More Latest Readings and the Purpose of Fiction

So here we are again. It’s March 15^th and as I sit down at this machine ready to try to babble into it for a while I look at my handy-dandy list of things to write about. Even the most cursory of glances reveals that I’m exactly four books behind in my intent to summarize each book as I read it. Since last we spoke on this topic I’ve finished most of the rest of the 2006 Booker nominees and realize that it’s time to head back to finish up Conrad.

It’s usually after about this many works of fiction (it’s been 15 books and 3 and a half months since the last bit of non-fiction ‘Lost Languages’) that I ask myself that eternal question, “Why in the HELL am I wasting time reading all this made up crap?” I generally sit around for a day or two lamenting the lost 3 months and theorizing that I would SURELY be able to converse in fluent Latin by now if I’d only applied myself over that amount of time. What a horrible, horrible waste!

Then I look back at the list; remember the list? I notice a few things crossed of. Yes, indeed, I wrote the post about the decline of the human species. Yes, I wrote the post about the vague sense of dread I have about the universe. Indeed, I blabbed on about my inextinguishable sense of optimism and joy. (*cough* Yes, it’s my blog, I’m allowed to utterly contradict myself). Then I look at the list again and realize WHY I’m keeping a list at all. I vividly remember that bit in ‘The Master’ in which it describes Henry James’ creative process. The notebooks full of ideas, bits of fluff pulled from the news, family stories, little chunks of life laid out on paper waiting for the right wind to blow to turn them from hastily scrawled notes into literature. That’s why I’m keeping this little tablet of notes. Not because of any bullshit I read about ‘sharpening my saw’ but because I read it in some bit of “useless” fiction.

Then I think back to that last bit of non-fiction. I can dredge of a few little factoids. “The as-yet undeciphered Rongo-Rongo language of Easter Island was written in reverse-boustrophedon.” Boy. Talk about your fu&king useful tidbits of information. I’m sure glad I kept THAT one around. But from fiction, the left-over tidbits are much more meaningful and interesting. If there’s anything that Bronte pounds into one’s head it’s the plight of the 19^th century woman, consigned to the sewing table by social convention but capable of so much more than that. Grenville’s “The Secret River” gave me a whole new sense for what it really meant to be transported for life to Australia. Desai’s “The Inheritance of Loss” painted a picture of life in America as an immigrant as so utterly pitiful. I may never eat at a drive-through window with the same viewpoint again. I actually changed the way I treated my own children after reading “Carry Me Down.”

Whaaa… alright, epiphanies aside, I should probably at least make appropriate recommendations on my previous reads. I won’t attempt summaries.

Grenville, Kate: “The Secret River” is an absolute MUST for any history buff especially if you’ve ever wondered what exactly happened to all those people who were ‘Transported for life’ to Australia back in the 19^th century.

Desai, Kiran: “The Inheritance of Loss” describes the life of an Indian from many viewpoints, both as the relative left behind to suffer through the turmoil of life in India as well as a the son sent off to strike it ‘rich’ in America. Thoroughly interesting but the language is a bit tough to wade through.

Hyland, M.J.: “Carry Me Down” follows a troubled child through a particularly troubled bit of his life. A good read if you were a troubled child I suppose.

St. Aubyn, Edward: “Mother’s Milk” follows closely on the heels of ‘Carry me Down’ in that it also follows a troubled family. The situation is viewed in round robin first from the viewpoint of the 5-year-old child and then by the adults so one sees all angles, a good psychological novel but not amazing. If you only read only one book this year, pick another.

Current Novel: “Lord Jim”, Joseph Conrad [117/300]

Periodic Robism: There is no ego larger than the ego that quotes itself.