The Novel That Keeps on Giving

David Foster Wallace's Infinite Jest has been my Waterloo. I began reading this book in 2007, checking it out of the library and renewing it twice. I bought a paperback copy and continued to chip away. I'm currently on page 358 out of  more than 1000. The book is brilliant but not for everyone. It's fairly difficult to read, with it's interruptive footnotes, and challenging to read standing in the subway. Jest makes the case for a Kindle.

My 21-year-old son Harry asked me if I had the book. "Yes, but why?" I admit I was surprised. "A bunch of my friends are reading it and discussing it in a Google book group." I admit I was shocked. I knew precisely where the novel is, because it mocks me whenever I walk by it.

The book group consists of Harry's friends who graduated form Vassar College (where Harry is a senior) all of whom competed in cross country and track (as does Harry). I see runners as a thinking lot, partly because in long training sessions they have what feels like endless time to think about things other than pain. But why choose  Infinite Jest for your first discussion group? Maybe because the main character, still in high school, is a genius as well as a highly-ranked tennis player, under extreme pressure to perform. He also smokes a  lot of marijuana and is socially inept. In addition, the book has many laugh-out-loud scenes.

When Harry finishes Jest, probably in two weeks, I intend to plod on. I must finish it someday or the jest's on me.
 

Listening to Books

In my mind, there's nothing like reading a real book. My local library is excellent, so access isn't the problem as it is for some. I do end up schlepping tomes around when I could use a smaller electronic device, but it's not a real book.

I drive a lot where I live. While I can easily walk to town, I have to drive to appointments that are usually at least a half an hour away. Why not spend all that time listening to a book on CD? My husband and I had once listened to an an English mystery novel on a long road trip, and the experience was enjoyable enough. A couple of weeks ago, I took out A Gate at the Stairs by Lorrie Moore. She's a great writer, introduced to me by my niece, Rebecca, who was one her students in the graduate program at the University of Wisconsin at Madison. Moore has a number of short story collections, of which I may have read, Like Life.

Briefly, A Gate at the Stairs, is about a young college student named Tassie who gets a part-time job as a babysitter for a middle aged couple who've adopted a mixed-race child. The themes in the book are many, including grief, loss, secrecy, anxiety and racism. Moore balances this with razor-sharp wit. I especially enjoyed her skewering of  restaurants with dishes that have way too many ingredients, and menus that describe them in all their ridiculous detail. This was fun to listen to, rather than read. Descriptions of the weekly meetings of the self-righteous inter-racial parent's group were hilarious. But still.

For the most part I'd rather read than listen to a book. It's easier to re-read passages for one thing instead of fiddling with the CD while driving to back it up. It depends upon the person who reads the book aloud, how different voices are used, and how well. I checked out a CD of stories by John Updike wich is going well perhaps because it's not a novel.

It turns out that as I was writing this post I went to see what Lorrie Moore book I have a signed copy of via my niece. Surprise! A Gate at the Stairs.

Artificial Light

Natural light is scarce these days in the Catskill Mountains. The Solstice occurred two days ago so it's not unexpected. Add to the short daylight hours, it's been dark and dreary, with every kind of precipitation there is including fog. Fitting that I should read James Greer's Artificial Light during this season.

At least two of my kids have read this book (which is why I stumbled upon it) I think because it's about the rock band life, and makes references to Kurt Cobain of the group "Nirvana." It's a dark and dreary story that's awash in drugs and alcohol. James Greer used to be in a rock band, so he intimately knows the territory.

Artificial Light is an intense read, containing many words I've never heard, which is always a big plus for me. It was also tiresome at times. I love Rock 'n Roll, and I enjoy Punk and even own a "Nirvana" CD. I think I'm just too old to care about the drama in this novel.  

Not Waxing Poetic About Snow

Ever read a snow poem? Ever write one? There's something enchanting about that frozen concoction of particles whirling about, adding more fluff to the quilted earth. See what I mean?

When the weather outside is frightful, it's better to view it from inside, perhaps in front of a fire accompanied by a good book and a warm liquid refreshment. Unfortunately, our footman couldn't make it in yesterday (due to the snow), so Mariel and I had to dig out both cars. She's strong and I'm not so she did the lion's share of the work. Today's snow adventure was equally tiring. I'll leave at that.

Except for the mud lining the snow banks, it looks nice out there. I think we got 10-11 inches, higher than any snow boot I own.

I can't resist a haiku.

It drops on your tongue,
tasteless frozen drink that melts
and makes you crave more.  

Filling in My Reading Gaps

When I was in 3rd grade, I spent a lot of time in the library. When finished with school work, I was allowed to go across the hall and read until I was sent for. One day, the librarian asked me why I looked sad. "I'll never be able to read all these books," I murmured.

As an adult, I understand the obviousness of this impossible quest. Do I despair? Of course not. I do what I can to keep up with contemporary lit; read books the kids leave around; and buy books at book sales, some I myself donated. My kids read a lot so I get exposed to younger authors now and then, but also to ones I've inexplicably missed, like Nick Hornby. I found A Long Way Down sitting there on a bookshelf yearning to be read again. Mariel said it was good, and that so of his novels were, too.

A Long Way Down is about four people who intend to throw themselves off a 15-story building near London on New Year's Eve. There's Martin, a disgraced 40-something television broadcaster whose family left him when he slept with a 15-year old and did jail time for it. Maureen, a sixtyish matron who lives alone caring for her fortyish son who was born in a vegetative state, has spent her entire adulthood caring for him. Jess, in her early 20's, despises her life and tries to medicate her despair with sex, alcohol and drugs. Finally, there's JJ, an American (the other 3 are English) who dropped out of his band, lost his girlfriend and thought maybe he'd get a gig in London. Instead, he delivers pizza, something he's deeply ashamed of.

They don't jump that night, form a club of sorts, and set out trying to discover reasons why they should or shouldn't commit suicide in the future. The novel is sad, insightful and tinged with sardonic humor. My library has more of Hornby's books and I intend to read them while I'm waiting for James McBride's new novel.

I want my grave marker to read: SHE  READ A LOT OF BOOKS.

Ah, Solitude

I've always appreciated peace and quiet. There was so little of it in my childhood, what with four younger brothers and a bi-polar step-father given to screaming, throwing things and worse.

The Thanksgiving guests left Sunday, leaving Marty, Mariel and me. Then it was just Mariel and me. Then it was me. I said "no thanks" to the family get-together in PA this weekend. Marty went, making it a 12-person sleep-over. I would've been lucky 13.

Last night I boiled some cheese raviolis and threw together a vodka sauce. I also had a huge salad. I slept really well until Buck started getting restless, which I ignored and went back to sleep. I  had yoga at 10, but first I had to clear the inch of snow off my walk. After a somewhat frustrating class, I ran errands, made phone calls and ate a casserole of some sort that had fallen out (flung itself out?) of the freezer last night, sending cracked plastic everywhere. It was turkey tetrazzini from 4 or 5 months ago and quite tasty. I'm spending the afternoon reading, writing, and then going for a massage.

Dinner? I think I'll open the freezer and see what pops out.