Letters to a Young Poet

     This post will be on the short side as the book itself is quite short.  Short, but extraordinary. Letters to a Young Poet by Rainer Maria Rilke is made up of ten letters that Rilke wrote to Franz Kappus through the years 1903-1908. This correspondence began when  Kappus, then nineteen, wrote to Rilke, a twenty-seven year old poet, seeking advice. Kappus learned from his school’s chaplain that Rilke had attended a similar military school supervised by the same chaplain. Kappus then wrote to Rilke and enclosed some of his writing for advice about pursuing the life of an artist. The letters that Rilke responded with were filled with advice and wisdom not only about being an artist but also about the ways in which to live life. Rilke had so many ideas about distinguishing the important from the unimportant and the delights that result from a sometimes difficult life. The following passages were some of my favorites (I tried to limit myself) but in no way do justice to the immense depth and intelligence that are found in this seemingly small book.

     Things aren’t all so tangible and sayable as people would usually have us believe; most experiences are unsayable, they happen in a space that no word has ever entered, and more unsayable than all other things are works of art, those mysterious existences, whose life endures beside our own small, transitory life.(p. 4)

Being an artist means: not numbering and counting, but ripening like a tree, which doesn’t force its sap, and stands confidently in the storms of spring, not afraid that afterward summer may not come. It does come. But it comes only to those who are patient, who are there as if eternity lay before them, so unconcernedly silent and vast. I learn it every day of my life, learn it with pain I am grateful for: patience is everything! (p. 24-25)

 It is good to love: because love is difficult. For one human being to love another human being: that is perhaps the most difficult task that has been entrusted to us, the ultimate task, the final test and proof, the work for which all other work is merely preparation. 
Loving does not at first mean merging, surrendering, and uniting with another person (for what would a union be of two people who are unclarified, unfinished, and still incoherent--?), it is a high inducement for the individual to ripen, to become world in himself for the sake of another person; it is a great, demanding claim on him, something that chooses him and calls him to vast distances. (p. 68-70)

And as for the rest, let life happen to you. Believe me: life is in the right, always.
And about feelings: All feelings that concentrate you and lift you up are pure; only that feeling is impure which grasps just one side of your being and thus distorts you. (p. 101)

The Paris Wife

     Let me just start by saying that I finished 3/4 of this book in one sitting, absolutely could not put it down! A few months ago I saw a movie called "Midnight in Paris." I completely loved the film because it was partly set in Paris during the 1920s and featured an amazing slew of authors and artists all partying together and critiquing/inspiring one another.  When I heard about this novel, I knew I would love it because it involves many of the same characters; anything that describes Paris during prohibition and the Jazz age in combination with this set of artistic minds, count me in!
    
     The Paris Wife by Paula McLain is so well written you can almost taste the wine and hear the jazz music playing in the background as this remarkable story of Ernest Hemingway's first wife, Hadley, comes to life. The enigmatic character of Ernest Hemingway is wonderfully examined as he is shown in contrast to the "simple and good" character of Hadley. The prologue of the novel sets a tone of
exhilaration and heartbreak that continues throughout the story, as seen in these two passages,

"Interesting people were everywhere just then. The cafes of Montparnasse breathed them in and out, French painters and Russian dancers and American writers. On any given night, you could see Picasso walking from Saint-Germain to his apartment in the rue des Grands Augustins, always exactly the same route and always looking quietly at everyone and everything. Nearly anyone might feel like a painter walking the streets of Paris then because the light brought it out in you, and the shadows alongside the buildings, and the bridges which seemed to want to break your heart, and the sculpturally beautiful women in Chanel's black sheath dresses, smoking and throwing back their heads to laugh. We could walk into any cafe and feel the wonderfully chaos of it, ordering Pernod or Rhum St. James until we were beautifully blurred and happy to be there together." (p. xi)

"There was no back home anymore, not in the essential way, and that was part of Paris, too.  Why we couldn't stop drinking or talking to kissing the wrong people no matter what it ruined. Some of us had looked into the faces of the dead and tried not to remember anything in particular. Ernest was one of these. He often said he'd died in the war, just for a moment; that his soul had left his body like a silk handkerchief, slipping out and levitating over his chest. It had returned without being called back, and I often wondered if writing for him was a way of knowing his soul was there after all, back in its place." (p. ix)

     The story begins with Hadley as she travels to Chicago to stay with friends and is introduced to the charismatic and irresistibly real Ernest. In no time at all the pair are intrigued by one another and continue their relationship through daily letters. After a whirlwind romance, Ernest and Hadley are married and move to Paris so Ernest can focus on his writing career amongst other current artists. While in Paris, the couple becomes close friends with many literary greats such as Ezra Pound, F. Scott Fitzgerald, and Gertrude Stein. Upon entering the home of Gertrude Stein and Alice Toklas for the first time it states,

"When we arrived at the door, a proper French maid met us and took our coats, then led us into the room--the room, we knew by now, the most important salon in Paris. The walls were covered with paintings by heroes of cubism and postimpressionism and the otherwise highly modern-- Henri Matisse, Andre Derain, Paul Gauguin, Juan Gris, and Paul
Cezanne." (p. 86)

     The speed of their attachment and the intensity of their affection for one another are described in such a way that I found myself hoping it would never end. As the relationship between Hadley and Ernest progresses however, even the happiest moments are read with a sense of foreboding as Ernest's idiosyncrasies and ideas about life become more and more unyielding. The success he begins to see from his writing and the circle or friends he surrounds himself with convince him that he is entitled to anything and everything that he might desire. When Hadley discovers Ernest's desires and deceptions, the reader is then shown the lengths some will go to for love; and for others, the breaking point.

     Paula McLain does a superb job of breathing life into a story that is not often told. The Paris Wife is simply beautiful and devastating.

                                           Hadley and Ernest Hemingway
   

Dracula

     This is one novel that I have been meaning to read for quite a while. There is no denying that a vampire craze is currently sweeping the nation and everywhere you look there is a new book, movie, or television show with the ever popular drop of blood decorating the title. When one thinks of vampires, what are some of the first things that come to mind? Attractive individuals with pale skin, red lips, slicked back hair and never seem to age? How about cloves of garlic, crucifixes, and stakes through the heart? The current trend made me curious about the origins of vampire fascination and in what ways these new media ventures resembled the classic novel Dracula by Bram Stoker. It is truly unbelievable that this novel, written in 1897, is still being looked to as the prototype for future vampire characters and fueling new ideas that continue to attract today's audiences.


     This novel is told through a series of diary entries and letters from several rotating authors. This constant change in perspective and tone presents a frightening story in a well rounded and engaging way. The story begins with Jonathon Harker as he journeys to Transylvania to conduct business with a new client interested in buying property in London, Count Dracula. While there are many strange characteristics that the Count possesses, such as discussing the previous centuries of his family history in the first person, having no reflection whilst in front of mirrors, and maintaining the ability to control wolves, Jonathon Harker is not truly convinced of the Count's demonic nature until he witnesses the Count crawling down the side of his castle one night. From there on out Jonathon Harker is determined to risk his life for the opportunity to escape and return to England. The novel then switches to narrators in London that are all, in some way, connected to Harker. Dracula's arrival in London shortly after immediately affects Harker's fiancée Mina and her friend Lucy. Once it is discovered that Lucy has been bitten by Dracula, Mina and a group of men band together and vow to destroy the demon Dracula, or die trying. The leader of this band of merry men is Dr. Van Helsing. Van Helsing is presented as Dracula's doppelganger and the one individual with the most information regarding vampire's actions and the means by which they may be destroyed. Without giving away too much of the story, I will say that Stoker shows what great feats may be accomplished in the face of evil if you have love, faith, and a group of friends to stand by you.


     The following two descriptions of Dracula are the before and after if you will. The first is given when the vampire has been without blood for a time; the latter is after a recent blood-sucking:


His face was a strong--a very strong--aquiline, with high bridge of the thin nose and peculiarly arched nostrils; with lofty domed forehead, and hair growing scantily round the temples, but profusely elsewhere. His eyebrows were very massive, almost meeting over the nose, and with bushy hair that seemed to curl in its own profusion. The mouth, so far as I could see it under the heavy moustache, was fixed and rather cruel-looking, with peculiarly sharp white teeth; these protruded over the lips, whose remarkable ruddiness showed astonishing vitality in a man of his years. (p. 27)


I raised the lid and laid it back against the wall; and then I saw something which filled my very soul with horror. There lay the Count; but looking as if his youth had been half-renewed, for the white hair and moustache were changed to dark iron-grey; the cheeks were fuller, and the white skin seemed ruby-red underneath; the mouth was redder than ever, for on the lips were gouts of fresh blood...Even the deep, burning eyes seemed set amongst swollen flesh, for the lids and pouches underneath were bloated. It seemed as if the whole awful creature were simply gorged with blood; he lay like a filthy leech, exhausted with his repletion. (p.65)



     The following excerpts describe the traits of his personality and abilities, some of which are still used today in modern depictions and some of which I had no idea:



We have seen amongst us that he can even grow younger; that his vital faculties grow strenuous, and seem as though they refresh themselves when his special pabulum is plenty. (p. 286)


He may not enter anywhere at the first, unless there be someone of the household who bid him to come; though afterwards he can come as he please. (p. 287)


The Draculas were, says Arminius, a great and noble race, though now and again were scions who were held by their coevals to have had dealings with the Evil One. They learned his secrets in the Scholomance (a sort of devil's academy), amongst the mountains over Lake Hermanstadt, where the Devil claims the tenth scholar as his due. (p. 288)


The nosferatu do not die like the bee when he sting once. He is only stronger; and being stronger, have yet more power to work evil. This vampire which is amongst us is of himself so strong in person as twenty men; he is of cunning more than mortal, for his cunning be the growth of ages; he have still the aids of necromancy, which is, as his etymology imply, the divination by the dead, and all the dead that he can come nigh to are for him at command; he is brute, and more than brute; he is devil in callous, and the heart of him is not; he can, within limitations, appear at will when, and where, and in any of the forms that are to him; he can, within his range, direct the elements: the storm, the fog, the thunder; he can command all the meaner things: the rat, and the owl, and the bat--the moth, and the fox, and the wolf; he can grow and become small; and he can at times vanish and come unknown. (p. 284)

     The intensity and depth of these descriptive passages regarding Dracula, the king vampire for all intents and purposes, are enough to fascinate and frighten the reader until the end. The constant opposition between good and evil, biting social commentary, and extraordinary prose are just added bonuses in this classic by Bram Stoker.

Jane's Fame

    I will be the first to admit that I love Jane Austen's work, however if you had asked me before what it is about her writing that continues to intrigue me, I don't know that I could have told you. Jane's Fame by Claire Harman not only clarified the reasons that I return to Austen's novels but it also showed me the opposite end of the spectrum.  Reading this book informed me that there is a much larger cult following of Jane Austen than I had previously believed. Though I have never referred to myself as an "Austentonian" or "Janeite", I am absolutely a fan and therefore was intrigued by this in depth study of her success and popularity. Her level of popularity has certainly ebbed and flowed throughout the generations and yet the question always resurfaces, "Is she or is she not a great writer?" One of the most interesting observations in this book is the lack of middle ground when discussing Jane Austen. Writers seem to either love or hate her and most readers are either obsessed or disinterested.

     As with many great writers, Jane Austen did not live to see her work fully appreciated. In fact, she did not even live to see it published under her own name. After many years and quite a few let downs, Jane did see most of her works in print and the little feedback she received was positive. The great debate did not begin until after her death in 1817. At this point in time there were not many Austen novels in circulation and it seemed as though their presence would die with the author. It was only after the publication of a short biography in 1870, by her nephew,  that the spark was reignited. It was by no means a great biography or ever a completely accurate one, but it did provide a glimpse into the anonymous author of the once popular novels, particularly Pride and Prejudice. The book illustrated Henry's aunt as a sweet tempered woman not interested in the least with fame or success (false). Despite its discrepancies, the public loved it and felt validated that they had enjoyed the writings of such a worthy woman. The biography was incredibly popular which resulted in multiple printings of the novels and a wealth of criticism to go along with them.

     Some of Austen's more harsh critics included Ralph Waldo Emerson, Charlotte Bronte and Mark Twain. Emerson believed Austen to be "sterile in artistic invention, imprisoned in the wretched conventions of English society, without genius, wit, or knowledge of the world." Charlotte Bronte was of the opinion that there was nothing at all great about the author because there was no poetry in her writing. When discussing Austen with a fellow writer Bronte responded, "Can there be a great artist without poetry?" Mark Twain however was by far the most violent in his antipathy for the author. On one occasion he wrote to Joseph Twitchell, "Every time I read 'Pride and Prejudice' I want to dig her up and hit her over the skull with her own shin-bone." In one unpublished essay, Twain expands on his dislike of all things Austen, "Whenever I take up Pride and Prejudice or Sense and Sensibility, I feel like a barkeeper entering the kingdom of heaven. I know what his sensations would be and his private comments. He would not find the place to his taste, and he would probably say so." One friend of Mark Twain's, W. D. Howells, was a great admirer of Jane Austen despite his friend's disapproval. Howells said later that Jane Austen was Twain's "prime abhorrence" and once received a letter from Twain stating, "Jane is entirely impossible. It seems a great pity to me that they allowed her to die a natural death!"

     For every harsh critic of Jane Austen there was also a fond admirer. One of the most interesting supporters of Jane Austen was Felix Feneon. Feneon was a poet, essayist, and anarchist bomber that happened upon Austen's work while serving time in the Mazas prison. He was permitted to read Northanger Abbey (thought to be inconsequential because its author was a woman) and acclaimed the prose's "pithy style and keen insights on human nature." Four years later he finished a translation of the novel into French and became editorial secretary of a literary magazine. Another famous advocate of Austen's was Winston Churchill. In 1943 Churchill became ill and was confined to bed and recalled in his memoir," I had long ago read Jane Austen's Sense and Sensibility, and now I thought I would have Pride and Prejudice. What calm lives they had, those people! No worries about the French Revolution, or the crashing struggle of the Napoleonic wars. Only manners controlling natural passion so far as they could, together with cultured explanations of any mischances."

     The author of this book, Claire Harman, sums up the complexity of Jane Austen's appeal when she concludes, "A genuinely popular author as well as a great one, she has come to exist, more obviously than any other English writer, in several mutually exclusive spheres at once. What appeals to one reader as a biting satire on eighteenth-century provincial life is read by another purely for its nostalgia value; the feminist message of, say, Pride and Prejudice translates as a paean to sexual pragmatism and the virtues of the status quo, while the frustrations of the thwarted professional writer evident in Austen's letters strike some as marks of a delightfully unworldly amateurism. She has truly become all things to all men." (p.197)

If two incredibly different minds, such as a confused twenty something and an anarchist bomber, can find merit in the work of Jane Austen than in my opinion the author must be great.

Strangers on a Train

    
  
    
      When most people hear Strangers on a Train, they think of the film by Alfred Hitchcock. The film version was made in 1951; a year after the novel was published. Since then it has also been adapted for the theater and its theme has been used in many television shows as recently as 2009 when Castle based an episode on this central idea. Strangers on a Train by Patricia Highsmith, in my opinion, is an extremely intelligent, disturbing read that forces the reader to re-examine human nature. Before beginning this book I had an idea of what to expect, having read The Talented Mr. Ripley for a class in college. I knew that this novel would, at times, be uncomfortable to read yet impossible to quit without knowing it's ending, just as Ripley was for me. Many critics have commented on the sense of claustrophobia and paranoia that Highsmith's writing often evokes and I feel that those words perfectly describe the two novels I have read so far. Throughout this novel in particular, I felt as though the story was continuously weighing on me. The distress and agony that Bruno inflicts upon Guy is absolutely tangible.
    
     Strangers on a Train is based on the premise that everyone is capable of murder. Though I am not sure I agree with the point Highsmith is trying to make, I am once again impressed by the way she juxtaposes humanity with iniquity. The novel begins on a train where we meet Guy Haines, an architect living in New York that is traveling back to his hometown in order to divorce his estranged wife Miriam. Guy is a simple man that believes in love, honesty, and integrity. Enter Charles Bruno, a spoiled young man of leisure that despises his father and is traveling to meet his mother, whom he is a bit too fond of. Bruno is a man full of his own ideas and not exactly interested in men or women, with the exception of his mother, until he meets Guy. After a very brief conversation Bruno invites Guy to his private room for dinner and, based on what I can only imagine is instant infatuation, proceeds to tell him about his plan for a perfect murder. In this plan, Bruno would kill Guy's wife while Guy is out of town and a few months later Guy would kill Bruno's father while Bruno is away, thus providing both with airtight alibis. Guy is so disturbed by this complete stranger and his outlandish proposition that he hardly knows how to respond and therefore excuses himself as soon as possible. A couple weeks later Bruno, undeterred, decides to carry out his plan and travels to Texas to murder Miriam. Bruno's obsession with Guy and the fact that Miriam's murder goes off without a hitch sparks a series of events that devolves the rational and just Guy Haines into an erratic shell of a man.

     This novel portrays two seemingly opposite men that end up at a similar conclusion, which then begs the question, "Can anyone be brought to murder?" The way Highsmith proves her theory is by taking a man initially disgusted by the thought of murder and illustrating the ways in which his righteousness and humanity are broken down until he is reduced to his most base form. I have to say, Highsmith makes her case quite well, though at the end of the novel I am left with more questions than answers. Therefore I want to end this post with questions instead of excerpts, as those are what remain with me this time.


What is it about Guy Haines that makes Charles Bruno, a vain narcissist, instantly taken with him?

What is it that Bruno immediately notices in a complete stranger that would make him certain he has found a partner in murder?

Why is it that a smart and sensible man would not choose a different path than Charles Bruno? Or was Guy not a sensible man, merely a weak man that was waiting for a dominant personality to unearth his true character?

Can a person become someone else, or is that the person they always were, they just didn't know it?

Why Owen Markman? It seemed clear that he did not love Miriam so why confess to him of all people?

    

The Glass Castle

Some stories are so incredible, they are almost hard to believe. With an opening sentence that reads," I was sitting in a taxi, wondering if I had overdressed for the evening, when I looked out the window and saw Mom rooting through a Dumpster", you know you are in for a strange ride. This memoir by Jeannette Walls is a sad but electrifying coming of age story in the poor, eccentric Walls household.

Jeannette's mother, Rose Mary, was an artist that abhorred the idea of a typical, domestic lifestyle. She preferred painting, writing, and reading to working, supervising, and raising a family. Jeannette's father, Rex, was charismatic and sneaky, a genius and an alcoholic. He despised any sort of authority and always insisted that the family do the "skedaddle" before they were noticed by the "gestapo". The relationship between mother and father was dysfunctional at best, and created an unstable and often hostile environment for their four children: Lori, Jeannette, Brian, and Maureen. One story from the book recounts an incident where an argument between Rex and Rose Mary got so out of hand that the children, watching from the front yard, saw their father hang their mother from outside a window by her arms. Events such as these were frightening but not unusual for the kids to witness. A perfect example of this unique relationship is described on p. 122 when Rex came home drunk and screaming, looking for a fight with Rose Mary. After a struggle, he pinned her to the ground and demanded to know whether or not she loved him. When she finally relented and said yes, they both hugged each other and laughed while Jeannette observed," It was as if they were so happy they hadn't killed each other that they had fallen in love all over again."

Throughout their childhood, the children lived in cars, slept in cardboard boxes, scavenged for food in dumpsters, and relied on one another for support and protection. Their parents did not believe in rules or discipline, but they also didn't see the need to take care of their children. One of the stories that Jeanette describes in the novel is her first memory as a three year old. She had been standing on a chair, in order to reach the stove, and making herself hot dogs for dinner. She caught fire and was rushed to the hospital where she remained for six weeks. Needless to say, the children were left almost entirely to their own devices, because Rose Mary and Rex believed that they needed to learn to fend for themselves, immediately.

As children, everything was an "adventure". Every time their parents decided to move, which happened every couple of months, they told them that it was an adventure. When they could not fit in the car and had to sleep on the ground in the desert, it was also an adventure. The kids grew accustomed to not having heat, indoor plumbing, and often times, food. When Rex took odd jobs or Rose Mary decided to work (she was a certified teacher), the family would have groceries for weeks at a time, but that never lasted because Rex was continuously let go and Rose Mary hated going to work. As the children grew older they realized that things were not going to change and if they wanted something more, it would be up to them to make it happen.  They took small part time jobs, babysat, and recycled metal, anything they could to save up money. One by one, the children moved to New York and left their parents behind in West Virginia. Jeannette worked as an assistant at a newspaper and saved money to go to college. Several years later, the parents followed the children to New York and continued their "adventurous" lifestyle on the streets, rummaging through trash and sleeping on park benches.

The hardships and struggles that Jeannette and her siblings went through in this novel were sometimes painful to read, but all the more inspiring when you realize everything that they have accomplished, and how far they have come. I think the most surprising part of this novel, for me, is that the Walls family did not have to live the way that they did. Rose Mary could have been a teacher. Rex was brilliant and could have worked almost anywhere, yet they refused to conform to the ways of society and were determined to live only for themselves, despite the impact it had on their family. These sad stories made for a fantastic novel that proves it doesn't matter where you came from, it only matters what you make of yourself.

Jayber Crow

    
     My senior year of college I took a class on Wendell Berry. When I enrolled I had never heard of Wendell Berry, I only knew that he was a Kentucky author and that the class was rarely, if ever, offered. So naturally I went to the bookstore to take a look at some of his novels, which from first glance appeared to be about farming. I have nothing against farming, I honestly just don't know much about it and was unsure if I would be interested enough in the subject matter to get me through a semester. I was a little hesitant and a little curious going into the class but was exceedingly impressed with the emotion and depth in each novel that we studied. The class also covered several of his essays, short stories, and poetry and the more I read, the more I loved. Each of Wendell Berry's works examines the strength and ties of a community through love, loss, and change. The rural community of Port William is the backdrop for many of his novels and is roughly based on Berry's own life in his hometown of Port Royal, Kentucky. Berry's life and experiences are reflected in his work which repeatedly focus on the themes of respect for the land, membership of a community, and the importance of family.
     Jayber Crow was not one of the novels that we read in class however the name was mentioned in several of the novels we studied. I love that the more I read by Wendell Berry, the more I learn about not only the protagonist of my current book but also about characters from previous novels. Each new perspective further illustrates the intricate world of Port William that Berry has created. This particular novel is told by Jayber Crow, an elderly man reflecting on a lifetime of clients' stories as they intertwine with his own. Orphaned as a child, Jayber learns about life as an outsider that, in part, remains with him for the rest of his life. He is sent away to The Good Shepherd school which is not a fit for him but after many years gives him the idea that he has been called to the ministry. In college, it is not long before he realizes that the questions and uncertainties he has about his faith will prohibit him from ever becoming a minister. The only force that seems to drive him over the next couple of years is to make his way back to the place he was born. Though he no longer has any relatives he feels the only connection he has to the world lies in the area of Port William. By becoming the town barber Jayber not only learns about the private inner workings of the community but is also accepted into the membership of Port William.
     One if the best parts about this novel is that despite it's melancholy tone there are moments of humor and love that touch the reader as though you were part of it's world. Wendell Berry has the incredible ability to create vivid characters that linger with the reader long after the novel is completed. Here are a few passages that initially struck me and that I think will give you a glimpse of Berry's prose style:

"But the mercy of the world is time. Time does not stop for love, but it does not stop for death and grief, either. After death and grief that (it seems) ought to have stopped the world, the world goes on. More things happen. And some of the things that happen are good. My life was changing now. It had to change. I am not going to say that it changed for the better. There was good in it as it was. But also there was good in it as it was going to be." (p.296)

"And I knew that the Spirit that had gone forth to shape the world and make it live was still alive in it. I just had no doubt. I could see that I lived in the created world, and it was still being created. I would be part of it forever. There was no escape. The Spirit that made it was in it, shaping it and reshaping it, sometimes lying at rest, sometimes standing up and shaking itself, like a muddy horse, and letting the pieces fly. I had almost no sooner broke my leash than I had hit the wall." (p.83)

"Somewhere underneath of all the politics, the ambition, the harsh talk, the power, the violence, the will to destroy and waste and maim and burn, was this tenderness. Tenderness born into madness, preservable only by suffering, and finally not preservable at all. What can love do? Love waits, if it must, maybe forever." (p.294)

As you can probably tell I am a huge Wendell Berry fan, and though this post in no way does his work justice, I would highly recommend that you read something of his, as it is truly a joy.

The Shadow of the Wind

 "Books are mirrors: you only see in them what you already have inside you," answered Julian.(p.209)

 The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafon is the story of a young boy, Daniel, that discovers a book by Julian Carax that may very well be the last of it's kind. As Daniel begins to search for more of the author's work, he discovers that they are being destroyed and that no one seems to have much information on Julian Carax. As Daniel grows up he feels he must uncover the truth, and the mystery that he unravels is an intricate web of deceit, murder, love, and revenge.
It is funny to me that I read two books sequentially that deal with authors and the ways in which they tell their own stories. Though these two novels have similarities, the differences are what linger with me. The Thirteenth Tale was based on the premise that the author desperately wanted to tell her story before she died whereas the characters in this book will stop at nothing to hide the truth and it's possibilities for destruction and/or redemption. The Thirteenth Tale seemed to be veiled with mystery and curiosity but the tone of The Shadow of the Wind felt more ominous to me, as if danger were awaiting the reader around every corner.
I really loved the ways in which Carlos Ruiz Zafon described the relationship between readers and books,as seen in one example above, but also the effect that reading can have on individuals,as seen in the following two excerpts,
"I heard a regular customer say that few things leave a deeper mark on a reader than the first book that finds its way into his heart. Those first images, the echo of words we think we have left behind, accompany us throughout our lives and sculpt a palace in our memory to which, sooner or later--no matter how many books we read, how many worlds we discover, or how much we learn or forget--we will return."(p.8)

"...soon I forgot myself and was submerged once more in the narrative, discovering cadences and turns of phrase that flowed like musical motifs, riddles made of timbre and pauses I had not noticed during my first reading. New details, strands of images, and fantasy appeared between the lines and new shapes revealed themselves, as in the structure of a building looked at from different angles."(p. 41)
With passages like that, how could this book not be worth reading!?

The Thirteenth Tale

    It took me quite a while to choose a book for my first post, what a surprise! After finishing this book I knew it would be the perfect opener because there were so many memorable passages and unique ideas. If you are someone like me who loves Gothic novels and is always up for a good mystery, this novel is a must read. One review from Booklist stated that, "Readers will be mesmerized by this story-within-a-story tinged with the eeriness of Rebecca and the willfulness of Jane Eyre." This is the perfect description of the incredible first novel by Diane Setterfield.
    This novel explores the life stories of a bookshop employee and avid reader, Margaret Lea and a notoriously mysterious and reclusive author, Vida Winter. With the end of her life quickly approaching, Vida Winter has decided that the time has come to share the truth about her past. After making up one outlandish history after another, Ms. Winter seeks out the relatively unknown Margaret Lea to tell her story. What unfolds is an enchanting and eerie tale about confronting your past and the ways in which it has shaped you.
    There is a passage in the novel that is particularly fascinating in it's description of writing. This excerpt also provides a rare glimpse into the mind of an author. Dickens' Dream by Robert Buss is shown below and is "the picture" that Vida Winter is referring to in the following passage

"Why recall the picture now, you must be wondering. The reason I remember it so well is that it seems to be an image of the way I have lived my own life. I have closed my study door on the world and shut myself away with people of my imagination. For nearly sixty years I have eavesdropped with impunity on the lives of people who do not exist. I have peeped shamelessly into hearts and bathroom closets. I have leaned over shoulders to follow the movements of quills as they write love letters, wills and confessions. I have watched as lovers love, murderers murder and children play their make-believe. Prisons and brothels have opened their doors to me; galleons and camel trains have transported me across sea and sand; centuries and continents have fallen away at my bidding. I have spied upon the misdeeds of the mighty and witnessed the nobility of the meek. I have bent so low over sleepers in their beds that they might have felt my breath on their faces. I have seen their dreams.

"My study throngs with characters waiting to be written. Imaginary people, anxious for a life, who tug at my sleeve, crying, 'Me next! Go on! My turn!' I have to select. And once I have chosen, the others lie quiet for ten months or a year, until I come to the end of the story, and the clamor starts up again."

I love this part of the novel because it's description of the author's mind is so vivid and it is given with such eloquence, one is almost transported into the dreamlike mind of Ms. Winter. I will leave you with just one more short excerpt because it has lingered with me and I wonder if it will be the same for others.

"All morning I struggled with the sensation of stray wisps of one world seeping through the cracks of another. Do you know the feeling when you start reading a new book before the membrane of the last one has had time to close behind you? You leave the previous book with ideas and themes-characters even-caught in the fibers of your clothes, and when you open the new book, they are still with you."

The Second Time Around

I should have known this would be easier said than done. However, I am determined to give this my best shot. The thing that I miss the most about college is the critical reading and discussion of a text. I miss reading through a book and pinpointing the positive and negative elements of a written work that seperate it and it's author from their contemporaries. The analysis and debate of a work is challenging and encouraging, as it constantly keeps the mind sharp. That being said, I have decided to set a goal for myself of reading one book a week and writing a corresponding blog telling my opinions and findings, in the hopes that my mind will remain in the analytical state that it was while in class. So here goes...:)

Blogging: Take One

A very smart man recently suggested blogging to me. At first, this option could not have sounded any less appealing. By nature I am more of a listener, rather than a teller of information. I am very comfortable with this arrangement because I genuinely enjoy listening to people and hearing about their lives. I, on the other hand, feel as though I never have anything particularly interesting to tell. Maybe it is true, maybe I do lead a very simple life that yields few stories of interest, or maybe I have just gotten so used to keeping things to myself that I no longer know how to let people in and share my thoughts and feelings. I do not think this situation will change overnight, but I do think(hope) that blogging may be a fun, challenging way to change things. Please bear with me as I attempt to share what is really going on with me, one step at a time.