Rebecca Reads » HTR&W

A Shropshire Lad by A.E. Housman

Rebecca Reid — Fri, 08 Jan 2010 13:21:00 +0000

Harold Bloom dedicates a section of How to Read and Why to poetry, because, he says, “Poetry is the crown of imaginative literature.” (How to Read and Why, page 69). I don’t feel Bloom’s insights actually are helping me read poetry, but I’ve decided to read the poets he suggests because it’s a broad introduction to some good poetry (I hope).

I’d never heard of A.E. Housman and in some respects I wish I still hadn’t. While Housman’s poems are easy to read and “lyrical,” the collection A Shropshire Lad (written in 1896) is horribly depressing and seems to me to capture the poet’s deep-rooted depression.

Bloom claims, “How to read a poem can be best introduced by reading Housman, whose concise and economical mode appeals by its apparent simplicity” (page 71). I would have to agree. The poems appear concise. The lyricism is deciving, though, for the underlying messages are ones of lost youth, lost love, lost friendship, and above all, a desire for life to be ended (I kid you not: there are a few suicidal poems in the collection).

Take, for example, the poem that Bloom mentions (in the public domain):

Into my heart an air that kills
From yon far country blows:
What are those blue remembered hills,
What spires, what farms are those?

That is the land of lost content,
I see it shining plain,
The happy highways where I went
And cannot come again. (Poem XL)

It’s beautifully written. I love the rhythm of the words. I love to read it aloud. But when I read it closely and realize the message, I am just as depressed as the narrator: his childhood is past. He cannot find that contentment he once had. Life is moving on, and it’s killing him.

A Shropshire Lad, as a whole, captured the inherent difficulty of growing up. It captured the agony of a young man leaving a haven of peace and entering the reality of the world.

If you love the depressing lyricism of the poem above, the collection has plenty more of it: it may be for you. I, personally, say farewell to Housman here.

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How to Read and Why: Short Stories Retrospective

Rebecca Reid — Thu, 23 Apr 2009 11:00:09 +0000

Last June, I had just barely begun book blogging. My reading was beginning to expand beyond my comfort zone (i.e., go to the library and randomly take a book with a pretty cover off the shelf) and into the world of TBR lists. When I read the preface to Harold Bloom’s How to Read and Why, I decided I needed to focus my reading. I asked myself the question:

How can I really “read” a book, even fiction, to get something out of it?

I decided to treat Bloom’s book as a textbook as I read through the works on his list, in search of the answer to that question. The How to Read and Why Reading List can be found here; all posts on Rebecca Reads relating to HTR&W can be found on the HTR&W tag.

Since I have now finished the short story portion of the HTR&W challenge, I thought I’d take the chance to revisit the project itself.

Falling Out of Love

At this point of my project, I am rather irritated at Bloom’s book. I mentioned at the beginning of this project that I was to treat him as a professor that I may disagree with. Well, I think there is a reason professors are only “your professor” for a semester: Bloom becomes rather annoying when I refer to him every month. (Note I’ve still only read through page 69 at this point; yes, after nine months.)

Part of the problem is that as he discusses his favorite short stories, he really is pompous in his assumptions and generalizations. And yet, I am still glad I chose to read his favorite short stories. They were all good in their own way. I appreciate some of Bloom’s thoughts, but at other times he becomes irritating. For example, he tends to defines a short story with one meaning; did he not say himself in his introduction that no one meaning can be assigned to a work? Each reader brings his or her own history to a book. He seems to forget his own advice as he pontificates on the stories that he considers grand.

All the same, for various reasons, I intend to continue my project in the coming months as I experience poetry, novels, and drama following Bloom’s lists. I choose Bloom’s list as an amateur reader; now that I have been blogging for a year I realize that there are many books out there that provide “Lists of Books You Should Read.” Why I chose Bloom’s book over another is a matter of timing and chance, I guess. I was moved by his preface, and in that respect, I’m still glad I chose this list as a project. Besides, it has a balance of short stories, poetry, novels, and drama, both new and old. It seems somewhat balanced to me.

I am learning a lot: but I am learning from the works themselves and not from Bloom. Isn’t that the point of this self-imposed project?

A Difficult Pleasure

In his prologue, Bloom calls reading, “the search for a difficult pleasure” (page 29). That is, by far, my favorite phrase as applied to reading. I thought about that as I struggled through The Iliad this year (thoughts here). I am thinking of that phrase now as I reread Jane Eyre (and forcing myself to slow down and enjoy the long descriptions and beautiful language). And I certainly thought about that as I read the short stories on Bloom’s list.

Many of the short stories were not favorites, but some were. I loved reading Chekhov (thoughts here and here) and Maupassant (thoughts here and here). Nabakov’s powerful writing astounded me (thoughts here). I reread Flannery O’Connor’s complete short stories (thoughts here) and I got something different out of her stories than I did before (probably a lot more since I read the stories first in high school!).

There were a few short stories I didn’t enjoy. Ernest Hemingway was challenging for me (thoughts here), and Borges (thoughts here), Landolfi (thoughts here), and Calvino (thoughts here) were far out of my comfort zone. I didn’t feel like I “got” the stories. But as I read them, I appreciated them despite not liking them.

Timing is Everything

As I recall all of the things I read, I am struck by the timing of my reading them. I mentioned this in my post about Calvino: I think one must approach certain books at the right time in life.

I read two Ivan Turgenev’s stories (thoughts here) first. I didn’t appreciate them. I thought they were slow and dull. But I soon after read Chekhov and loved the three stories so much I read an entire collection of 25 stories; some of those were probably equally dull, and yet I gave them a chance because there were by an author who had written some stories that I had enjoyed. And in the end, I enjoyed the Chekhov stories despite the “dullness.”

I wonder: if I revisited Turgenev now, after reading so many other stories, would I appreciate them more? How much more would I appreciate his stories if I read them in another two or three years?

I feel the same way in the timing of my reading Borges, Landolfi, and Calvino. They were odd to me. Bloom puts the short stories he recommends into two categories: “Kafka-esque”/”Borgesian” and “Chekhovian.” I most certainly preferred the realism of the Chekhovian tradition. And yet, looking at the “Borgesian” stories, I wonder: if I revisit them in ten years, would I appreciate them more? At some point, it may be nice to step outside of the ordinary and visit the fantastic, imaginative worlds created by these very good short story writers.

I just am not there yet.

Bloom says himself:

[T]he best of [short stories] demand and reward many rereadings. (page 65)

I think that is something I do agree with, and that is why I plan to revisit all of these someday (yes: all of them). I truly loved Chekhov and Maupassant and Nabokov; maybe in the future I will come to love Borges and Calvino too. And even “boring” Turgenev.

What book do you think you should revisit some day because you read it at the “wrong point” of your life?

Reading Against the Clock

I still really like Bloom’s prologue the best of all of How to Read & Why that I’ve read: he reminds me that we “read against the clock” no matter what we choose. I only have a limited number of years to read, and this year/week/month/day has limited time in it in which to read. Choosing to read a book means I’m choosing not to read a different book. In the past year since I began blogging, I’ve become much more selective as to which books I pick up. I like that.

Part of that is, I think, book blogging. Because so many people are praising so many different books, my TBR has expanded 100-fold. I must make choices and it’s ended up okay. I still enjoy blogging and reading is still feeling rewarding.

At the same time, I do think I’ve become a bit too “fast” in my reading. Because “timing” of reading a book makes a difference, I want to make sure I don’t rush through it. It is always hard to go back and reread when there is so much left unread! I should every book the benefit of the doubt on the first read by slowing down.

I feel good about what I choose to read; therefore, I should slow down and enjoy it.

How do you choose what to read? Is book blogging helping or hindering your reading goals?

Short Stories To Be Continued

I really enjoyed my foray into short stories, thanks to the HTR&W project. And yet, I think that Bloom missed a lot of great short stories. While I was reading Bloom’s list, I also read James Joyce, Edgar Allan Poe, Hawthorne, and O.Henry. I have decided I want to read many more short stories.

I plan on keeping track of my search for perfect short stories on this page. I liked how I focused on authors by reading a collection by the authors during the HTR&W project, and I may continue to do so; or, I may read short stories and review them as individual stories.

Who are your favorite short story authors? Which are your favorite short stories?

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Invisible Cities by Italo Calvino

Rebecca Reid — Wed, 15 Apr 2009 13:00:19 +0000

Invisible Cities by Italo Calvino was a book that confused me from beginning to end, and yet I am glad I read it. Calvino was trying to do something creatively strange, and I think I missed it, but the strangeness was a bit rewarding in the end. All that said, I am struggling to say something coherent about the book.

Invisible Cities is a collection of very short stories between one and three pages long. These stories are about strange cities around the world. Some are cities with the ground in the sky, some are cities of strange people or religions. These sketches are framed by conversations between Marco Polo, the Venetian traveler in China, and Kublai Khan, the ruler of China. We find in these conversations that Marco Polo is the one telling the aging Kublai Khan about these outrageous cities. And by the end, we find that Marco Polo’s many cities seem to merge together. Was he really describing just one city? Is he describing cities at all?

I enjoyed the conversations between the two people more than I enjoyed the stories. The conversations seemed to have interesting discussion that gave light to the brief sketches about cities. Toward the end, Marco Polo says, “It is not the voice that commands the story: it is the ear” (page 135). To which Kublai Khan responds, “I hear, from your voice, the invisible reasons which make cities live, through which perhaps, once dead, they will come to life again” (page 135-136).

Calvino, then, in describing (possibly) one city in so many different ways, brings that city to life in many different ways. Yet, my ear strained to get the meanings out of this book. If it is the ear that commands the story, my ears failed me. But I sense a deep purpose and philosophical meaning behind it all.

HTR&W

Bloom’s commentary on Invisible Cities makes no sense to me after reading the book. I will cease to try to make sense of Bloom, and I return once again to my own question: Why do I trust Bloom’s list of books to read? I don’t comprehend the depth of some of these works, and I believe I must be reading them at the wrong time in my life because I am not connecting with them at all. I will have more thoughts on this in my upcoming HTR&W short story retrospective. (Calvino was the final short story author for my HTR&W project.)

Suffice it to say, though, that Bloom believes Invisible Cities to be a masterpiece to be read and reread:

Calvino’s advice tells us again how to read and why: be vigilant, apprehend and recognize the possibility of the good, help it to endure, give it space in your life. (page 64)

I appreciate those reasons, but I didn’t get that out of the strange book. It was beautifully written and odd at the same time. I am determined to revisit it when I have more patience to struggle through it.

Are other books by Italo Calvino this odd? I’ve heard a lot of blog talk about If on a winter’s night a traveler, but if that’s also odd, I’m probably not interested any longer.

Other Reviews:

If you have reviewed Invisible Cities on your site, leave a link in the comments and I’ll add it here.

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Stories by Tommaso Landolfi

Rebecca Reid — Thu, 05 Mar 2009 16:37:03 +0000

I’m somewhat at a loss of what to say about Golgol’s Wife and Other Stories by Tommaso Landolfi.

In some respects, Landolfi’s stories reminded of Borges’ Fictions: they have elements the bizarre. I didn’t enjoy reading Borges (thoughts here), but I did sense a genius and power behind the writing. Landolfi’s writing is likewise laudable, although I wonder once again what the genius behind the stories actually is. I think it is beyond me.

In some stories, Landolfi narrates incredibly unbelievable events as if they actually occurred, a technique that seemed much like Borges’ stories. For example, in his title story “Golgol’s Wife,” the narrator describes his association with the author Nikolai Golgol and Golgol’s wife, who is a balloon. Yes, a balloon. The bizarre accounts in the story would have been amusing if I wasn’t so distracted by the oddness of it. “Pastoral” likewise is odd: a lonely girl visiting the country writes a city girl about the “hibernation” of the country people during the winter.

Other stories don’t have supernatural elements but have rather difficult personal subjects. “The Two Old Maids” is about a monkey that breaks into a chapel at night. “The Death of the King of France” is a “long and wearisome” account of a man letting go of his obsession with his 12-year-old adopted daughter. (I don’t think I completely understood this disturbing story; please correct me if you think there is a different point to it.)

Some stories weren’t disturbing and were short and easier to relate to. “Dialogue on the Greater Harmonies” asks the question: are poems written in a nonexistent language really a work of art? “Giovanni and His Wife” shares the story of two duet singers – who sing out of tune completely together. “Sunstroke” details the last moments of the death of an owl, and “Wedding Night” is about the chimney sweep visiting during a wedding feast.

In the end, it seems Landolfi’s stories ask questions attempting to define art, right and wrong, and acceptable relationships.

I read Landolfi’s stories because Harold Bloom recommends “Golgol’s Wife” in How to Read and Why. In reading Harold Bloom’s praise of the story “Golgol’s Wife,” I now realize that I must be familiar with Golgol and his writing before it will make sense. Yes, Landolfi’s story was definitely beyond me.

In the end, I readily admit I missed something. I can’t say I loved reading Landolfi, but it’s nice to know that I’m trying things I would not otherwise pick up. I’m trying to have an open mind. Maybe someday I’ll revisit Landolfi and understand better his themes.

If you have reviewed any of Landolfi’s stories on your site, leave a link in the comments and I’ll add it here.

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Fictions by Jorge Luis Borges

Rebecca Reid — Mon, 12 Jan 2009 14:00:25 +0000

Ficcciones by Jorge Luis Borges is about 170 pages in Spanish; the English translation of the same book is about 120 pages (within Borges’ Collected Fictions). Why, then, has this me taken weeks to get through?

Borges’ writing style is powerful. In some sense, I’m glad I struggled through Borges just to get a feel for his different style. But unlike Nabokov’s powerfully written stories, Borges’ well-written stories are weird. I seriously can’t think of any other word to describe them. I overall did not like them, and I will never read more Borges.

Weird

Author Yann Martel, who is more literary than I am, explains Borges to Canadian Prime Minister Stephen Harper in this way:

These stories are intellectual games, literary forms of chess. They start simply enough, one pawn moving forward, so to speak, from fanciful premises-often about alternate worlds or fictitious books-that are then rigorously and organically developed by Borges till they reach a pitch of complexity that would please Bobby Fischer. Actually, the comparison to chess is not entirely right. Chess pieces, while moving around with great freedom, have fixed roles, established by a custom that is centuries old. Pawns move just so, as do rooks and knights and queens. With Borges, the chess pieces are played any which way, the rooks moving diagonally, the pawns laterally, and so on. The result is stories that are surprising and inventive, but whose ideas can’t be taken seriously because they aren’t taken seriously by the author himself, who plays around with them willy nilly, as if ideas didn’t really matter.

Here are a few notable stories with my summaries that may help you understand why “weird” is the only word I can think of to describe Borges.

“Tlon, Uqbar, Orbis Tertius.” A man discovers a reference to the odd country of Uqbar in an Encyclopedia and tries to find out more information about it. In the course of the next few years, the world becomes obsessed with this country, which has been invented on an invented planet, and begins to live as if the world of Orbis Tertius is the reality. This was the first story I read and was the most challenging to read.
“Pierre Menard, Author of the Quixote.” Writing a critical review of Menard’s life, the narrator explains how Menard’s best work, although unknown, was his rewrite of Don Quixote. Menard rewrote Quixote from memory, living as if he were Cervantes.
“The Circular Ruins.” A man washes up on the shore outside of circular ruins. Over the next year, he dreams a man into creation, and sends his begotten son into the world. This was probably my favorite story, weird as it was: to think that he dreamed a person into being, from the heart to each hair on his body. Great twist at the end, too.
“The Garden of Forking Paths.” In a subtle mystery, during the end of WWII a man travels by train to escape his murderer and to deliver a message. It was quite confusing to me.
“Funes, His Memory.” A young man named Ireneo Funes developed a collective memory of everyone and everything.
“The Shape of the Scar.” The story of how an Irishman got his scar. This was also one of my favorites as it was the least weird.
“Death and the Compass.” A detective is trying to solve the mystery of three murders and he thinks he has the solution.

Reading in Spanish

I had started reading Borges’ stories in Spanish. I studied Spanish in high school and college, and would like to not forget all the things I studied. This was to be a refresher.

But I would read a paragraph and try to translate it, feeling frustrated. My preliminary thought was always “I don’t get it!” I read the first story (“Tlon”) twice in Spanish before I determined to find an English translation. To my surprise, I read it in English and felt similarly confused. I still didn’t get it.

I read that first story about four times before I started to appreciate it as the bizarre philosophical whatever that it is. I do now think it is rather interesting. But I’d suggest reading it in your first language from the beginning.

In the midst of struggling to read the second story in Spanish, I read Yann Martel’s letter to Canadian Prime Minister Stephen Harper:

Upon rereading Fictions I was as unimpressed this time around as I remember being two decades ago. …

Now why am I sending you a book that I don’t like? For a good reason: because one should read widely, including books that one does not like. By so doing one avoids the possible pitfall of autodidacts, who risk shaping their reading to suit their limitations, thereby increasing those limitations. The advantage of structured learning, at the various schools available at all ages of one’s life, is that one must measure one’s intellect against systems of ideas that have been developed over centuries. One’s mind is thus confronted with unsuspected new ideas.

Which is to say that one learns, one is shaped, as much by the books that one has liked as by those that one has disliked.

I can certainly appreciate that logic: that reading something you don’t like can still teach you something. But I still determined not to spend all the extra time required to read the book I don’t like in a foreign language.

Where It Fits

I read Fictions by Jorge Luis Borges primarily for my personal HTR&W challenge, in which I’m reading through Harold Bloom’s list of short stories, poems, plays, and novels. But then, to my delight, I found that it is also a part of the Martel-Harper Challenge. Since it was so painful to read, I’m counting it for both challenges.

Borges’ Fictions was just 120 pages in English; I was determined to finish it. But if I didn’t have Martel’s letter of encouragement and my personal HTR&W challenge, I may have given up.

Do you read books that you don’t like? How much do you read, not liking it, before you give up?

If you have reviewed Fictions (or any of Borges’ stories) on your site, leave a link in the comments and I’ll add it here.

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Stories by Vladimir Nabokov

Rebecca Reid — Sat, 22 Nov 2008 14:00:47 +0000

In his stories, Vladimir Nabokov so perfectly captures a character, or a setting, or an emotion, that I feel that the character is real, the setting surrounds me, and the emotion is my own.

His writing in these stories is so well done that I, a very amateur writer, feel the urge to try my hand at capturing the images around me, a task I will surely fail because I know I will never even remotely measure up to Nabokov’s incredible talent.

The unfortunate aspect of reading more than 60 of Nabokov’s short stories in one month is that the characters he so adroitly creates, the settings he so carefully draws, and the feelings he so perfectly captures are, for the most part, miserable, gloomy, and ultimately depressing. Also, some of his stories have fantastical elements that failed to resonate with me, and most dwell on negative aspects of human nature – subjects that weren’t pleasant for reading in bulk.

But I feel that the overall quality of Vladimir Nabokov’s writing is so extraordinary that he should be read simply for the marvelous experience that comes from reading his words, even if the reader doesn’t necessarily consider the negative underlying themes amazing.

Nabokov’s Style

Unlike the concise Ernest Hemingway, Nabokov uses many words to write his poetic stories. Some paragraphs are longer than a page; sentences are five lines long. It’s very dense, but, to me, beautiful.

Through his wordiness, Nabokov carefully creates a scene, as did James Joyce, and the scene seems to be imperative to many of his stories. Also like Joyce, Nabokov’s purpose or theme for each story isn’t revealed until the end. While Joyce’s stories often left me confused (revealing my ignorance, I suppose), Nabokov’s left me depressed. Sometimes the abrupt endings are a sort of epiphany and sometimes they are just the result of the character’s actions, and we, the readers, must determine Nabokov’s aim.

In that way, Nabokov’s writing reminded me of Anton Chekhov’s stories. Both authors seemed to describe every-day people (peasants in Russia for Chekhov; poor Russian émigrés living in Berlin for Nabokov) living their lives, with a sudden realization (either for the character or the reader) in the last moments of the story illustrate the depressing state of human nature, life, and relationships.

Guy de Maupassant also wrote about the dirty side of human nature. But, while Maupassant’s stories ended up being funny, Nabokov’s stories rarely had humor (although I may have missed any high-brow humor). Some of the stories with fantastic elements reminded me of Edgar Allan Poe’s or Washington Irving’s stories. (In fact, one story appropriately refers to Rip Van Winkle.)

In the end, Nabokov has a style completely his own. Just as I felt after reading Flannery O’Connor’s stories, I can’t place his style and themes into a category with any other short story writer.

Favorites

As I mentioned, Nabokov’s stories tend to be rather sad. My two favorite stories happened to be the least unpleasant. A number of other stories have also stayed with me.

Two Stories

In “First Love,” a man reflects on his first love. In the course of his description of a childhood summer’s events, it’s unclear to the reader whether his first love was traveling by overnight train; swimming at the beach; learning about butterflies; or meeting the little French girl, Colette. This story doesn’t have much plot or grand finale, but it is a beautiful story that I’ve already reread three times.

“The Vane Sisters” was the story that Harold Bloom recommended in his How to Read and Why book list. In this story, a man reflects on his relationships with two sisters, one of whom was once his girlfriend. It also is incredibly subtle. (Highlight to read spoiler.) Nabokov’s subtle ending tells us that this man’s life really hasn’t been all that affected by the life and then the death of these sisters. It’s kind of depressing for the sisters, but an interesting realization for the man. It made me think about my own life and relationships. What impact do certain people have on me? For example, how often do I think about old boyfriends? Did they really impact my life significantly?

The Bottom Line

Have I made myself clear? Maybe not. To be safe, here it is as clearly as I can write it:

Read Nabokov’s short stories, at least one or two. His writing is incredible.

Have you read already read Nabokov’s stories? What did you think? How would you describe his writing style and the themes he writes about?

Note: Because Vladimir Nabokov’s stories are not in the public domain, I cannot link to them online. Here is Wikipedia’s information about him.

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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.

Related posts:

Stories by Flannery O’Connor

Rebecca Reid — Mon, 13 Oct 2008 13:00:32 +0000

To understand Flannery O’Connor’s short stories is understand the rural South that she was familiar with in the pre-1970s. Her stories focus on aspects character in human, every-day situations all revolving around her South, dealing with race relations, Christianity, rural versus city living, parent-child relationships, etc. She brings the reader into the settings by capturing thought processes, a style I found engaging. I enjoyed reading her stories, although they illustrated a lack of hope in human nature.

Themes

Race and Class

I found the most common theme in Flannery O’Connor’s stories is race and class, looking at conflict between generations. A great example is “Everything that Rises Must Converge.” In this story, a progressive young man must ride the bus with his older mother to the YMCA because she is “afraid” of the blacks on the integrated buses. He wants to teach her a lesson, but in the end he realizes he still needs his mother, as “old-fashioned” as she is.

Race and class often mix in O’Connor’s stories. In “Revelation,” a self-satisfied judgmental woman is baffled when a young girl calls her a rude name; in the end, she (maybe) realizes the folly of her judgments.

Other stories clearly dealing with race and class also include rural versus city conflicts. Some of these stories are “The Artificial Nigger” (a father and son visit Atlanta); “The Displaced Person” (a Jewish refugee family joins the farm); “A Late Encounter With the Enemy” (Grandpa fought in the civil war); and “The Geranium” and “Judgment Day” (an old man, living in New York City with his daughter, longs to return to the South to die; these are essentially the same story, one written at the beginning and one at the end of O’Connor’s career).

Isolated, Lonely People

Some of my favorite stories were about lonely, isolated individuals seeking for a place. In “The Crop,” a lonely woman sits down to write a short story-and forgets where she is. I love this story because I can relate to this writer: she can’t figure out how to get the story from her head to paper. In “A Stroke of Good Fortune,” the woman ponders a fortune teller’s message, and the reader, following her thoughts, knows what it is. I loved how clueless she was as I followed her thought process.

While others weren’t favorites, they were also about lonely, isolated people: “You Can’t Be Any Poorer Than Dead” (14-year-old must bury his grandfather); “Good Country People” (a lonely girl with a wooden leg finally trusts someone, the good country man selling bibles); “The Life You Save May Be Your Own” (mother gets her mute daughter married to a nice, good country man); “A View of the Woods” (a lonely, selfish grandfather idolizes his granddaughter); and “The Enduring Chill” (a lonely, unsuccessful writer returns to Georgia to die).

Christianity (Good versus Evil)

Flannery O’Connor’s stories also deal with Christianity and good versus evil in general. Her view of good and evil in the face of Christianity is intriguing.

“A Good Man is Hard to Find” is probably the most familiar O’Connor story, but I really don’t like it. Grandma gets her family lost on a side road. They meet a murderer, who Grandma is sure she recognizes as a good man. I think it’s a look at how everyone has good, and yet, we’re all missing good too; we’re all condemned. I find it a bit disturbing.

In other stories, people try to save each other through religion and because of religious training. In “The River,” the boy’s caretaker, Mrs. Conin, wants to “save” him with religion. In “Parker’s Back,” Parker gets one more tattoo that he thinks his religious wife will appreciate. In “The Comforts of Home,” Thomas’s mother thinks she can save a loose woman from corruption. In “The Lame Shall Enter First,” Sheppard thinks he can redeem a criminal boy who shows more promise than his own son.

Compared to the Others

I found Flannery O’Connor’s stories to be completely unlike the others I’ve read in the past few months. And yet, I still try to compare and contrast.

As did Chekhov, O’Connor focuses on specific characters in a specific setting, keeping the scenarios tight. Somewhat like Maupassant, O’Connor’s stories focus on base human desires and situations. In contrast to James Joyce, who was careful to develop a scene, O’Connor throws us into it to a scene and we must feel our way until we understand the setting (and yet it is still marvelously developed). Also, while Hemingway captured scenes mostly through dialog, O’Connor captures her scenes through incredibly realistic thought processes.

Unlike O. Henry, her stories are not “feel good.” In fact, I almost hated reading some of the stories, because I knew, following her style, that just before the character finds redemption, something would go wrong and they’d be damned, or killed, or otherwise without hope. In subject matter, then, I think her stories most closely resemble Jhumpa Lahiri’s stories in Interpreter of Maladies, which capture the isolation immigrants feel. While O’Connor’s characters aren’t immigrants to the United States, they seem similarly confused by their loneliness in a changing Southern environment.

HTR&W

I didn’t agree with a lot of Harold Bloom’s comments in How to Read and Why on the specific stories he discusses, but his general comments on O’Connor’s style are interesting. He focuses on the religious aspect of her work, how everyone ends up damned as I mentioned above, and how O’Connor doesn’t expect anyone to be redeemed.

…the best way to read her stories is to begin by acknowledging that one is among her damned, and then go on from there to enjoy her grotesque and unforgettable art of telling.

Harold Bloom captures what my main gripe was with O’Connor’s stories, although he thinks it’s a beautiful trait. It is, but it’s still a bit annoying in bulk:

…readers need to be wary of her tendentiousness: she has too palpable a design upon us, to shock us by violence into a need for traditional faith.

I sometimes didn’t like the violent shock at the end of each story: but that may be because I was reading all of her short stories in the same week. If you read Flannery O’Connor, read her in installments.

In the end, Flannery O’Connor certainly has a marvelous but morbid story telling ability.

Have you read Flannery O’Connor? What do you think of her stories? Did you like “A Good Man is Hard to Find”?

Related posts:

Stories by O. Henry (and Another BBAW Giveaway)

Rebecca Reid — Thu, 18 Sep 2008 01:00:15 +0000

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After reading, in the past months, the short stories of Turgenev, Chekhov, Maupassant, James Joyce, and Hemingway, I found O. Henry’s stories to be remarkably different. They were refreshingly delightful, poignant, and easy to read, and yet, I was struck by the inferiority of O. Henry’s actual writing in comparison to the others. In the end, though, I think everyone should read some of O. Henry’s stories: they are enjoyable.

O. Henry’s stories are full of irony. Like Maupassant’s stories, his stories focus on the base aspects of human nature: poverty, crime, dying. However, while Maupassant’s stories focus on self-interest, O. Henry’s stories focus on self-improvement and the “love your neighbor” aspects of human nature. The characters in O. Henry’s stories were loving, and the endings were poignant and “tender.” On the other hand, as I mentioned when I read Maupassant’s stories, some of those characters were cruel and uncompassionate. Both writers seemed to accurately portray human nature, but I must say that Maupassant’s take was more amusing!

O. Henry was born William Sidney Porter and became O. Henry after a few years in prison, during which time he turned to his writing. I’m glad he did write because I really enjoyed his stories! My favorites were these (links to public domain etexts):

The Gift of the Magi. $1.87 is all she had on Christmas Eve, and yet she wanted to buy her husband a Christmas gift.
The Cop and the Anthem. A homeless man wants to be arrested so he can be in jail all winter.
The Last Leaf. She knows she will die when the last leaf falls from the vine.
The Ransom of Red Chief. Two criminals need $2,000, so they determine to kidnap the son of the richest man in town and hold him for ransom.

The Writing

Reading James Joyce and Ernest Hemingway before reading O. Henry may have been a mistake, simply because I was distracted by O. Henry’s writing. His writing is perfectly acceptable: it’s probably a style issue for me. O. Henry is a down-to-earth writer, and his writing seemed to have a more conversational aspect. For example, in “The Gift of the Magi,” the woman begins to cry in the first paragraphs. Then,

While the mistress of the home is gradually subsiding from the first stage [sobs] to the second [sniffles], take a look at the home.

Now, there is technically nothing wrong with addressing the reader. But James Joyce was careful to develop a scene and Ernest Hemingway never would use so many words to describe something, so for me it was just a surprising, jarring sentence to read.

Also, along the same line, O. Henry told his stories, but none of the characters seemed developed. Even after finishing “The Ransom of Red Chief,” for example, I barely know about the two kidnappers and the young boy; they remained stereotypes in a clever story. On the other hand, while Joyce seemed long-winded in some respects and his stories were somewhat depressing, the characters and settings were so beautifully created that I didn’t mind reading it.

Has reading Joyce and Hemingway and the other authors recommended in HTR&W made me a “snob” for concise yet beautiful descriptions and carefully developed characters? I don’t know. Maybe if I’d waited a few days after Hemingway, O. Henry’s writing style wouldn’t have seemed inferior.

I suppose noticing writing, instead of just stories, is progress. After all, one of my goals in attacking a reading list like HTR&W is to learn to read well, instead of just turning pages. The other night, I picked up a less-than-100-page collection of O. Henry to read and I read it one setting: wouldn’t that be reading to “just turn pages”?

But, as I said, I really enjoyed O. Henry’s stories, and after my disappointment in Hemingway, I really needed to “just turn pages.”

Have you read O. Henry? What was your favorite story? What have you read lately when you just wanted to “turn pages”?

If you want to read some “tender” (and, yes, I admit, somewhat cheesy) “love your neighbor” stories, you should really give O. Henry a try. Read his stories online in the public domain at Project Gutenberg; most are fairly short.

If you don’t want to read online, I’d love to send you my collection as a BBAW giveaway! It’s The Gift of the Magi and Other Short Stories by O. Henry, a Dover Thrift Edition in good shape. If you’d like it, please let me know in the comments. I’ll send anywhere in the world, and I’ll select a winner Sunday.

Related posts:

Stories by Ernest Hemingway

Rebecca Reid — Wed, 17 Sep 2008 01:00:05 +0000

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Hemingway’s stories are poetry: that is my first and lasting impression of Ernest Hemingway’s short stories. In his short stories, Hemingway treats words as sparsely as do poets.

I don’t usually understand or enjoy poetry because it feels so much must be inferred or interpreted. (After I finish reading the HTR&W short stories, I’m reading a number of poets for my HTR&W personal challenge. I’m a bit nervous.) While reading Ernest Hemingway’s stories, I likewise felt the need to infer and interpret beyond my comfort zone: I didn’t “get” them and I certainly didn’t enjoy reading the few stories I read. While I’ve only read a dozen of Ernest Hemingway’s short stories, I’m finished.

That, however, doesn’t mean you should avoid Hemingway’s stories: they may resonate with you, and you may love his writing style. He does a magnificent job of capturing a scene through dialog. Hemingway is worth reading.

Two Stories to Read

While I didn’t love any of the stories, there are two I would recommend others read. “The Snows of Kilimanjaro” follows an unsuccessful writer as he dies of gangrene in the middle of an African hunting camp, stranded after his vehicle broke down. It is a story with two aspects: one part follows the dialog he has with his wife, and one part follows what he is thinking and all the stories he wished he had written.

The second story I’d recommend is “A Clean, Well-Lighted Place,” which I’d read before and is probably the most well-known of his stories. In that story, a deaf, widowed old man who has recently attempted suicide sits and drinks late into the night in a café. One waiter essentially kicks out the old man because he wants to go home, while the other waiter contemplates on how the café is a nice place to sit, and everyone needs a place.

I like the stories behind these, and I like the summary of them as I write them up now (although I know I did a poor job, since there is lots of symbolism in them that I’ve missed). What I disliked about Hemingway’s stories was the writing style. The stories were dialog driven, and the parts that were not dialog (such as the writer’s thoughts in “The Snows of Kilimanjaro”), felt like run-on sentences (although all were grammatically correct). His stories also end abruptly, as did James Joyce’s stories that I read last week. Hemingway was not a bad writer; he is brilliant at controlling each tight scene. For me, however, the style was irritating: I’ve decided that Hemingway is just not for me.

HTR&W

When I picked up How to Read and Why to see what Harold Bloom had to say about Ernest Hemingway, I found that he began by discussing how Hemingway’s stories are poetry. At least I was “right” in noticing that aspect. Bloom points out all the symbolism in his favorite stories, a lot of which I missed, despite having read the stories a few times. As I mentioned, I did like “The Snows of Kilimanjaro,” which he discussed. But I really disliked “Hills Like White Elephants.” The other two stories he recommends are “God Rest You Merry, Gentlemen” and “A Sea Change,” which I similarly disliked, though not as much.

The Finest American Short Story Writer?

Apparently, Ernest Hemingway is the definitive American short story writer. I hope not; I really didn’t enjoy his stories. You might love them, though. Don’t take my word for it!

Have you read Hemingway’s short stories? Which was your favorite? My volume of The Complete Short Stories of Ernest Hemingway isn’t due at the library for a few weeks yet; tell me your favorites and I’ll give him another chance.

Related posts:

Stories by Guy de Maupassant (Favorites)

Rebecca Reid — Fri, 29 Aug 2008 08:43:52 +0000

As I mentioned, Maupassant was a best-seller in his day. What makes his stories resonate with the modern reader is the attention to our own natural wants.

His stories capture greed (a woman wanting to look elegant for a party, no matter the cost; a man in need of money selling his wife; a parent in need of money selling his child; etc.), self-interest (a young man escaping from his pregnant girlfriend; society shunning prostitutes while yet accepting them; a family having the funeral before the loved one died for convenience), desire for power (a man lusting after a woman; a man trying to politically overtake a city), and so forth.

For a specific example, in “The Devil,” Maupassant captures our natural impatience. The son of a dying woman needs to plant his crop, so he hires a peasant woman to sit with his dying mother. But as the hired woman has been hired for a set pay, she doesn’t feel like waiting for the woman to die. I won’t tell you how this is resolved, but I will tell you I laughed out loud, horrid as it was! Humans are impatient by nature, and Maupassant wonderfully captured us.

I’ve now read between 80 and 100 stories (probably about 400 pages, skipping around the huge volume I have). As I’m moving this weekend, I had to return the book to the library.

I think I’ve had a good taste of Maupassant’s great stories. I’m sure there are other great ones out there. Tell me if I missed your favorite! (Links below are to the stories on the web; all are in the public domain.)

Stories I Would Reread

The Necklace: A middle-class woman really wants to look nice at a social gathering so she borrows a diamond necklace from her friend….and loses it.
The Piece of String: A stingy man finds a piece of string in the middle of the town square and stops to pick it up, changing his life.
The False Gems: When his beloved wife dies, the man eventually must sell her cherished-but-false jewels.
The Horla: An invisible creature follows a man, driving him crazy.
Was it a Dream?: A man’s beloved wife died, and he morns over her grave, only to be “haunted.”
The Father: A man abandons his girlfriend once she becomes pregnant; only later does he realize what that meant for him.
The Devil: A peasant woman is hired to sit with a dying woman and gets impatient for her to die.
A Sale: Why did he dump his wife in a barrel of water? The judge wants to know.
Simon’s Papa: Simon doesn’t have a papa, and the boys in the school yard are making fun of him. He is determined to find a papa.
Clair de Lune: A priest hates women because they are only temptresses, and nothing good can come from women. And then he learns something.

HTR&W

Harold Bloom selected as his favorites “Madame Tellier’s Establishment” and “The Horla.”

While I didn’t really love reading “Madame Tellier’s Establishment,” it did fit in to the pattern of Maupassant’s stories that I mention above in terms of addressing aspects of human’s carnal desires. Madame Tellier’s “establishment” is a whorehouse. They all take a holiday to visit Madame Tellier’s niece’s first communion. I had an odd sense as I read it that the prostitutes weren’t really people in the society, and yet we find that they were.

“The Horla,” on the other hand, was wonderfully weird. It was written during Maupassant’s own “going crazy” stage, as were a few of his stories. As I mention above, it is about a man being followed by an invisible man, and slowing going crazy. There were some great passages in it, and I really enjoyed the sense of “is this really happening?”.

In How to Read and Why, Bloom compares and contrasts Maupassant and Chekhov, much as I did in my previous post. He has some interesting comments. (Again, he has no respect for Poe, which makes me want to go read Poe again just to prove him wrong.) He concludes with this:

Why read Maupassant? At his best, he will hold you as few others do.

Yes, Maupassant really does capture your attention!

What are you waiting for? Many Maupassant stories are very short. Read some of his stories online right now (links to specific stories above):

Related posts:

Stories by Guy de Maupassant (Introductory Thoughts)

Rebecca Reid — Mon, 11 Aug 2008 22:00:42 +0000

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If Guy de Maupassant lived and wrote stories or novels today, his name would appear on The New York Times best-seller lists many weeks out of a year.

As it was, in the late 1800s, his stories were best-sellers from the time the first one, “Boule de Suif,” appeared in a collection with five other previously unknown authors, until he died, mentally ill, at the young age of 42 in 1893.

But don’t let the best-seller title sway you from reading Maupassant. I tend to avoid modern-day best-sellers because, in my mind, they are (stereotypically) not written very well. But that’s not the case with Guy de Maupassant’s stories: he writes incredibly well.

Maupassant’s Style

I’ve only read about 40 of Maupassant’s stories thus far (out of a book with 270), so these are all preliminary thoughts. As I’m still reading his stories, I’ll share my favorites by Maupassant and my HTR&W thoughts in a subsequent post.

Since I recently read Chekhov’s stories, I can’t help but compare the two writers. Apparently, most people compare them. In the introduction to the volume I’m reading, Dr. Artine Artinian discusses at length why Maupassant is better than Chekhov. I don’t think I can assign one as better than the other; they are just very different.

Maupassant’s writing style is a stark contrast to Chekhov’s (read my discussion of Chekhov’s stories here). I loved Chekhov’s writing and style: it was thoughtful despite being (I suppose you could say) verbose. He explores the characters’ emotional states and their thoughts. Maupassant is much more concise. He also relies on dialog more than Chekhov seemed to, so his stories moved more quickly. But Maupassant’s stories are still beautifully written. He captures the essence of the setting in few words and makes it complete.

Maupassant’s subject matter is also a stark contrast to Chekhov. Both writers focus on the lives of everyday people, focusing on everyday matters. But while Chekhov wrote his stories with the ever-present political situation of various classes of people (money and station seemed to be a theme), Maupassant wrote with under-lying carnal desires in mind. In other words, he wrote about sex, greed, love, misunderstandings, and lying, among other things. The characters in his stories care most about themselves. Chekhov’s stories were more concerned with how people relate with each other. In a sense, Chekhov’s characters felt more sensitive. Maupassant’s characters are more “human.”

In searching for a recommended translation, I stumbled upon an Amazon reviewer who wasn’t too impressed with Maupassant. He/she says:

The real reason that everyone makes such a big deal about Maupassant is because he mostly wrote about sex. His stories are entertaining but not extraordinary…

He’s right, and he’s wrong. Yes, Maupassant mostly wrote about sex. But I believe that Maupassant’s writing has a hint of extraordinary. Some stories are simply masterpieces. I believe Maupassant deserves the credit he received.

The Verdict

As I said, I haven’t read every story in this collection of stories by Maupassant. But when I read stories like these I am glad that I don’t have a rating system on my blog. How could I assign a “score” to these painfully beautiful stories after I assigned a “score” to Chekhov’s painfully beautiful stories? I am glad I read both authors, but I can’t begin to “grade” them.

If there is one author I’d read again someday, it would probably be Chekhov and not Maupassant. But that doesn’t mean that Maupassant isn’t as good or that I find his stories “worse.” Also, don’t judge a book by it’s cover: I’m liking Maupassant despite its stench.

In the end, Maupassant’s stories feel modern in writing style and subject matter. Therefore, you (personally) may relate to them more than you would to the under-lying politics in Chekhov’s peasant Russia. I guess you could say that Maupassant is the average “Guy.” That helped him become the best-seller he deservedly was.

Questions for you:

Which writing style do you prefer to read: verbose beauty or concise beauty?
If you’ve read Maupassant’s stories, do you think they’re “all about sex” or is there something else deeper in them?
Do you assign “scores” or ratings to books or stories you read? Why do you assign ratings? How do you determine which rating to assign?

Related posts:

Judging a Book by Its Cover

Rebecca Reid — Mon, 04 Aug 2008 23:57:42 +0000

It’s not Maupassant’s fault, but I have a grudge against him already: his book stinks.

The librarian had to retrieve it from The Stacks. The first thing I noticed as she returned was its size. At more than 1300 pages, it thudded on the counter. Then, as she swiped my library card and pushed the book toward me, I smelled it. Musky. Old. Like a 1950s house that hasn’t been aired out in decades. Like puke-colored green shag carpet.

The cover itself isn’t too bad: the top two-thirds has the long title and subtitle and editor written in plain print across a faded (and stained) orange background. Bizarre green faces stare at me from the bottom third of the page.

Then I opened it. The text is about 8 point font. A story ends and the next begins on the same page (that bothers me: a story should stand by itself). And each page is as thin as skin. The book is probably 11 inches tall and 5 inches wide, so with 1300+ pages, a heavy cover, and Bible-thin pages, it’s kind of hard to curl up in bed for some comfort reading.

The book is The Complete Short Stories of Guy de Maupassant. I’m ashamed to say that if it wasn’t for my How to Read and Why reading list goal, I would return this book right now. No: I’d never have picked it up to begin with.

I requested this particular volume (edited by Professor Artine Artinian; copyright 1955 by Doubleday under the imprint Hanover House, no ISBN number) because two reviewers on Amazon insisted it was the best volume of Maupassant’s works, and my library happened to carry it. I fail to be convinced. To begin with, having read the introduction and skimmed the front matter, I fail to see any evidence for who actually translated the stories in this collection. Dr. Artinian doesn’t claim that; he only claims to be editor. I want to know who translates. Besides, if it’s so good, how come nobody else on Amazon could find it? Why isn’t it in print anymore? Why doesn’t it have an ISBN number? Why hasn’t it been republished time and again?

If you want to read Maupassant, maybe go for a “selected works” collection. Having all 270 stories in one volume is a bit unwieldy and overwhelming, to say the least.

I know it’s wrong to judge a book by its cover. I intend to read Maupassant, at least some of these stories, despite the stench emanating from the pages. I never realized I was so easily swayed by format. This post is just an explanation of why it’s taking me so long to give Maupassant a try: I’m biased against him already.

Have you judged a book by its cover? Were you right about it, or was it merely unfortunate? What is the worst cover you’ve come across?

Related posts:

Literature in Translation

Rebecca Reid — Mon, 21 Jul 2008 22:00:05 +0000

Chekhov’s stories (which I reviewed yesterday) are available free in the public domain via Project Gutenberg, although the translation is different from the one I read. I loved the translation I read! Compare these to passages from “The House with the Mezzanine: An Artist’s Story” to the Project Gutenberg translation. Is there a “better” translation? I think there is.

Translated by Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky

To the right, in an old orchard, an oriole sang reluctantly, in a weak voice – it must have been a little old lady, too. But now the lindens also ended; I passed a white house with a terrace and a mezzanine, and before me there unexpectedly opened up a view of the manor yard and a wide pond with a bathing house, a stand of willows, a village on the other side, with a tall, slender belfry, the cross of which blazed, reflecting the setting sun. For a moment I felt the enchantment of something dear and very familiar, as if I had already seen this same panorama sometime in my childhood.

Translated by Constance Garnett via Project Gutenberg

From the old orchard on the right came the faint, reluctant note of the golden oriole, who must have been old too. But at last the limes ended. I walked by an old white house of two storeys with a terrace, and there suddenly opened before me a view of a courtyard, a large pond with a bathing-house, a group of green willows, and a village on the further bank, with a high, narrow belfry on which there glittered a cross reflecting the setting sun. For a moment it breathed upon me the fascination of something near and very familiar, as though I had seen that landscape at some time in my childhood.

Which do you prefer? Has a story or novel been ruined for you by a poor translation?

I want to find the best translations for the upcoming works on the HTR&W list. Any suggestions for Maupassant, Cervantes, Proust, and the others?

Related posts:

Stories by Anton Chekhov

Rebecca Reid — Sun, 20 Jul 2008 22:00:58 +0000

I loved reading Chekhov’s stories. I read a volume of them, translated by Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky, as well as “The Kiss,” which was recommended by Bloom and unfortunately wasn’t included in the volume translated by Pevear and Volokhonsky.

My favorite stories tended to be the shorter ones that focused on one character or one couple. They each had a sad, poignant ending, and yet I loved the beauty in them. Chekhov didn’t try to say too much in each story, and I finished each one with a sigh, wanting to let my emotions simmer before I went on to the next story. Many of them reminded me that life is challenging and full of depressing things, and yet we all still go on day by day. Explaining Chekhov in those words makes his stories sound depressing, and they were in a sense, but overall, they were beautiful at the same time.

My favorites were these:

“The Student.” I discussed last week how and why the student’s transformation from sadness to joy touched me.
“The Kiss.” A shy and unpopular army officer receives an unexpected kiss from an unknown woman; his life is transformed by the experience in two ways.
“Peasant Women.” The story of a peasant woman inspires other peasant women who feel trapped in their lives.
“The Fidget.” A flighty woman marries a renowned doctor and realizes too late that her lifestyle is unfulfilling: her husband’s love could have brought her true happiness.
“Anna on the Neck.” When her impoverished father marries Anna to a rich man, her family believes their financial trials are over; Anna finds her place in her new life.
“The Lady with the Little Dog.” While on holiday, a man instigates an affair; at the end of the holiday, he and she agree to return to their spouses without further contact, but neither can forget the other.

HTR&W

Harold Bloom summarizes “The Kiss,” “The Student,” and “The Lady with the Little Dog” in How to Read and Why. He claims that Chekhov’s stories are great because of

[T]he formal delicacy and somber reflectiveness … make him the indispensable artist of the unlived life. … One should write, Chekhov said, so that the reader needs no explanations from the author. The actions, conversations, and meditations of the characters had to be sufficient… (page 37)

That is exactly why I loved reading Chekhov: the action and thoughts of the characters told the story, rather than the descriptions of the author.

I appreciate the rest of Bloom’s remarks on these stories. Although I felt differently than Bloom did on reading the stories, I still appreciated reading what grabbed his attention.

What grabs your attention in Chekhov? Do you have a favorite story I may have missed?

Related posts:

The Student by Anton Chekhov: A Perfect Short Story

Rebecca Reid — Mon, 14 Jul 2008 22:00:50 +0000

Anton Chekhov’s “The Student” is the perfect story.

Decide for yourself by reading it at Project Gutenberg (1,500 words) or listening to it at LibriVox (10 minutes). Note that I read a new translation by Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky.

Here are some elements that make it perfect for me.

It is short

I mentioned that according to Harold Bloom, Edgar Allan Poe’s definition of short story is “read in one sitting.” But that’s not what I mean when I say “short” makes “The Student” a perfect short story. What I mean by “short” is that “The Student” captures an instant, not a lifetime. It doesn’t give too much back story; it doesn’t give too many details. It is concise and yet complete. And to me, it’s amazing to be able to create something so cohesive and powerful in so few words. (As I said when I reviewed On Writing, I don’t believe that length or quantity is a necessary measure of “good writing.”)

It captures one main character in one moment/subject

Sometimes a short story has two characters that act as one (a couple in a relationship, for example) but I think short stories that try to capture too many characters (as do some of Chekhov’s in the volume I’m reading) lack the pleasing organization or the “short and sweet” element that I like in a story. By nature, I think a short story needs to focus on one character/subject in either one moment or in one series of moments that relate (like a couple developing a relationship or a woman learning to respect her husband or a group of peasant women discussing how they will never love their husbands). “The Student” focuses on a young man, Ivan, on one wintery evening.

The character’s emotions are foremost

“The Student” follows the young man’s emotions as he walks in the wintery night, sits by the fire at the widows’ home, and then walks home. While Chekhov describes what happens and what people say, the young man’s emotions are the driving factor of the story.

Something happens, emotionally

While something physically happened in Turgenev’s stories, I didn’t feel any emotional draw to the characters. I am realizing that I approach literature through my emotions. For me, I loved the emotional draw in “The Student.” Ivan feels one way at the beginning of the story, has a very simple experience, and walks home at the end of the story feeling differently about his role in the world: past, present, and future. I think it is beautiful. Note that I don’t believe all stories necessarily need to have a positive emotional change for a story to be beautiful. But for every story that I like in the Chekhov volume I’m reading, there is some emotional realization at the end, whether that is happy or sad: I finish a story and sigh, wanting to let myself dwell on the emotion for a few moments before beginning the next story.

HTR&W

I wrote this post before reading Harold Bloom’s opinions in How to Read and Why. I may not even need to read what he says for some of these HTR&W works: I am loving Chekhov. If you don’t like Turgenev, don’t give up on the HTR&W list! These stories are better in my opinion. I’m really enjoying Chekhov’s stories, and I’ll write about Bloom’s comments and about the rest of the volume of Chekhov’s stories when I finish it.

Questions for you

Harold Bloom especially emphasized in his prologue that reading is an individual experience; what I like and am inspired by may not touch you in a similar manner. So I want to hear from you.

What makes a short story “good” for you? Was “The Student” a “good” story for you?
The back cover of my book calls “The Student” a “moving piece about the importance of religious tradition.” However, to me, I thought the religious story Ivan shares with the widows is not as important as the emotions explored. The introduction to my volume of Chekhov’s stories even admits that Chekhov, although familiar with the Christian traditions, was not a religious man. I believe “The Student” was about a young man understanding that his life can have an impact on others; his life has meaning. But what do you think? Is “The Student” a story about religious tradition?

Other thoughts:

Related posts:

HTR&W Winner + BAFAB Week

Rebecca Reid — Mon, 07 Jul 2008 02:58:19 +0000

Today I have a winner and another giveaway. (My budget won’t let me do this every week, though.)

HTR&W Giveaway Winner

Seven people (Nicole, Kim, Care aka Bkclubcare, Ahava, Rose City Reader, Susan, Susan L.) indicated their interest in reading the HTR&W works. I’ve been intimidated and excited by the list this weekend, and I’m excited that others are similarly interested in reading the works on it.

Using a random number generator, the winner of the giveaway is commenter number 4, Ahava! I’ll send you a copy of HTR&W.

I’ve purposely made this challenge open-ended for me: I want to make sure I’m reading to read, not to cross the work off a list. I’m going to read them all, mostly in order (although I may do some of the novels out of order to begin with), however long it takes me. For those of you who are also reading the works, you can make your personal challenge however you want: read x books in a year; read all the books in x time period; read all the books except ____; read in whatever order; etc. You decide. There are no “challenge police,” as someone once told me.

In a moment of wasting time, I designed some buttons for this challenge. I’ve based these on the book cover(s).

Or, you can continue to use the full book cover (as above).

I’ve also started a Shelfari HTR&W discussion group. Even if you won’t be reading all of the HTR&W works, come join our discussion there!

BAFAB Week

It was so much fun giving away a book this week that I am going to do it again. It’s Buy A Friend A Book Week. If you leave a comment on my blog, you’re my blogging friend! But I can’t buy you all a book.

To promote the HTR&W works, I’d love to giveaway a novel, play, collection of stories, or collection of poetry from the HTR&W list to anyone; you don’t have to have “committed” to the HTR&W challenge. If you want to be entered into a drawing to win one of them, leave a comment on this post, telling me which work on the HTR&W list you’d really like to read.

Next Sunday, I’ll randomly select a winner and send him/her that novel or play or the collection of short stories or poetry. This is open to anyone who can receive a shipment from Amazon.com, which I believe is the entire globe. (Please correct me if I’m wrong.)

Happy reading!

Related posts:

Thoughts on Blogging and Reading + HTR&W Giveaway Reminder

Rebecca Reid — Thu, 03 Jul 2008 22:14:22 +0000

A Note about HTR&W

Reminder: On July 5, I’m drawing a name from those that are joining the HTR&W challenge. (Let me know by commenting on that post; I’ll wait until it’s July 5 in the USA to draw the name.) I’ll send the winner a copy of HTR&W; if you already own HTR&W, I’ll substitute another book or collection (poetry/short stories) on the HTR&W list valued under $20. I’ve added all the works from HTR&W to my Amazon store so you can find them in one place.

If you want to join with a caveat (such as, “I’ll read all the works except Proust’s 7-volume novel” or “I won’t reread any that I’ve already read”), I’ll still enter you in the drawing.

Why Do I Read?

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about why I read. Part of my questioning stems from reading Harold Bloom’s essays on reading, and part stems from my book blogging. When I first found the book blogging cyber-world a few months ago, I was so excited to have found dozens (no, hundreds) of other readers out there sharing their thoughts about books. I’ve enjoyed being a part of the book blogging community.

By reading blogs, I find more books I want to read. I’ve even dabbled in graphic novels (well, the two or three my local library has!). As a blogger, I find myself neglecting other priorities (cleaning my house) to get a book read (“I need to blog about it!”).

There are some good things about my new habits, but there are also some not-so-good things. For example, the kitchen floor really needs to be mopped. Instead, I’m writing this blog post.

Two things this week alerted me to the fact that something needs to change.

Incident 1

I sat in the doctor’s office Wednesday and opened my next book: In Cold Blood by Truman Capote. I’d finished a book that morning, and I was at the doctor’s office without my son. I could read!

I’ve wanted to read Capote for a long time. Then I read Katharine Graham autobiography and she was good friends with him. Then I read two or three fellow book bloggers’ reviews of In Cold Blood. I bumped In Cold Blood up my list; my library had it.

As I read, I was impressed with the writing. It was well-written and would be engaging. Ten pages later, it hit me: I don’t want to read about murder this week.

My mind tried to debate that (“You need to read it now because it’ll be due at the library!” and “You need to blog about it!”) but eventually I decided I’m not going to read it. I’m sure it’s good. But I’m not going to read it just to read it.

Incident 2

This week, I’ve been reviewing the HTR&W reading list. I have the goal to read all of it, and there are some really long books on the list! I found myself wishing I could be done with Proust so I could get to Faulkner and Toni Morrison. Then I realized that that is not the point of my goal to read the HTR&W works. My goal is to read the works slowly and determinedly. I am not meant to rush through this, turning pages just so I can cross it off a list. I’m meant to learn what it means to read well.

As soon as I realized that, I got very excited about each work. Next up: Chekhov’s stories. Which translation is best? Is there a “best?” I made a special trip to a library 30 minutes away to get the translation highly recommended on Amazon.com instead of reading the Project Gutenberg version. This is my chance to really embrace Chekhov’s stories. I’m going to do it right.

I’m likewise excited about many of the works on the list, even Proust. I’m also going to start now on the first novel, Don Quixote, even in the midst of the short stories. When I started wondering about translations and researching translators for Don Quixote, I decided not to: I can read Don Quixote in Spanish. Yes, I have lost my mind.

Just to clarify: while I did take a years of Spanish in college and I lived in Boliva for three months one summer break from college, I’m not actually fluent. I’m going to struggle through it with a dictionary, but I want to do it. If I’m going to read such a long book, why not really read it? As it was written. That will be a “difficult pleasure.” (We’ll see if I survive.)

My Resolution

I know I will read more graphic novels when I’m near a library that has them: they are interesting. I know I’ll read non-award-winning fiction, especially during weeks like last week when my son and I are both sick and I didn’t feel like doing much. I’ll keep reading Pulitzer-prize winners and Nobel prize-winning authors (a few a year), and I won’t give up my nonfiction. But I need to slow down again. I need to stop reading a book just so I can blog about it.

This post is my official resolution that I’m going to step away from the computer, stop compulsively checking Google Reader, and start reading again.

Related posts:

Two Stories by Turgenev

Rebecca Reid — Wed, 02 Jul 2008 22:00:10 +0000

At Harold Bloom’s suggestion in HTR&W, I tackled “Bezhin Lea” and “Kasyan from the Beautiful Lands” by Ivan Turgenev. I say “tackled” because, unfortunately, these stories were evidence to me that I am accustomed to reading quickly and easily; reading them was a “difficult pleasure.” I expect not all of the stories on Bloom’s reading list will be so (dare I say it?) dull, but to me, “Bezhin Lea” and “Kasyan” failed to ignite my interest, despite the superior quality of the writing. I had intended to read all of Turgenev’s Sketches from a Hunter’s Album, but I think I’ll stop at just the two for now.

Ivan Turgenev’s Sketches from a Hunter’s Album (also called A Sportman’s Sketches) contains more than 25 stories about a hunter (assumed to be Turgenev) relating his experiences among the people he meets. The two “sketches” I read were beautifully written.

In “Bezhin Lea” (or “Bezhin Meadow” or “Bezhin Prairie”), the hunter gets lost after a long day of hunting. In the darkening twilight, he comes across a group of young peasant boys, with whom he spends the evening. Feigning sleep, the hunter overhears the conversation among the boys, which is about superstition and life and death. Bloom opines that we should read this story

to know better our own reality, our vulnerability to fate, while learning also to appreciate aesthetically Turgenev’s tact and only apparent detachment as a storyteller. (page 33)

I struggled to find my “own reality” in “Bezhin Lea.” After reading Bloom’s comments, I reread the story. Upon second reading I could sense what Bloom means: because the narrator was detached, the other characters are developed objectively to some extent. I suppose not “getting it” is just an example of how poorly I read the story the first time, but I also remember that Bloom expressed in his prologue that reading is intensely personal, and what he gets out of a story is not necessarily what I get out of the story. Maybe that is the case with Turgenev.

In “Kasyan from the Beautiful Lands” (or “Kasyan of Fair Springs”), the hunter is returning home from hunting when the axle breaks on his coach. He and his driver stop in a peasant village to have it repaired. While waiting, the hunter meets a strange peasant man, a dwarf named Kasyan. The hunter stays with Kasyan and goes hunting for grouse. The character of Kasyan was interesting to me and the writing was again beautiful, but again it took me two readings to really like him and the careful development of his character. Only after my second reading did I realize what Bloom meant:

[The hunter's] thoughts on Kasyan remain unexpressed, but do we need them? … One need not idealize Kasyan; his peasant shrewdness and perceptions exclude a great deal of value, but he incarnates truths of folklore that he himself may scarcely know that he knows. (page 35)

I think Turgenev has a superb ability to capture the individuals in peasant society within the context of a story. In “Bezhin Lea” and “Kasyan from the Beautiful Lands,” Turgenev captured the different superstitions and philosophies of the peasants without lecturing us or rehearsing it before us. While I’m not in love with his writing, I think that is a reflection on my own ingrained reading habits. I can sense the quality of his writing, and I look forward, at some point in my life and not right now, revisiting Turgenev’s Sketches from a Hunter’s Album.

Note that I read these two stories by Turgenev via the public domain project at Project Gutenberg, where the translator was different from Bloom’s. Also, if you haven’t yet read the stories and were planning on reading Bloom’s How to Read and Why, please note that Bloom does reveal spoilers: Bloom assumes that we, as readers, have already read these stories. I suspect that is how he will treat all of the works on his list. I’ve decided that I’m going to hesitate to read Bloom’s overview until I’ve read the work myself. I’m still intending to read his works in order; we’ll see if that lasts as well.

Do you consider Turgenev’s stories to be superior? Why or why not?

If you’ve read and reviewed Turgenev’s stories on your site, leave a link and I’ll post it here.

Related posts:

HTR&W: What Is a Short Story?

Rebecca Reid — Sun, 29 Jun 2008 23:40:56 +0000

Bloom doesn’t dwell long on defining the short story in his introduction to the genre. However, he does introduce some ideas of what a short story may be and asks generally how one should read a short story. He bases his comments on other’s definitions. Some of these he agrees with and others he disagrees with; many of them are contradictory.People have claimed that a short story:

Dwells on isolated individuals on society’s fringes
Wounds once (one major emotion)
Gives multiple sensations (many emotions)
Is not a parable or saying and so is not a “fragment”
Gives us the pleasure of closure
Can be read in one sitting (Edgar Allan Poe’s definition)

Bloom includes a list of the short story authors he considers great (note that Edgar Allan Poe is, in his opinion, horrible both as a writer in general and as a short story writer more specifically). Many of these favorite authors have works on the HTR&W list and I’ll be reading them in the next few days and weeks. I may or may not agree with his opinions and may or may not agree with me; these things are subjective.

Personally, I think a short story can be full of many emotions, but I love short stories that capture one emotion well. (I really enjoyed Jhumpa Lahiri’s Interpreter of Maladies because of the common themes and emotions in each story.) I believe short stories can be about any individual(s), not any particular type. To be a good short story, I do look for some degree of closure, although some artfully written short stories can leave me wondering about the resolution.

To you, what is a short story? What makes a short story “good”?

Related posts:

What is a Reader?

Rebecca Reid — Thu, 26 Jun 2008 23:00:45 +0000

Booking Through Thursday: What, in your opinion, is the definition of a “reader.” A person who indiscriminately reads everything in sight? A person who reads BOOKS? A person who reads, period, no matter what it is? … Or, more specific? Like the specific person who’s reading something you wrote?

I think a reader is one who *likes* reading and reads because they like it. So, my seven-year-old nephew, who is always reading something, is a reader. On the other hand, someone who reads a novel for tenth grade English class is not necessarily a reader. They may be going through the motions, but they might not really don’t care for the written word. (That said, just because a person is reading a book for an assignment doesn’t mean they are not a reader in that moment.)

For an analogy, I turn to the world of sewing. A person who sews a dress for herself or her daughter is a seamstress (not me, as I’d never do that). A person who rehems a pair of pants is just hemming a pair of pants (that might be me). I can sew but I’m not passionate about it, and I wouldn’t consider myself a “seamstress”. I think the definition of “reader” is similar.

After reading HTR&W’s prologue the other day, I asked a similar question: How does one read well? It doesn’t take much to be a reader and enjoy reading. But what makes that reading good reading?

I wrote a very long post discussing and analyzing Harold Bloom’s argument to the question “why read?” Don’t feel you have to read all of that post, but I’d love to hear you weigh in there (or here if you prefer).

Related posts:

HTR&W Prologue: Why Read?

Rebecca Reid — Thu, 26 Jun 2008 02:52:06 +0000

I’m giving away a copy of How to Read and Why to someone joining my personal challenge. Read my discussion of the preface for more information.

This is a very long post; I’m breaking my own rules of length because I spent a long time reading and pondering Bloom’s prologue, and I have a lot of thoughts about it. I’ve included a summary at the end under “How Should I Read?” if you don’t care to read all of my post. However, I hope it may be a “difficult pleasure” to read the entire post.

So Many Books, So Little Time

Harold Bloom begins his prologue to How to Read and Why by asking simply, “Why read?” He points out that:

You can read merely to pass the time, or you can read with an overt urgency, but eventually you will read against the clock. (page 21)

This just reiterates what I’ve always known: there are so many books, and there is so little time.

Why Read Fiction?

Bloom argues that we all should have urgency about us when reading and we should determine why it is that we read. For himself, he claims,

I turn to reading as a solitary praxis, rather than as an educational enterprise. (page 21)

At the same time, he confesses that the best reading is “never an easy pleasure.” So why do we or should we read in our solitary time? He explores this question while also exploring five principles of reading fiction. Bloom argues that when we accept these principles, reading in that solitary time is more enjoyable and fulfilling.

Principle One

Clear your mind of cant. … [C]ant in this sense is speech overflowing with pious platitudes, the peculiar vocabulary of a sect or coven. (page 23)

In other words, don’t read with a specific ideology in mind. Finding support of ideology should not be the point of reading fiction. I find it hard sometimes when I know a novel is about a certain perspective. But Bloom’s counsel is wise: how can I let the novel speak to me if I am busy searching and taking notes on the sought after issues? Better to let the situation speak to me through the story. In after fact, I can find themes that stand out to me personally, not those that are dictated by society.

Bloom later emphasizes:

To read human sentiments in human language you must be able to read humanly, with all of you. You are more than an ideology whatever your convictions …(page 28)

I like Bloom’s emphasis that reading is not and should not be ideological but rather personal, human. So there, college English professors!

Principle Two

Do not attempt to improve your neighbor or your neighborhood by what or how you read. Self-improvement is a large enough project for your mind and spirit: there are no ethics of reading. (page 24)

I can’t lecture others via a book; a book that changes me might not change someone else.

I think that just about summarizes why I hesitate to give book recommendations; people either think I’m crazy because they hated it or completely agree with me as to a book’s merit. I can never predict.

Principle Three

A scholar is a candle which the love and desire of all men will light. … You need not fear that the freedom of your development as a reader is selfish, because if you become an authentic reader, then the response to your labors will confirm you as an illumination to others. (page 24)

Oh, I love this concept! Bloom is suggesting that if I read authentically and sincerely and I love it, others will be inspired by me. Giving what I read to others might not inspire them, but if I was inspired, my sincerity might be inspiring to those around me. Thank you, Mr. Bloom, for inspiring me to read more!

And yet, lest I get too excited, he does counsel:

The pleasures of reading indeed are selfish rather than social. You cannot directly improve anyone else’s life by reading better or more deeply. (page 22)

With those words, I must remember that reading to inspire won’t work, but reading for myself is what reading is all about. Reading is by nature solitary and, by default, reading will help me alone.

Principle Four

One must be an inventor to read well. … We read, frequently if unknowingly, in quest of a mind more original than our own. (page 25)

I think that just perfectly summarizes why I read. I think others are so much more original; and yet, I find myself in their creative worlds of words.

Principle Five

[We read for] recovery of the ironic … (page 25)

This threw me off at first: what does he mean by irony? He means simple metaphor.

Irony, noun. 2 a: the use of words to express something other than and especially the opposite of the literal meaning b: a usually humorous or sardonic literary style or form characterized by irony c: an ironic expression or utterance (definition courtesy merriam-webster.com)

Bloom’s following pages discussing irony made me want to pick up the nearest novel and get back to the world of irony. I love the fact that we live in a world where things don’t always have to be literal. We say one thing but mean another. Such irony is one reason why we read novels: to escape to a world of metaphor and make-believe.

Irony demands a certain attention span, and the ability to suspend antithetical ideas, even when they collide with one another. Strip irony away from reading, and it loses at once all discipline and all surprise.

Reading Bloom’s explanation of irony, I fell in love with reading all over again.

How Should I Read?

I love Bloom’s concepts for reading (interpreted and reworded by me):

Reading should be done without ideology in mind
Reading that inspires me might not inspire you
I can’t change anyone else by reading, but I might inspire someone
Reading invents new worlds of more creativity in the reader
I should read to be not literal (ironic)

Bloom writes many quotable things; I could just quote the entire prologue. If you have this book, read the prologue with a pencil in hand.

He writes about why we should read and how we should approach it: personally and humanly, not as a student at a university. That is a censure for me, since I was thinking I’d approach his book and the recommended works as university texts. His point is that we shouldn’t read for that kind of reason.

He quotes Sir Francis Bacon:

Read not to contradict and confute, nor to believe and take for granted, nor to find talk and discourse, but to weigh and consider. (page 21)

And then he “weighs in” himself:

We read deeply for varied reasons, most of them familiar: that we cannot know enough people profoundly enough; that we need to know know ourselves better; that we require knowledge, not just of self and others, but of the way things are. Yet the strongest, most authentic motive for deep reading of the now much-abused traditional canon is the search for a difficult pleasure. (page 28-29; emphasis added)

“The search for a difficult pleasure.” I love that phrase because it so accurately captures the challenge of reading a good book. Sometimes reading is painful, and I’ve read some books recently that have been hard to read and yet beautiful at the same time.

Bloom claims “we certainly owe mediocrity nothing,” something he realizes now that the clock is winding down on his life. What have I read recently that has been mediocre, and why did I read it?

Ultimately, why should we read? Here’s part of Bloom’s final answer:

Read deeply, not to believe, not to accept, not to contradict, but to learn to share in that one nature that writes and reads. (page 29)

Why do you read? What is reading well?

Other Thoughts:

Sophisticated Dorkiness

Related posts:

Challenges, A Personal Challenge, and a Giveaway!

Rebecca Reid — Sun, 22 Jun 2008 08:37:25 +0000

Weekly Geeks this week is about Challenges.

I have been hesitant to sign up for challenges because I’m a perfectionist. While I know there are no “challenge police” coming to check that I’ve finished my reading, I can’t bring myself to say “I’ll read these books” if I don’t think I’m going to have time. (And I barely do these days.)

That said, I have signed up for a few challenges in the past two months that I’ve been blogging, I’ve started my own personal challenge (which I’d love for you to join if you want!), and I’m giving away a book in the coming weeks.

The Pulitzer Project

The Pulitzer Project is an ongoing challenge to read the fictional winners of the Pulitzer Prize. For myself, I’m also reading some of the nonfiction, biography, and history winners. I’ve read four Pulitzer Prize winning books thus far since I started blogging in May (three count toward The Pulitzer Project).

Read the Nobels

Read the Nobels is an ongoing challenge to read works or speeches by winners of the Nobel Laureates in Literature or information or biographies about the Laureates. I’ve read two works since I began blogging. I really like the fact that we can read information about the Laureates for this challenge as well as reading their work. I’m looking forward to “getting to know them.”

Nonfiction Five Challenge

The Nonfiction Five Challenge is a May-September 2008 challenge to read five works of nonfiction. I’ve read three books for the challenge so far, but you can see from my Genre list in the right sidebar that I love nonfiction. Visit here to see all the nonfiction I’ve reviewed since I’ve begun blogging. I mostly joined the Nonfiction Five Challenge because I loved the idea of sharing with others what I’ve read and I want to read their reviews too!

Graphic Novels Challenge

The Graphic Novels Challenge is one that I never would have considered until I read a review by Dewey that convinced me this was something I had to try. It runs for the whole year: read six graphic novels. Because I started late in the year, I only have to read three. I’ve already read two graphic novels and two more are on reserve at the library right now, waiting for me to pick them up. So far, I’m really enjoying this new medium for books! I think I’m going to read all six after all (although I still have never been invited to actually join the Graphic Novels Challenge blog, hint hint, despite asking to be invited…).

HTR&W Challenge (A Personal Challenge) and a Giveaway

I’ve also given myself a personal challenge for read all the works (short stories, poems, plays, and books) on the How to Read and Why list. I talk about the HTR&W Challenge here. I’d love to invite anyone else to join me in reading these works (it is a good list!). There wouldn’t be any “Challenge Police” to come after you; I’d just want to compare notes with you and follow your thoughts on your blog (if you have one). I think it’s a great list and a nice idea, but I know lots of people already have dozens of challenges and these books aren’t exactly recent best-sellers.

Now, I’m a new blogger, so I don’t know how to tell people about this personal challenge I’ve created. I also don’t know how many people are interested in reading the works featured in this book.

Nevertheless, I’ll send a copy of HTR&W to a randomly selected person interested in joining me in the HTR&W Challenge. Leave a comment on the HTR&W post or the reading list telling me that you are interested. I’ll extend the date until 5 July.

I’m excited to have found the book blogger community, and I look forward to our continuing book dialogues!

Related posts:

HTR&W Preface and A Challenge

Rebecca Reid — Sun, 15 Jun 2008 20:43:11 +0000

I like to read. I’ve decided it’s time I learn how to read.

I don’t know when I first figured out how to read the written word, but I’ve always been a reader. When I was young, I’d ride my bicycle to the library and return home with my backpack full of books. I’d devour each one and then return to the library for my next batch. I was a compulsive page-turner, finishing a book so I could read the next. Once I entered high school and then college, my “compulsive” reading slowed to only “assigned” reading. I was trying to pass my classes. I did well, and I graduated. It’s been a few years since school. Last year, I realized I was back to my schoolgirl habit: “page-turning,” not reading.

I realized I wasn’t really ingesting the books I read. How can I really “read” a book, even fiction, to get something out of it?

Enter: How to Read and Why by Harold Bloom. HTR&W is a very opinionated “guide” to reading. I’ve already read parts of it, but I’ve decided to slow down, reread it, and internalize it: a challenge to myself to learn to read all over again by reviewing Bloom’s selection of “examples and instances.”

Bloom says in the preface:

This book teaches how to read and why, proceeding by a multitude of examples and instances: poems short and long; stories and novels and plays. The selections [in this book] should not be interpreted as an exhaustive list of what to read, but rather as a sampling of works that illustrate why to read. (emphasis added)

He discusses each work on his list in just a page or two, discussing what makes it good, what he does to improve his reading of it, and why he considers it a work worth reading. I’m not exactly sure what he says about each work because I haven’t read his book yet! But I intend to analyze just what he’s saying and try to apply it to my own reading of these same works.

Bloom began his preface by saying:

There is no single way to read well, though there is a prime reason why we should read. Information is endlessly available to us; where shall wisdom be found?

He suggests that we each read for ourselves, and therefore there is no “correct” way to read. However, since we’re all still searching for ourselves, he suggests we could use some guidance when we approach literature so we can get the “deepest and wildest” pleasures from reading. I like that idea.

While he’s obviously going to spend the entire book discussing why and what to read and how to approach it, I love what he says in the preface about reading:

Reading well is one of the great pleasures that solitude can afford you, because it is, at least in my experience, the most healing of pleasures. It returns you to otherness, whether in yourself or in friends, or in those who may become friends. Imaginative literature is otherness, and as such alleviates loneliness. We read not only because we cannot know enough people, but because friendship is so vulnerable, so likely to diminish or disappear, overcome by space, time, imperfect sympathies, and all the sorrows of familial and passional life.

Exactly.

I’m going to read Bloom’s list of works (stories, poems, novels, and plays) along with his book discussing them. I’m going to treat HTR&W like a textbook and Bloom’s narration as a teacher’s voice: I won’t always agree with him and he’s opinionated, but I will hopefully learn something by the end. I’m sure, as in all reading lists, I won’t agree with his judgment of excellence of all of these works, and there is something conceited about his attitude that I can and should learn to read in the ways he suggests. But no matter: I look forward to learning how to make my reading a more personal experience.

I hereby give myself a personal challenge to read all of the works on the How to Read and Why list.

I don’t know how many people, if any, might be interested in joining in this challenge. If you do want to join with me in reading the HTR&W list, let me know by leaving a comment, either to this post or to the reading list. Keep track on your blog, if you have one, and I’ll read along to learn with you as well.

Besides, I’ll randomly select one person who’s interested in reading along and send them a copy of How to Read and Why at the end of June. So if you’re the only interested in reading with me, you’ll win!

Related posts:

Rebecca Reads » HTR&W

A Shropshire Lad by A.E. Housman

How to Read and Why: Short Stories Retrospective

Falling Out of Love

A Difficult Pleasure

Timing is Everything

Reading Against the Clock

Short Stories To Be Continued

Invisible Cities by Italo Calvino

HTR&W

Stories by Tommaso Landolfi

Fictions by Jorge Luis Borges

Weird

Reading in Spanish

Where It Fits

Stories by Vladimir Nabokov

Nabokov’s Style

Favorites

Two Stories

Other Stories

The Bottom Line

How to Read Literature Like a Professor by Thomas Foster

Memorable Quotes

Compared to HTR&W

Stories by Flannery O’Connor

Themes

Race and Class

Isolated, Lonely People

Christianity (Good versus Evil)

Compared to the Others

HTR&W

Stories by O. Henry (and Another BBAW Giveaway)

The Writing

Stories by Ernest Hemingway

Two Stories to Read

HTR&W

The Finest American Short Story Writer?

Stories by Guy de Maupassant (Favorites)

Stories I Would Reread

Other Good Stories

HTR&W

Stories by Guy de Maupassant (Introductory Thoughts)

Maupassant’s Style

The Verdict

Questions for you:

Judging a Book by Its Cover

Literature in Translation

Translated by Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky

Translated by Constance Garnett via Project Gutenberg

Stories by Anton Chekhov

HTR&W

The Student by Anton Chekhov: A Perfect Short Story

It is short

It captures one main character in one moment/subject

The character’s emotions are foremost

Something happens, emotionally

HTR&W

Questions for you

HTR&W Winner + BAFAB Week

HTR&W Giveaway Winner

BAFAB Week

Thoughts on Blogging and Reading + HTR&W Giveaway Reminder

A Note about HTR&W

Why Do I Read?

Incident 1

Incident 2

My Resolution

Two Stories by Turgenev

HTR&W: What Is a Short Story?

What is a Reader?

HTR&W Prologue: Why Read?

So Many Books, So Little Time

Why Read Fiction?

Principle One

Principle Two

Principle Three

Principle Four

Principle Five

How Should I Read?

Challenges, A Personal Challenge, and a Giveaway!