Rebecca Reads

A Ruined Author?

Rebecca Reid — Fri, 21 Nov 2008 14:00:15 +0000

I’m finishing my review of Vladimir Nabokov’s short stories, which I loved reading. I hope to have it done by tomorrow.

But I feel I can’t write a post about Nabokov (even his short stories) without mentioning another work by this author that I probably don’t even need to name.

After all, twice in the past month I mentioned that I was reading Nabokov’s short stories, and the comment was one of these two reactionst:

“Yuck! I tried to read Lolita once … I couldn’t handle it!” [grimace, and frown]

“That porn author, right?” [look at me curiously]

I haven’t read Lolita. But those that have studied it (such as Thomas Foster) or read it (some other bloggers) seem to indicate that:

It’s not a porn novel: it’s about a man in love. It just happens that he fell in with a 15-year-old girl who is his step-daughter.
It’s beautifully written and well worth your time because it is well written.

I can appreciate those thoughts. I can also appreciate people concerned by the underlying theme of it. I haven’t read it, so I really can’t comment on Lolita.

But I can tell you that I loved Nabokov’s short stories. It’s probably wrong to say that Nabokov’s reputation was ruined: many, many people still read his works every year. But the image associated with his name, at least among those I talked to this month, is pretty badly “tarnished.” I imagine people hesitate to pick up his stories, if they know what Lolita is about.

I think it is a shame that people might avoid Nabokov’s incredible writing because of the stigma associated with his most well-known novel. After all, this man wrote 17 novels, as well as short-fiction, drama, biography, and literary criticism. That’s a lot of writing. If the other works are as good as his short stories, they deserve to be devoured by bibliophiles.

And, while I really can’t tell you which books I will read next, I will tell you I plan to read more of his writing. It’s good.

I’m hoping I’ll convince you to read his stories by my post tomorrow.

There are so many reasons why authors are unfairly ignored: negative publicity, one novel that just wasn’t good, one novel that is over-praised, etc.

What writers do you think have been “ruined” unfairly?

Related posts:

Reading The Iliad by Homer, trans. by Robert Fagles

Rebecca Reid — Thu, 20 Nov 2008 14:00:10 +0000

Reading The Iliad (trans. by Robert Fagles) isn’t like reading a modern-day novel: I think it did take a level of concentration I’m not accustomed to. But that just proved to me that the “difficult pleasure” of reading is highly worth experiencing.

The Robert Fagles translation was poetic and rhythmic. Once I became accustomed to reading poetry, I felt it was highly readable.

Reading Notes

I’m not accustomed to reading epic poetry, but I thought I’d collect some of my thoughts about how I found it to be most fun.

As I have said, I don’t believe it’s possible to write about The Iliad with containing some “spoilers”: the gods give up the ending from the beginning.

As I read, I didn’t let myself stop and try to figure out all the relationships and characters as I read The Iliad. I’m also currently reading The Silmarillion, which also has a huge number of (unpronounceable) names and places, and I found letting go of the details makes it much more fun. I don’t think memorizing the details of characters is essential. These are books where the feel of the language and the sense of the battle is more important. (I really did enjoy learning the background of all the people who were killed in battle.)
I did reference Edith Hamilton’s Mythology a few times to get some background on the gods and goddesses. The back of the book also has line by line notes; however, I wish there was some indication in the text when a line had a note so I could have known when to turn back and get the information. As it was, the reader just has to remember to turn back occasionally.
By the end, the different language didn’t seem so hard to understand; I had gotten used to it. So don’t give up, especially with Book Two, which seemed to drag on. I suspect if I read more books like this, it will become easier. Some others commented that it took them 4 or 5 books to get into it, as well! So it’s not just me.
I read Bernard Knox’s introduction after I read the poem. I didn’t know any of the plot before reading it. Because Knox details many detailed aspects of the poem and expands upon them, I highly recommend doing the same. Of course, now I also want to reread the poem…
A reader commented that she listened to it. Since this was the way it was originally experienced, I think that would be an excellent way to experience it!

What tricks to find help you understand and “get into the groove” of a new reading style (like epic poetry)?

The Translation

I loved reading the Fagles translation. I can’t compare it to others very accurately at this point because I’ve only read The Iliad once. However, sometimes I’d pick up the book, read a line, and get the chills because I thought it was so beautiful.

For example, I began reading Book 19 and was overcome with the beauty of the dawn:

As Dawn rose up in her golden robe from Ocean’s tides,
bringing light to immortal gods and mortal men,
Thetis sped Hephaestus’s gifts to the ships. (Book 19, lines 1-3, page 488)

I’d mentioned that I also wanted to read the Stanley Lombardo translation. I was excited to see how he treated this beautiful passage. I was horribly disappointed, but that disappointment may simply be a style preference:

Dawn shrouded in saffron
Rose out of the deep water with light
For immortals and humans alike. And Thetis
Came to the ships with Hephaestus’ gifts. (Book 19, lines 1-4, page 374)

Lombardo’s translation got the message across, but to me, it seemed to lack all of the poetry. I may read still read Lombardo’s translation; I do want to reread the poem. This really failed the “poetic” test for me. I was not impressed.

Which translation style do you prefer? Do you think Lombardo’s is poetic?

The Next Step

Now that I’ve read The Iliad once, I also am interested in reading the Lattimore and the Lombardo translations, as well as Christopher Logues’s War Music, which is not a translation, but a “version.” I also want to listen to The Iliad, as someone suggested in a comment the other day.

Which other translations can you recommend? Have you read any interesting commentary on The Iliad?

Because there is so much I want to share about The Iliad, this is part three (Reading the Iliad, Fagles Translation) of a three-part series about reading The Iliad. Also in the series:

Related posts:

The Iliad by Homer, trans. Robert Fagles: Love and Hate But Mostly Love

Rebecca Reid — Wed, 19 Nov 2008 14:00:32 +0000

I thought reading The Iliad by Homer (translated by Robert Fagles) would be a chore. Even after I reviewed four different translations and chose one I felt was “best,” I told myself I would have to read at least one chapter a day, just to get through it before it was due at the library. I thought The Iliad would be horribly boring.

I was wrong.

I admit that the first few chapters were hard to get into - I wasn’t used to the characters, and because it began in medias res, I felt a little lost; also, it is a poetic style I am not accustomed to reading. Besides, the second chapter included a list of the boats and characters (a back story) that seemed to drag on and on.

But by the fourth or fifth chapter, I found myself immersed in the story: not only did I empathize with the characters and enjoy the somewhat morbid action-packed battle scenes, but I loved the lilt and feel of the poetry. And while I can’t say whether or not Fagles’ translation was the most accurate of all translations, I certainly found the poem to be beautifully poetic as well as highly readable.

All of that said, I feel I have a love/hate relationship with this book.

Note: As I said yesterday, there may be “spoilers.” But, considering the gods reveal most of the “ending” in the beginning of the book, I don’t think this should be a huge issue.

Love and Hate

I loved Hector. I disliked Achilles. Meeting Hector’s wife and infant son just made him a human. He was so good! But Achilles: am I supposed to like Achilles? Did anyone else like him at all? He was a horrible!

I loved the lengthy family details given about each person as they are killed (even those characters I’d never met before). I disliked how many thousands of names there were. Even if I don’t know the character, before he dies, Homer tells about his father and mother and a number of interesting details about his childhood. As he is stabbed or his limbs are cut off, I can almost hear his parents weeping for him. But why does everyone need three names? (For example, Agamemnon is also called “son of Atreus,” as well as “Atrides,” which derives from his father’s name. He has a brother who is also called “son of Atreus” and “Atrides,” because they have the same father.) Add 100 more people with three names and another 100 killed in detailed battle, and yes, it’s a bit confusing.

I loved the language of the poem. I disliked that I found it a challenge. More about this tomorrow…

I loved the “family squabbles” among the gods. I disliked not being familiar with mythology and who each god or goddess was. I especially liked it when the goddess Hera overpowers Zeus. Zeus may be the god of all, but he still has a weakness: sex. But Greeks were expected to know all about the gods and goddesses: I had a hard time because I didn’t know a lot of the back stories.

I loved the gory details of how each person was killed. I didn’t like it when my favorite characters were killed in battle, even when the gods told me of their fate in the beginning of the book. To give you a better idea of what I mean by gory details, here’s an example:

With that, just as Dolon reached up for his chin
to cling with a frantic hand and beg for life,
Diomedes struck him square across the neck -
a flashing hack of the sword - both tendons snapped
and the shrieking head went tumbling in the dust. (Book Ten, lines 523-527, page 291)

Why did I like the gore? I have no idea. But it was heart breaking when the person at the receiving end was someone I met, even just briefly, for each person had a mother and father weeping over them. As is the case with war, much of the killing was senseless.

The Bottom Line

The bottom line is that I cried. Overall, I really and truly did love to read The Iliad.

What do you love and hate about The Iliad?

Because there is so much I want to share about The Iliad, this is part two (Love and Hate by Mostly Love) of a three-part series about reading The Iliad. Also in the series:

The Story
Reading the Iliad (Fagles translation) (to come)

Related posts:

The Iliad by Homer: The Story

Rebecca Reid — Tue, 18 Nov 2008 14:00:03 +0000

When I decided to read The Iliad, I knew essentially nothing about it.

All I knew was that it was Greek, it was written by Homer, and that it was somehow a precursor to The Odyssey (which I read in high school). Having read The Iliad, I can say now that while it certainly is Greek, the author is officially unknown, and the characters, setting, and plot are completely different from those in the The Odyssey. The Iliad is its own story. It also has a different feel than I expected, focusing on anger, war, and revenge, as well as virtue and honor.

These thoughts are only from my one read of the poem; I don’t promise that they are accurate. Now I see why studying the classics is a life-long endeavor!

(I don’t believe it’s possible to write about The Iliad without revealing some “spoilers”: in the beginning of the poem, we learn what will inevitably happen at the end of the poem and at the end of the war.)

Who What When Where Why

Who are the main characters in The Iliad? Achaeans, Trojans, and the gods

What is the backdrop of The Iliad? The Trojan War

When does The Iliad take place? A long time ago, at the dawn of the tenth year of the Trojan War

Where does The Iliad take place? Outside of the city of Troy, also called Ilus, and in the realms of the gods

Why is there a story in The Iliad? Because Achilles has a bad temper

How?

While the main characters of The Iliad seem to fit in one of three categories (the Achaeans, the Trojans, and the gods) and the Achaeans and the Trojans are at war, the battle is rather complicated.

First, the battle seems to be a game for the gods, although the gods do realize that the humans have destinies that should not be changed. The pull and tug of the gods on the tide of the battle adds an imperative element to the poem, for the gods seem fickle as to whom they intend to support.

Also, it’s interesting that the internal jealousies of humans and the gods cause much of the conflict. To begin with, before the poem begins, the Trojan War is started because of jealousy. This background was left out, I suppose because we are expected to know it. Here’s Bernard Knox’s explanation in the Notes to the translation by Robert Fagles:

When the gods came to celebrate the marriage of Peleus and Thetis, the goddess Strife threw a golden apple among the guests, announcing that it should be awarded as a prize to the most beautiful of the three goddesses Hera, Athena and Aphrodite. But no god was willing to take the responsibility of judging among them. Zeus finally appointed Paris, then minding his flocks on Mount Ida. All three of the goddesses offered him bribes. Hera promised to make him ruler of all Asia; Athena offered him wisdom and victory in all his battles; Aphrodite offered him the love of Helen, wife of Menelaus, the most beautiful woman in the world. He gave the apple to Aphrodite: the result was the Trojan War, and the undying hatred of Hera and Athena for Troy and the Trojans. (note 24.35-36; page 633)

As The Iliad opens, then, Achilles (an Achaean) refuses to fight because he’s been offended (Agamemnon has taken one of his war prizes, a woman, away from him). Through his mother, Achilles convinces Zeus to fight against the Achaeans. The gods and goddess on the Achaeans’ side, then, are trying to get Achilles to cool his rage because they don’t like the Trojans to get any victory. Achilles’ anger ultimately drives the events of the tenth year of battle, as described in the poem.

So What Is The Iliad About?

The Iliad is about Achilles: he thinks and fights for himself. He is the best human warrior on earth, and he knows it. And yet, he lacks the human qualities of empathy: he is angry and proud and watches while the other Achaeans die. When he finally does fight, he fights in his anger. He is selfish. The first line of the book (Fagles translation) is “Rage - Goddess, sing of the rage of Peleus’ son Achilles.”

Or maybe The Iliad is about Hector: he is fighting for his city, his family, and his way of life. He is the mightiest Trojan warrior, and yet he still wants each man killed in battle to be respected and honored as much as possible. He only fights because he has to. The last line of the book (Fagles translation) is (highlight if you want to read this “spoiler”) “And so the Trojans buried Hector breaker of horses.”

I don’t think I can accurately answer what The Iliad is about without rereading the poem a few times. These are some very preliminary thoughts. But I know some of you have read multiple translations.

What do you think The Iliad is “about”?

Please, correct me where I’m wrong (or at least where you think I’m wrong): I want to hear what you think! I’m just an every-day person trying to make sense of a classic.

Because there is so much I want to share about The Iliad, this is part one (The Story) of a three-part series about reading The Iliad. Also in the series (to come):

Love and Hate But Mostly Love
Reading the Iliad (Fagles translation)

Related posts:

A Modest Proposal by Jonathan Swift

Rebecca Reid — Mon, 17 Nov 2008 14:00:08 +0000

Image via Wikipedia

Last week I reread Jonathan Swift’s A Modest Proposal: For Preventing the Children of Poor People in Ireland from Being a Burden to Their Parents or Country, and for Making Them Beneficial to the Public as a part of the Martel-Harper Challenge.

While I was well aware that Jonathan Swift’s short essay is classic satire, I guess because my own chubby one-year-old was crawling around on the floor as I read, I wasn’t laughing out loud at Swift’s well-known call for cannibalism and infanticide.

I’m glad I reread it, though, because I appreciated reading a literary form that I don’t normally read: a satiric essay. I also learned some things about history that I didn’t know.

The Essay in Context

I know very little about Ireland in the early 1700s. But I can deduce a number of things from just the beginning of Swift’s essay. For example, from the first few paragraphs, I learned:

The average person in Ireland was very poor and many people were starving; there were many widows without any way of supporting their families.
Even these poor families had many, many children, which obviously add to the poverty. (While in the first year the babies might not have extensive food and clothing needs, beyond the first year, they certainly did.)
Children of the destitute grew up to be thieves, thus adding to the social problems in Ireland.
Mothers had abortions rather than bring additional children into the destitute world.
Children were not appreciated or cared for; they were abused.
The landlords didn’t treat the workers very well.

With that background, Swift claims that something must be done to save the reputation of the country; apparently, the wealthy were concerned by the “present deplorable state of the kingdom” because of this social problem of the destitute.

That was why Swift offers his own solution:

[I]t is exactly at one year old that I propose to provide for [the mothers] in such a manner as instead of being a charge upon their parents or the parish, or wanting food and raiment for the rest of their lives, [the children] shall on the contrary contribute to the feeding, and partly to the clothing, of many thousands. … I have been assured by a very knowing American of my acquaintance in London, that a young healthy child well nursed is at a year old a most delicious, nourishing, and wholesome food, whether stewed, roasted, baked, or boiled; and I make no doubt that it will equally serve in a fricassee or a ragout.

In other words, Swift’s solution was economic: pay the mothers for their children and use the children to solve the food shortage. Then, the children will be appreciated (no more abuse because they need to be in good condition); they will be wanted (no more abortions because mothers want the financial compensation); and they will be useful (no more thievery; instead, they will feed the rich). Swift gives many more reasons, carefully thought out.

The Essay as Satire

While I still don’t know much about Ireland in the 1700s, I can tell you that cannibalism was not an “accepted” way of solving problems at that time. Swift’s essay is satirical.

I felt rather clueless when I sat down to write this review. It’s one thing to read an eight-page essay; it’s another thing to try to write some coherent thoughts about it. While I knew that Swift’s essay is satire, I couldn’t say exactly what satire is. I had to turn to A Handbook to Literature by William Harmon and C. Hugh Holman (a favorite reference book from my college days):

SATIRE. A work of manner that blends a censorious attitude with humor and wit for improving human institutions or humanity. Satirist attempt through laughter not so much to tear down as to inspire a remodeling. If attackers simply abuse, they are writing invective; if they are personal and splenetic, they are writing sarcasm; they are sad and morose over the state of society, they are writing irony or a jeremiad. … Most often, satire deals less with great sinners and criminals than with the general run of fools, knaves, ninnies, oafs, codgers, and frauds. (page 461 of eighth edition; italics added)

In A Modest Proposal, Swift did censure the British people, and he was certainly calling for a remodeling! But he actually wanted the wealthy to change. The poor were in the midst of a downward cycle; the rich, apparently, had been criticizing them but not doing much to solve the huge problems of society.

A Political Call to Action

Obviously, Swift’s humorous solutions to the problems in Ireland in the early 1700s were not reasonable; he knew that no one would sell their infants as the next main dish in order to pay their bills. But he saw problems with the way things were: his essay was a call for change in some way.

I decided to reread A Modest Proposal because it’s on the list of books that author Yann Martel sent to Canadian Prime Minister Stephen Harper. When he sent this book, Martel sent a letter, as always. This time, he critiqued P.M. Harper for cutting arts funding. He ends the letter with this:

Mr. Harper: Are you preparing a ragout?

Now, I don’t know much about Canadian politics or national art budgets. But this context showed me that satiric political essays can be relevant today. Martel is suggesting that P.M. Harper’s decisions are going in the wrong direction: cutting arts spending rather than developing the arts is the equivalent of eating our children rather than helping them.

What modern social problems do you think should be satirically mocked today?

Chances are, someone’s probably already doing it. For example, a modern-day Jon Swift has entered the blog world. Check out his best of the best list for some modern satire (although I can’t promise his satire necessarily fits the definition given by Harmon and Holman above).

Online Resources:

If you reviewed A Modest Proposal on your site, please leave a link in the comments and I’ll add it here.

Related posts:

Lullabies

Rebecca Reid — Fri, 14 Nov 2008 14:00:09 +0000

My son is musical. As a newborn, his body would instantly start to relax if I started to sing to him. Now, at 13 months old, he doesn’t calm so easily. But if he hears music, he dances. He laughs when he hears any rhythm. His favorite toys make music. He likes to touch the piano keys.

But I didn’t know any lullabies. For months, I sang him Sunday school songs and hymns, because those are the songs I know by memory. They were good, don’t get me wrong. But I also found myself making up songs as I changed him or made him lunch or helped him clean up his toys. They weren’t so good.

What about lullabies? What are they? How does one learn them?

I did what any reader would do: I searched the library. Here are two great books I found.

Lullabies and Poems for Children (Everyman’s Library Pocket Poets)

I absolutely love the size and feel of Everyman’s Library Pocket Poets series: each book is the perfect size in my hand, has a ribbon bookmark, and has just the right number of words per page for a poetry book. So I was delighted to see a book dedicated to lullabies and children’s poetry.

Lullabies and Poems for Children is a great poetry collection. I enjoyed the mix of lullaby lyrics, traditional children’s nursery rhymes, and poems for parents. The downside is that it is a mix! It is organized by theme, including “Watching over Me,” “The Voyages of Sleep,” “Stories in Song,” “Nonsense,” “Silly Stories,” and many more categories. Because there was much overlap between the subjects, it seemed to lack any structure. I felt the organization could have been better, with separation between the generic nursery rhymes and more mature, developed poetry.

Also, lullabies are mixed in with other poems; if you are looking for the lullabies to sing to your child, you need to already be familiar with the melodies because this book doesn’t have any music.

Despite the negatives, I love the poems in this volume, and I love the perfect size of the Everyman’s Library Pocket Poets.

My favorite poems in this volume (there are a lot): “Cradle Song” by Alfred, Lord Tennyson; “Wynken, Blynken, and Nod” by Eugene Field; “Oh, My Darling Clementine” (this traditional song is so sad); “Mother and Child” by Hans Christian Andersen; “Song to be Sung by the Father of Infant Female Children” by Ogden Nash; “Morning Song” by Sylvia Plath; William Blake’s “The Tyger” and “The Lamb”; and so many more.

My most favorite is “Now That I am Forever With Child” by Audre Lorde: my emotions, so perfectly captured! She writes of her child in the womb and being born. She then ends with this:

From then / I can only distinguish / one thread within running hours / You . . . flowing through selves / toward you. (page 158)

Lullabies: An Illustrated Songbook by the Metropolitan Museum of Art

Because the Everyman’s book didn’t provide musical arrangements, I needed another book to learn the lullabies. Lullabies by the Metropolitan Museum of Art is absolutely beautiful and met my needs. Each of the 37 lullabies is featured on a page with two or three pieces of artwork from the Met. The book has a variety of European lullabies, from English, Scottish, and Welsh tunes to a Yiddish tune and a Czech carol.

One problem is that the book is designed to be a beautiful book: some songs break across a page. In other words, the book is not designed by one who reads music or tries to sit at a piano and play the songs.

A plus is that the music is written in very simple arrangements so anyone able to read music can “plunk” them out on the keyboard; however, the arrangements are so simple that they aren’t exactly beautiful. Even if you don’t read music, however, you are still in luck! You can also buy a CD.

My favorite lullabies: “Dance to Your Daddy”; “All the Pretty Horses”; “Armenian Lullaby”; “Suo Gan (Lullaby)”; “Rocking”; and “Raindrops”. My most favorite was “Skidamarink,” a light-hearted wake-up song.

In the end, however, Lullabies met my needs wonderfully! Every few nights, I’d play through a few lullabies. At the end of the four-week library checkout period, I found myself humming lullabies as I went through my day: that was my purpose. I now feel like I know lullabies.

The Metropolitan Museum of Art has also published Go In and Out the Window: An Illustrated Songbook for Young People. It has more songs for children, not limited to lullabies.

Lullabies as Christian Nativities?

I decided to learn lullabies as a part of my continuing “Children’s Literature: A Reader’s History” project. I’m reading Seth Lerer’s book and finding connections to my life. I found Lerer’s discussion of lullabies very interesting:

…the literary evidence we have for lullabies may record not the actual practice of singing children to sleep but rather idealized cradle scenes, especially those of the Virgin and the baby Jesus. In fact, many medieval English lullabies are really Virgin Mary songs, and their survival testifies to the impress of the Nativity on the popular imagination of child-rearing. (Lerer page 70)

So, every time we sing our child to sleep we are, apparently, harkening back to the Nativity of Christ. I have a hard time believing that: singing a baby to sleep is natural, isn’t it?

Do you (or did you) sing your children to sleep? How did you “learn” lullabies? Is humming a baby to sleep natural to you, or is a learned trait? I’m musically inclined, so I wonder if I’m predisposed to singing and humming; I’m very curious about other’s habits.

Reading these poems has gotten me very excited for my upcoming poetry project. Who are your favorite poets? I’ll add them to my “to read” list.

Related posts:

How to Read Literature Like a Professor by Thomas Foster

Rebecca Reid — Wed, 12 Nov 2008 14:00:01 +0000

I saw How to Read Literature Like a Professor by Thomas Foster on the “New Nonfiction” shelf at the library. I thought I’d take a glance through it when I got home, but I certainly had no intention of reading it: I have a lot of books either in progress or on my bedside table, waiting to be read. Well, about 15 pages in to it, I decided I had to read it. Despite the fact that this is a nonfiction book about how to approach literature from the point of ” what does it mean?”, I was hooked.

The subtitle is “A Lively and Entertaining Guide to Reading Between the Lines” and I think that is pretty accurate. Foster’s tone is light, amusing, and engaging as he reminds of the various recurring themes in literature. But his point is that such themes are not random guesses by your literature professors; he argues that the subtle messages and subtle references to other works of literature really just makes literature fun.

I studied English in college, but it’s now been five years since I sat in a class and listened to a professor “explain” a novel or play or story. At the time, I loved to have literature “opened up” for me. I spent four years in college figuring out how to do so. Now, it’s been five years since I thought that way. I’ve been reading just for each book’s story, but I know I’ve been missing things. Reading Foster’s book reminded me that no story written is truly original: the underlying themes have all been said before. Reading, though, should be a mini-quest to find the underlying themes and symbols. They’re there, and many aspects of the novel (or play or story) subtly hint to them. Our job, as readers, is to make the connections.

Foster’s book obviously lacks a lot; there is no way that in 300 pages he can cover all the themes that every piece of literature is based on. Some of the aspects of this book that for me were negative could be positives for you. For example, it carries a conversational tone that made it pleasant for a quick read, but such a tone may bother some readers interested in a more scholarly or serious approach to literature. He references both modern literature and classics; I would have preferred more focus on the classics. He focuses pretty exclusively on symbolism and themes; I’d have liked to learn more about other aspects in literature.

But his book covers many essentials. As I read, I wanted to go back and reread Hemingway’s and James Joyce’s stories: when I read them recently, I knew I was missing something, but I didn’t know where to find it! Considering how much I disliked Hemingway’s stories when I read them, it’s saying something that I now want to revisit him. Foster (re-)convinced me that reading literature and finding common themes can be very fun!

Memorable Quotes

Associate freely, brainstorm, take notes. Then you can organize your thoughts, grouping them together under headings, rejecting or accepting different ideas or meanings as they seem to apply. Ask questions of the text: what’s the writer doing with this image, this object, this act … Reading literature is a highly intellectual activity, but it also involves affect and instinct to a large degree. Much of what we think about literature, we feel first. (page 106)

…[H]ere is where I envy you. If you are a professor, you have to deal with some pretty unsavory characters and some questionable works. If you only want to read like [a professor], you can walk away whenever you want to. (page 234)

…[I]n fact literature is chiefly play. If you read novels and plays and stories and poems and you’re not having fun, somebody is doing something wrong. If a novel seems like an ordeal, quit. (page 284)

Compared to HTR&W

Reading How to Read Literature Like a Professor after (or rather, in the midst of) reading Harold Bloom’s How to Read and Why also made me wish I wasn’t so quick to adopt Harold Bloom’s book as my guide to reading well. Foster’s book convinces me that there are many “guide books” out there to help me learn to read well, which is my purpose to approaching the How to Read and Why reading list. I intend to pick up some other “how to read” books, for further ideas. (Can I tell you how much I like the LibraryThing recommendations and reviews?)

Harold Bloom’s book has a different purpose than Foster’s: Bloom is sharing what he thinks is great literature and why it is great to him. I really appreciated Bloom’s introduction, preface, and prologue to his book and his emphasis on what he thinks is the purpose of reading. But back in June, some people commented that they had the impression that Bloom is, well, somewhat of an ass. After reading some of his explanations of the literature he so worshipfully recommends, I’d kind of have to agree. That said, I’m still grateful for Bloom’s extensive reading list, and I still intend to finish the short stories, poems, novels, and plays he recommends. I’m just adding to that list.

Foster’s book, on the other hand, shares and dissects the themes and symbols that underscore many of the stories, plays, and novels we come across every day. And recognizing such themes is something I would love to be able to do: it’s just a matter of reading more. Click here for some of the books Foster recommends.

If you have reviewed How to Read Literature Like a Professor on your site, please leave a link in the comments, and I’ll add it here.

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Fun Facts about Homer

Rebecca Reid — Tue, 11 Nov 2008 14:00:44 +0000

Image by mharrsch via Flickr

I thought I’d participate in Weekly Geeks this week. In the wake of rethinking my “book blog goals,” as I talked about yesterday, I’ve decided I’m going to not do these weekly memes unless I already was going to post something like this anyway. (I haven’t been participating for weeks anyway; I have had so much else going on.)

For Weekly Geeks #24, we are to share some fun facts about an author. I’m just going to go with the author I’m currently reading: Homer. I wanted to share these things anyway, and so it will fit right in to my review of The Iliad that will come.

It’s interesting to note that my chosen author may not really have existed. Does that still count?

Homer’s birth date is disputed. Herodotus (who lived about 450 B.C.) believes Homer lived about 850 B.C.; other believe he lived earlier, closer to the Trojan war (11^th or 12^th century B.C.); some modern experts believe Homer lived later, about 600 B.C.
Homer’s birth place is also disputed. Many towns in the Mediterranean claim to be Homer’s birthplace; tradition claims the island of Chios in the eastern Mediterranean.
In fact, Homer’s existence is disputed. Was there really a man named Homer? Legend attributes the epic poems - The Iliad and The Odyssey — to a man named Homer, but no actual biographical information had been recorded. No one really knows if he existed.
The epic poems were first set down in writing in about 700 B.C., although supposedly they were written long before that, being passed from generation to generation as performances.
Some believe the poems were written by one person, while others believe a number of people contributed to the whole.
The name Homer sounds like Greek words meaning “hostage” and/or “blind,” which may have influenced the characterization of Homer as a former slave that became a blind bard.
In the Hellenistic period of Greece (3^rd century B.C.), some cities dedicated shrines to Homer.
In his introduction to Robert Fagles’ translation of The Iliad, Bernard Knox suggests that Homer most likely did exist - and that The Iliad, at least, was written in its entirety by one author before it was performed. I’m tempted to agree with that: the complexity of the epic poem is impressive and the depth of it is incredible to me. But then, I’m not familiar with oral traditions.

Whether or not Homer really did exist, I am finding The Iliad to be surprisingly entertaining; more to come when I finish it.

Information from PBB’s Who Is Homer?; Wikipedia’s Homer entry; the introduction by Bernard Knox to The Iliad by Homer, translated by Robert Fagles.

Incidentally, if you are interested in classics, there’s a new blog all about them: it’s Echoes of Narcissus, and classicist Juliadomna tells us that her goal is

…to publish sporadic bits of information on how Classics is not only beautiful and excellent training for all walks of life, but also incredibly powerful and relevant.

Check out this post to get some exciting recommended reading. Classics, apparently, can be fun. (I’m finding that to be true, at least in terms of The Iliad.)

Other authors were featured this week on Weekly Geeks. Here are some others, who actually lived, that also might interest you:

Small World Reads wrote about Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, an author I haven’t yet read but really look forward to reading.
just add books wrote about Gabriel Garcia Marquez. I’ve only read one of his books (100 Years of Solitude) but it was fascinating and I look forward to reading more.
unwritten reads wrote about Alexander McCall-Smith, one of my favorite “anytime” authors (i.e., I could pick up his books anytime just for a fun read).
Pink Blue Whale wrote about Astrid Lindgrin (and so did Lou’s Pages), author of Pippi Longstocking (Pippi was one of my favorite redheaded heroines when I was a girl, after Anne Shirley, of course).

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Google Reader Overload! + Blog Thoughts + Memelet

Rebecca Reid — Mon, 10 Nov 2008 14:00:42 +0000

I have a problem. I am subscribed to too many great book blogs.

When I first started book blogging, I copied a blog roll from a group blog (Pulitzer Project or something). I started following those people. Then, any time anyone commented on my blog, I added their blog to my reader. Because I was participating in BTT and Weekly Geeks every week, I had lots of random new visitors. Now my Google Reader is out of control!

I am subscribed to 100 blogs individually, and then there is the Weekly Geeks feed, which adds another 140. (This is beside the family blogs, photography blogs, writing blogs, and cooking blogs to which I’m also subscribed.) I can’t read this many blogs on a weekly basis, let alone a daily basis! Most book bloggers post at least every other day. That’s too many book blogs to even just scan the headlines, let alone read and comment.

Before the crazy holiday season, I must do something. I hesitate to delete blogs because what if they have the review I’ve been waiting for tomorrow? But I’m going to do it.

How many book blogs do you have in your Google Reader? How often do you check them? How do you keep it low? I need ideas for more control!

Blog Goals

I’ve also been thinking lately about my goals for my blog. The idea of blogging was to slow down my reading and think about it! But instead, I rush through my books in order to get to the next one. I rush to the computer so I can get my next post up. A few other bloggers commented on similar things just this weekend (tuesday in silhouette and So Many Books). So I guess such thoughts are in the air.

I’ve been noticing on my Google Analytics that while my number of hits has been going up, only 15-20% of the hits are “returning visitors”; the others randomly arrive via Google search or other sites. New readers are always good, but you regular visitors are the key, I think.

So, what’s the bottom line? I need to rethink my goals. Is it “number of hits” a day? Is it “raise number of returning visitors”? Is it “get more comments”? Of course, I want more people visiting and commenting on Rebecca Reads. But more than that, I also hope to encourage conversation.

Conversation is what I think blogging is about. For book blogging, I think the conversation should be about books. It is an interaction with people who share similar reading tastes or at least have insightful thoughts about books we share in common. We learn from each other: books don’t end when we close the cover.

And I’m going to slow down my reading. And blogging (maybe…). I intend try for more of a balance between fiction and nonfiction, and I’ll keep a bit of my children’s book reviews too. After all, reading to my son is a big part of my reading these days!

I really appreciate all those who do leave comments, and I love knowing that there are people out there (you!) also reading and sharing!

What are your goals in blogging? What do you think book blogging should be about? What is your ultimate goal in clicking “post” each day? How do you get new readers?

Memelet

Tuesday in Silhouette invented a memelet, and since I want to keep this blog about books (and not about how clueless I am at managing Google Reader) here is my take.

Most hated book by an admired author?

I went through a Toni Morrison stage in college. While I loved the other books I read, I didn’t like The Bluest Eye. (I can’t say I hated it, though.) I’ve only read one or two books by most authors, so I feel not well-read enough to answer this.

Aside from novels, what sort of books do you read the most?

Nonfiction, in general. I think I read more nonfiction than I do fiction these days (see note above about need for balance)! I like biographies over memoirs. I’ve been reading lots of history lately, but I have dozens of science general nonfiction books on my “to be read” list

If you could award the Best of the Booker, it would go to:

I’ve only read two of the Booker winners as of yet, Life of Pi and Life and Times of Michael K. I guess I liked Life of Pi better (i.e., I can see myself rereading it, while I can’t say the same of Coetzee’s novel).

Much like desserts, some books can feel like a guilty pleasure. Name one of your dessert books.

I really like Alexander McCall-Smith’s The No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency series. He’s my “I don’t want to think” reading. There’s a new one out, but I haven’t read it yet. I guess I’ve been thinking too much this year!

Finally, cheesecake or cream cake or chocolate mudcake?

I’m not sure what “chocolate mudcake” is. If it’s like Australian “pudding” or “brownies,” no, thank you, I’ll take the cheesecake. If it’s like American chocolate cake or brownies, I’ll take the chocolate. (I guess I like a sugar overload!)

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Baby’s Sunday Salon, November 9

Rebecca Reid — Sun, 09 Nov 2008 14:00:41 +0000

In addition to the board books I usually read my son, I’ve also been reading a number of picture books with him this month. Because he’s still only a year old, he doesn’t pay much attention past the first few pages, but I’m having fun revisiting some old classics. Now I know what he should be reading in the coming years!

Sandra Boynton’s Pookie books. My son received Let’s Dance, Little Pookie by Sandra Boynton for his first birthday, a previously unknown (to me) new Boynton classic. In Let’s Dance, Mama helps Pookie dance the “Pookie Shimmy.” I think it’s very cute. My son likes the part where we march all around. I found another Pookie book at the library: What’s Wrong, Little Pookie? In this one, Mama tries to find out why Pookie is crying. Both board books feature Boynton’s typically cute and wacky illustrations.

George and Martha by James Marshall. George and Martha are best friends, and James Marshall’s story books show us what that means. They tell the truth to each other, even if it hurts; they respect each other’s privacy; they learn what it means to be friends. They are also hippos, and that makes the illustrations to these stories lots of fun. James Marshall wrote the first book (George and Martha) in 1972. Five sequels followed in the next 15 years. I loved the first one: the clever illustrations were imperative to the humor and plot of the five very short stories. The subsequent books, while equally ridiculous (i.e., humorous), didn’t charm me as much. You can also buy a book with all six collections of George and Martha stories.

Where the Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendak. When Max is sent to his room without supper, he finds himself on a journey to where the wild things live. But, in the end, he longs to return to where there are people who love him and he returns to his room to find supper waiting. Sendak’s Caldecott-winning illustrations bring the “Wild Things” to life, yellow eyes and all. I have good memories of reading this book as a child and I look forward to introducing it to my son (when he’s old enough to remember it’s been introduced). But I wonder: was anyone scared by the Wild Things? They are rather “frightening” looking, and I wonder if children would be scared by the monsters.

The Monster at the End of the Book (starring Grover) by Jon Stone. My son has only begun watching Sesame Street (we didn’t have a television set while in Australia) and so far only watches for 10 minutes before walking away. But when I was reminded of this book, I had to revisit it. And I love it! On each page, Grover warns us not to turn the page because turning the pages will bring us closer to the end of the book. He’s scared because the title told him there is a monster at the end of the book. But, of course, we reach the end of the book and discover Grover is the monster. And he’s lovable and furry. I imagine older kids love the “don’t you dare turn the page!” challenge. My son, as I mentioned, didn’t get it much yet. Maybe in a few months.

What are you reading your child(ren) this month?

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Poetry Friday: Sonnet 73 by William Shakespeare

Rebecca Reid — Fri, 07 Nov 2008 14:00:15 +0000

Why is autumn always, poetically, so sad? It’s a good season in it’s own right. Yet, the poetry always dwells on the “growing older” analogy. Here’s some Shakespeare.

Sonnet 73

by William Shakespeare

That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruin’d choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou see’st the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west;
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death’s second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see’st the glowing of such fire,
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the death-bed, whereon it must expire,
Consum’d with that which it was nourish’d by.
This thou perceiv’st, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well, which thou must leave ere long.

More seasonal poetry here.

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