.” Possibly Rabbit’s most endearing quality, the way he sees the potential in children making the world a happier place. However, without having read the other novels in the series, I fear he’s going to ruin Nelson in the long run, possibly attempting to live out his aspirations from his unsatisfactory life through his son.
“But, it’s strange, they don’t really know anything about him except he looks mussed. You do things and do things and nobody really has a clue.” This is a sad revelation. I don’t like to think that nobody really knows me, but I often feel that’s the case. Maybe I don’t even really know me.
this is tim
Lord of the Flies
Being lost on a deserted island [or any deserted place] seems to be a standard way of showing the psychology and sociology of a new society evolving from a small group of individuals, or maybe only one person. It is easy to imagine how individual knowledge, intelligence, instinct, physical abilities, and background would shape how the members of the new settlement would behave. Lord of the Flies fits the mold of the castaway story [another that immediately comes to mind is Robinson Crusoe], only the catch is that all of the society members are children in this case and are therefore lacking, to a certain degree, all of those said traits. Much simpler, on the surface, than I had assumed, the novel became much more taut as time passed and showed how quickly a society without rules, or someone who could enforce them if they existed, can get out of control.
“‘Shut up,’ said Ralph [the tallest/oldest boy who initially attempted to bring some order even though he had no idea how to effectively do so] absently. He lifted the conch [the pseudo symbol of authority for a brief time]. ‘Seems to me we ought to have a chief to decide things.’” [ch1] This is the prototypical reaction of a child: we are now on an island, “savages” live on islands [as we’re taught from an early age], “savages” are led by “chiefs” [or so it is said in English], and so shall we be.
“‘There’s no village smoke, and no boats,’ said Ralph wisely. ‘We’ll make sure later; but I think it’s uninhabited.’ ‘We’ll get food,’ cried Jack. ‘Hunt. Catch things… until they fetch us.’” [ch1] Somewhat logical speculation from the two biggest boys, and as the scene progresses, you can see how they have the entire situation planned out, each totally different, but both having a happy ending, of course.
“‘And another thing. We can’t have everybody talking at once. We’ll have to have “Hands up” like at school.’ [said Ralph] … ‘We’ll have rules!’ [Jack] cried excitedly. ‘Lots of rules! Then when anyone breaks ‘em-‘” [ch2] Initially, the group appears to be pretending to be in a school setting, only with the animosity they hold for school is still intact. They don’t really want rules [yet]. They unknowingly need rules, but it’s more like the bigger boys are attempting to impose their will. It’s all an elaborate game to begin with, even being compared to popular youth novels: Treasure Island, Swallows and Amazons, and Coral Island [which, by the way, has two main characters named Ralph and Jack… apparently Golding did this on purpose because CI is supposedly an optimistic view of a similar situation to LOTF].
“’Like kids!’ [Piggy] said scornfully. ‘Acting like a crowd of kids!’” [ch2] Piggy, the voice of reason, only with little, if any confidence – most likely because his real name is never known, and he is always referred to as “piggy” or “fatty” because of his overweight appearance and apparently things were pretty much the same way for him before he was stranded. The irony of this statement, though, is part of the beauty of the novel. I don’t think the writing is so clever that you ever think them anything but children, but the fact remains that they ARE children, and it is to be expected that they make little kid decisions and mistakes, no matter how much they try to act grown up [even though they say they don’t want grown ups around].
Piggy again: “’We’ve got to have rules and obey them. After all, we’re not savages. We’re English, and the English are best at everything…’” [ch2] One fact, one falsehood, and one programmed opinion in three linked sentences, and yet natural when coming from the mouth of a child. The do need the rules [even though they don’t get the right kind], and whether they like it or not, they pretty much are savages, and the statement about the English is humorous, and yet I’m sure it is a mentality instilled in their youths just as “This is our world, and everyone else it just taking care of the places we don’t want to use yet” is the American mentality at this time.
“Roger gathered a handful of stones and began to throw them. Yet there was a space around Henry, perhaps six yards in diameter, into which he dare not throw. Here, invisible yet strong, was the taboo of the old life. Round the squatting child was the protection of parents and school and policemen and the law. Roger’s arm was conditioned by a civilization that knew nothing of him and was in ruins.” [ch4] This is a brilliant description of the internal restraints that we all develop to live in a “peaceful” society. However, this is also foreshadowing young Roger’s [not a “biggun”] future behavior.
“[Ralph, the so called leader] found himself understanding the wearisomeness of this life, where every path was an improvisation and a considerable part of one’s waking life was spent watching one’s feet.” [ch5] Grim, and yet truthful, this is one of those points in everyone’s life when you lose a little bit of childhood in realizing that part of a successful life and society is the need for caution.
“[Ralph, by this time his authority had mostly worn off] discovered with a little fall of the hearth that these were the conditions he took as normal now and that he did not mind.” [ch7] This is the beginning of the end of the somewhat stable society they had managed to have. It eventually become a failure a short time later when Jack states, ingeniously, I might add, “’I’m not going to play any longer. Not with you.” [ch8] Like a game, which is all children really understand because it’s mostly on the surface, the situation comes to a point where without proper rules, it falls apart, and people quit or make up there own rules until someone stops them.
“Ralph considered this [unsuccessfully trying to devise an effective procedure for keeping the signal fire lit] and understood. He was vexed to find how little he thought like a grown up and sighed again. The island was getting worse and worse.” [ch8]
this is tim
On the Road
Some individuals are never content with their station in life. They seem to have an unbearable desire to constantly see and try new things. To a certain degree, this is an admirable quality: those who have a thirst for knowledge, those who care about bettering themselves, those who want to keep their lives from becoming stagnant. However, like any calling that requires consistent adaptation, there is a cost, and sometimes that cost is not to be paid by the adventurer but by those who depend upon him. Sal Paradise, a twenty something, down to earth type, thoughtful, aspiring writer, has this urge to travel along the open road, taking it wherever it leads him, to be one with the numerous other beatniks, to see what life is made of by experiencing it, rather than reading about it. He has no serious ties, no dependents, and he wants to see what the world has to offer, beginning with a more familiar culture, his own. However, although he sincerely wants it to be so, it is not in Sal’s nature to be an overly aggressive, spontaneous, thrill seeker. This is where Dean Moriarty, Sal’s inherited muse, comes in. Dean, several years younger, has that lust for life that Sal wishes to emulate, and even after everyone else outgrows the man, Sal always seems to have this tiny corner of his heart forever reserved for Dean and whatever new and exciting worlds he might open up: “He was simply a youth tremendously excited with life, and though he was a con man, he was only conning because he wanted so much to live and to get involved with people who would otherwise pay no attention to him.” [p1 ch1]. And as the story progresses and concludes, it becomes clearer and clearer that even though Sal has this subconscious, and somewhat forcefully regrettable, draw to the fascinating Dean, Dean also covets that time with Sal, and not only because his other friends disown him, but because Sal has that emotional stability and nonjudgmental friendship that a troubled youth like Dean has been dying to find his entire life. Sal states, “…the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue center light pop and everybody goes ‘Awww!’” [p1 ch1], another example of opposites attracting and how there are always those who will never quit on those special, yet seemingly lost souls they encounter.
And other interesting passages about Sal’s observations of the culture:
“We lay on our backs, looking at the ceiling and wondering what God had wrought when He made life so sad.” [p1 ch10]
“This is the story of America. Everybody’s doing what they think they’re supposed to do.” [p1 ch11] There should be an emphasis on “supposed.”
“The American police are involved in psychological warfare against those Americans who don’t frighten them with imposing papers and threats.” [p2 ch6]
In reference to a scene in which Dean shoplifts a softball in broad daylight, tossing the ball in the air and smiling as he leaves the store: “Nobody noticed; nobody ever notices such things.” [p3 ch7]
“‘It’s an anywhere road for anybody anyhow.’” [p4 ch1]
“…and nobody, nobody knows what’s going to happen to anybody besides the forlorn rags of growing old…” [p5]
this is tim
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