Listened to Stephen Hunter's Dirty White Boys. Kept expecting it to get better, ended up listening to the second half at 2x speed and even so skipping bits. Meh. Hard to believe it's by the same guy who wrote Point of Impact. Even harder to believe that it was well-received, but it apparently was.
Now listening to A Buyer's Market, second part of his "Dance to the Music of Time." It's amazing how enthralling Powell makes this story where really nothing happens. (At least, not in the first quarter). Beautiful writing, and he slips nicely through time, as one thing reminds him of another.
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Iliad
Read the beginning of Book 22. Among other things, Hector, finding himself outside the walls of Troy, debates with himself whether to stand up to Achilles or to flee. It seems pretty clear that he already knows he's likely to lose a fight, but he doesn't want to live on branded a coward.
He also now realizes that he should've withdrawn into Troy much earlier. Although this story isn't Hector's tragedy, I think that he has some tragic elements as well, and this fatal overconfidence is his biggest flaw. He hadn't realized that, just as the scales suddenly tipped in his favor, they could as quickly be reversed.
I think that the whole sequence is one of the great soliloquies in the Iliad. In general, heroes aren't given to self-doubt, and the epic idiom doesn't really lend itself to complex monologs, so this struck me as a real tour de force.
He also now realizes that he should've withdrawn into Troy much earlier. Although this story isn't Hector's tragedy, I think that he has some tragic elements as well, and this fatal overconfidence is his biggest flaw. He hadn't realized that, just as the scales suddenly tipped in his favor, they could as quickly be reversed.
I think that the whole sequence is one of the great soliloquies in the Iliad. In general, heroes aren't given to self-doubt, and the epic idiom doesn't really lend itself to complex monologs, so this struck me as a real tour de force.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
War and Peace again
I'm almost through Part III, which includes a massive section on the Battle Of Borodino, one of the pivotal battles in Napoleon's Russian Campaign. Tolstoy uses the Battle to make some points about warfare, history, and social forces.
For one thing, Tolstoy is adamantly opposed to the Great Man theory of history. As he puts it, Napoleon could not have invaded Russia if 100,000 Frenchman had not signed up for his army and agreed to invade Russia. Further, having arrived in Russia, if Napoleon had just disappeared, they would have continued to fight, because that's what they came for. He also depicts Napoleon as a bumbler who happened to have things go his way most of the time. He mocks those who credit Napoleon with great genius, pointing out that most of the time, Napoleon couldn't have given orders on the battlefield, because, with the fog of war, by the time his orders were given and received, the situation had usually changed drastically.
I think that Tolstoy overplays his hand a bit with this argument. Although it's true that Napoleon couldn't have marched without an army, and he didn't personally round up 100,000 men to serve in his army, it's equally true that 100,000 Frenchmen didn't spontaneously decide to make war on Russia. Similarly, you can acknowledge the fog of war, but also credit Napoleon with the strategic ability to set up battles ahead of time, knowing that his orders during the battle might not always make it through.
I'm not a military (or any kind of) historian, though, so I think it's more interesting to see how these view fall into the context of the novel. For one thing, they explain Tolstoy's panoramic approach to the years 1805-13. Since he doesn't believe that one person is a prime mover, but instead that everyone is responding to general historical forces, he needs to show us the period from multiple points of view. We see reactions to the sparring of the Tsar and Napoleon from the point of view of diplomats, soldiers, country land-holders, minor nobility, peasants (not so often, but occasionally), and so on.
This also helps Tolstoy illustrate another of his theses, that it's impossible to get an unbiased view of an historical event/personage. Is General Kutuzov a hero, a bumbler, a man who gets credit for others' deeds, or what? Each character would give a different answer, I think.
For one thing, Tolstoy is adamantly opposed to the Great Man theory of history. As he puts it, Napoleon could not have invaded Russia if 100,000 Frenchman had not signed up for his army and agreed to invade Russia. Further, having arrived in Russia, if Napoleon had just disappeared, they would have continued to fight, because that's what they came for. He also depicts Napoleon as a bumbler who happened to have things go his way most of the time. He mocks those who credit Napoleon with great genius, pointing out that most of the time, Napoleon couldn't have given orders on the battlefield, because, with the fog of war, by the time his orders were given and received, the situation had usually changed drastically.
I think that Tolstoy overplays his hand a bit with this argument. Although it's true that Napoleon couldn't have marched without an army, and he didn't personally round up 100,000 men to serve in his army, it's equally true that 100,000 Frenchmen didn't spontaneously decide to make war on Russia. Similarly, you can acknowledge the fog of war, but also credit Napoleon with the strategic ability to set up battles ahead of time, knowing that his orders during the battle might not always make it through.
I'm not a military (or any kind of) historian, though, so I think it's more interesting to see how these view fall into the context of the novel. For one thing, they explain Tolstoy's panoramic approach to the years 1805-13. Since he doesn't believe that one person is a prime mover, but instead that everyone is responding to general historical forces, he needs to show us the period from multiple points of view. We see reactions to the sparring of the Tsar and Napoleon from the point of view of diplomats, soldiers, country land-holders, minor nobility, peasants (not so often, but occasionally), and so on.
This also helps Tolstoy illustrate another of his theses, that it's impossible to get an unbiased view of an historical event/personage. Is General Kutuzov a hero, a bumbler, a man who gets credit for others' deeds, or what? Each character would give a different answer, I think.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Black Tide
I just finished listening to Peter Temple's Black Tide. Temple has since gone on to win a major Australian literary prize, but Black Tide is still square in the hard-boiled camp. It's very solid, though, and would jump to the top of my list of recommended hard-boiled novels, except that it's over-complicated. Granted, Temple is telling a story in which financial shell companies play a major role, but it's hard to keep the cast straight, especially at first.
On the plus, side, though:
On the plus, side, though:
- The violent show-down scenes are very well-done. Temple's hero, Jack Irish, is a lawyer, but he makes it seem believable that he makes a Molotov cocktail during a firefight. But, even better is that, in fact, Irish screws it up, and ends up with something that won't even ignite. We see time & again that Irish is just not very good in a gun battle, which adds tremendously to the realism.
- I loved the ending. We get a nice sense of closure where it's needed, not some added angst thrown in at the end just to be unsettling.
- Irish is also an amateur cabinet-maker, and Temple is very good at showing us this part of Irish's life. The same goes for his football club. These glimpses of Irish's life all humanize him and get away from the driven-guy-who's-an-alcoholic-to-get-away-from-it-all stereotype.
Friday, April 29, 2011
Woman in the Dunes
Nearly done with Kobo Abe's Woman in the Dunes. One thing that I think is striking about the novel is how realistic Abe makes the surreal situation. When Junpei escapes, we feel the sand in his shoes, we see the dim lights in the distance. When he returns to the hole, Abe even mentions a couple of spiders in the corner, along with the fuzzy darkness, the feel of the rope on his hands, and so on.
Although the novel is obviously an intellectual exercise, this grounding in reality also forces us to consider it as a novel, not just as a philosophical essay disguised as a story. But I'm not really sure it succeeds as a novel; I've found that the middle section really drags a bit (although it could be my Japanese slowing me down too much).
Junpei is mostly an annoying character, which makes it hard to see him as an avatar of the reader. I think this is a big lack, because it becomes tempting to say, "well, that's not what I would do," and cutting short the whole introspective process. I think that Abe's Box Man is more successful in this respect. The box man is so outre, but at the same time so blank, that it becomes easier to project into him at the beginning. The eponymous woman is so passive that we feel sorry for her, but it becomes hard to empathize with her. When I talk to Jenna about the book, she keeps asking if the woman escapes, and it's a natural question; it's much harder to read about a character who's not even interested in talking about escape. (She's not exactly opposed, she cooperates with the man in his attempts to win freedom, but she's not herself actively interested in pursuing it)
I'll move on to the final section in a couple of weeks, and think about the book as a whole then.
Although the novel is obviously an intellectual exercise, this grounding in reality also forces us to consider it as a novel, not just as a philosophical essay disguised as a story. But I'm not really sure it succeeds as a novel; I've found that the middle section really drags a bit (although it could be my Japanese slowing me down too much).
Junpei is mostly an annoying character, which makes it hard to see him as an avatar of the reader. I think this is a big lack, because it becomes tempting to say, "well, that's not what I would do," and cutting short the whole introspective process. I think that Abe's Box Man is more successful in this respect. The box man is so outre, but at the same time so blank, that it becomes easier to project into him at the beginning. The eponymous woman is so passive that we feel sorry for her, but it becomes hard to empathize with her. When I talk to Jenna about the book, she keeps asking if the woman escapes, and it's a natural question; it's much harder to read about a character who's not even interested in talking about escape. (She's not exactly opposed, she cooperates with the man in his attempts to win freedom, but she's not herself actively interested in pursuing it)
I'll move on to the final section in a couple of weeks, and think about the book as a whole then.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Don't Look Back, Gene Wolfe short stories
I actually started Karin Fossum's Don't Look Back more than a month ago, but library returns intervened, so I finally finished it over Pesach. Scandinavian thrillers are the new big thing in the publishing world, but so far I haven't been super impressed. Jar City was OK, but not enough to interest me further in that series, and I thought the two Jo Nesbo books were more lightweight than they pretended.
Don't Look Back, on the other hand, doesn't try to be a social commentary; instead it's a simple procedural, and it succeeds very well. Fossum does a great job at keeping the story focused on her detectives' probing into the life of the murdered girl at the heart of the story. There's an air of despair around the edges of the novel (one minor character commits suicide, it seems another may be chased out of town), and, in their own way, these small pieces end up contributing more to the atmosphere of the novel than the more heavy-handed attempts of Fossum's peers.
I finished the Gene Wolfe retrospective over Pesach as well. Toward the end, his stories get more elliptical, though not necessarily less successful. "The Tree is my Hat," for example, is horrifying, even though I'd be surprised if I understood even a fraction of Wolfe's references. I think the secret to enjoying some of these stories is to just accept that there's a lot there to pick up, and not worry about getting all the references.
Still continuing with War and Peace, might hit the halfway mark soon...
Don't Look Back, on the other hand, doesn't try to be a social commentary; instead it's a simple procedural, and it succeeds very well. Fossum does a great job at keeping the story focused on her detectives' probing into the life of the murdered girl at the heart of the story. There's an air of despair around the edges of the novel (one minor character commits suicide, it seems another may be chased out of town), and, in their own way, these small pieces end up contributing more to the atmosphere of the novel than the more heavy-handed attempts of Fossum's peers.
I finished the Gene Wolfe retrospective over Pesach as well. Toward the end, his stories get more elliptical, though not necessarily less successful. "The Tree is my Hat," for example, is horrifying, even though I'd be surprised if I understood even a fraction of Wolfe's references. I think the secret to enjoying some of these stories is to just accept that there's a lot there to pick up, and not worry about getting all the references.
Still continuing with War and Peace, might hit the halfway mark soon...
Friday, April 22, 2011
Falling Glass, War and Peace, Gene Wolfe short stories
I'm just going to quote my own amazon review here...
I came to Adrian McKinty's Falling Glass after listening to the Michael Forsyth trilogy (but not having read Fifty Grand). The first thing that struck me is how much the pyrotechnics (both plotwise and stylistically) are cooled down.
In the Forsyth books, there are multiple shootouts that can end up stretching credulity; here, we have a more cat-and-mouse plot, with a lot of energy going into characters hiding out from other characters. It's a nice refreshing change, as much as I loved the Forsyth books. Killian, the hero of the novel, is no superman, and so there's a constant knife-edge of tension, since odds are, if he gets in a fight he'll lose. I also liked that not every confrontation is resolved in a gun battle; it keeps things unpredictable.
Stylistically, McKinty has cooled down as well. The earlier books have longer poetic flights of fancy, which are notably absent here, except as the occasional special effect. One major improvement is that McKinty has moved away from his too-heavy foreshadowing of the earlier novels, which keeps the tension at a higher pitch.
I'm also chugging along through War and Peace and The Best Gene Wolfe Short Stories. Now that I'm about a third of the way through War and Peace, I'm finding it to be just a very long novel. That sounds kind of stupid, but what I mean is that, other than being very long, it's not structurally different from other novels, the way that, say Ulysses and Infinite Jest are. The length isn't there because Tolstoy is trying to be innovative; instead it's there to give him space to devote to the many characters he's juggling.
And it's really an incredible juggling act. Even though I don't think I could list all the major characters without a cheat sheet, every time one comes back on stage, it feels like they're fresh in my memory; Tolstoy never lets too long a time pass between mentions of each one. Also, each character is so vivid that I can picture them clearly, so when they re-appear, it's not hard to remember who they are.
War and Peace also has a fair bit of satire (though I wouldn't call it a satirical novel). There's a funny bit where one commander in the Russian army is chasing another division, so that he can take command, and they keep running away. Pierre's attempts to remedy the lot of the poor also ends up being the stuff of satire.
The Gene Wolfe stories are, as I mentioned before, a really varied lot. Since I posted, I've read two of the more enigmatic ones, "Forlesen" and "Seven American Nights." I'm not sure that there is a hidden layer to be discovered in "Forlesen;" it feels more like a satire on business practices, with just enough clues to keep you guessing if there's not more. "Seven American Nights," on the other hand, is pointedly elusive. There's a lot going on behind the scenes, with at least one night missing from the journal, references to Easter week, possible hallucinations, and so on. I'm not sure I have a solution for the puzzle, but it's an entertaining story, even on the surface, which is always the most important thing.
I came to Adrian McKinty's Falling Glass after listening to the Michael Forsyth trilogy (but not having read Fifty Grand). The first thing that struck me is how much the pyrotechnics (both plotwise and stylistically) are cooled down.
In the Forsyth books, there are multiple shootouts that can end up stretching credulity; here, we have a more cat-and-mouse plot, with a lot of energy going into characters hiding out from other characters. It's a nice refreshing change, as much as I loved the Forsyth books. Killian, the hero of the novel, is no superman, and so there's a constant knife-edge of tension, since odds are, if he gets in a fight he'll lose. I also liked that not every confrontation is resolved in a gun battle; it keeps things unpredictable.
Stylistically, McKinty has cooled down as well. The earlier books have longer poetic flights of fancy, which are notably absent here, except as the occasional special effect. One major improvement is that McKinty has moved away from his too-heavy foreshadowing of the earlier novels, which keeps the tension at a higher pitch.
I'm also chugging along through War and Peace and The Best Gene Wolfe Short Stories. Now that I'm about a third of the way through War and Peace, I'm finding it to be just a very long novel. That sounds kind of stupid, but what I mean is that, other than being very long, it's not structurally different from other novels, the way that, say Ulysses and Infinite Jest are. The length isn't there because Tolstoy is trying to be innovative; instead it's there to give him space to devote to the many characters he's juggling.
And it's really an incredible juggling act. Even though I don't think I could list all the major characters without a cheat sheet, every time one comes back on stage, it feels like they're fresh in my memory; Tolstoy never lets too long a time pass between mentions of each one. Also, each character is so vivid that I can picture them clearly, so when they re-appear, it's not hard to remember who they are.
War and Peace also has a fair bit of satire (though I wouldn't call it a satirical novel). There's a funny bit where one commander in the Russian army is chasing another division, so that he can take command, and they keep running away. Pierre's attempts to remedy the lot of the poor also ends up being the stuff of satire.
The Gene Wolfe stories are, as I mentioned before, a really varied lot. Since I posted, I've read two of the more enigmatic ones, "Forlesen" and "Seven American Nights." I'm not sure that there is a hidden layer to be discovered in "Forlesen;" it feels more like a satire on business practices, with just enough clues to keep you guessing if there's not more. "Seven American Nights," on the other hand, is pointedly elusive. There's a lot going on behind the scenes, with at least one night missing from the journal, references to Easter week, possible hallucinations, and so on. I'm not sure I have a solution for the puzzle, but it's an entertaining story, even on the surface, which is always the most important thing.
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