So, everyone, looks like I'm back at college for the year. I guess that means it's time to report on my summer reading. To my eternal shame, I did not manage to read all of the books on my reading list, despite having a job that just barely qualifies as part-time. I did, however, read most of them, and they will all get read eventually. In fact, I fully expect them all to be read by the beginning of next summer, just in time to start a new reading list. And I did read many many books that weren't on the list, so that should count for something, right?
Also I wanted to tell you that I am working on a story, and you should have it at least by the beginning of next week. So don't despair. However, if, in the coming two semesters, a week has passed without a blog post, please forgive me. It probably means I procrastinated an important paper; I trust you can sympathize.
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Thursday, August 18, 2011
The Ocean
I didn't say so last post, but I feel really, really bad about neglecting this blog so long, especially when I don't even have the excuse of busyness. So to make up for it, I give you two posts in one day. AND, as further apology, I will try very hard to get you a story by next week. That's how sorry I am.
The ocean has always frightened me a little.
Maybe that's why I'm so attracted to it -
a love affair that's less than unrequited,
a fascination I can't quite explain.
Perhaps because it's so mysterious,
unknown, so deep and strange and unexplored.
We know it's very beautiful, a world
as full of life as ours, but we know too
that deeper down is only terrible darkness.
So powerful, the waves, the tides - a force
unstoppable, inexorable, immense.
The sea is merciless, it's true, and yet
so filled with lovely secrets whispered soft
and only fuzzily caught in shell-like ears.
I splash at the edge, in fun, maybe imagine
a life beneath the water's glittering face,
look longingly out to sea and the setting sun,
and tell myself I'm not afraid at all.
But if I were someday to take the plunge, I would
calm my racing heart, look up, and smile,
open my eyes, and dive.
The ocean has always frightened me a little.
Maybe that's why I'm so attracted to it -
a love affair that's less than unrequited,
a fascination I can't quite explain.
Perhaps because it's so mysterious,
unknown, so deep and strange and unexplored.
We know it's very beautiful, a world
as full of life as ours, but we know too
that deeper down is only terrible darkness.
So powerful, the waves, the tides - a force
unstoppable, inexorable, immense.
The sea is merciless, it's true, and yet
so filled with lovely secrets whispered soft
and only fuzzily caught in shell-like ears.
I splash at the edge, in fun, maybe imagine
a life beneath the water's glittering face,
look longingly out to sea and the setting sun,
and tell myself I'm not afraid at all.
But if I were someday to take the plunge, I would
calm my racing heart, look up, and smile,
open my eyes, and dive.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
The Brothers Karamazov
The Brothers Karamazov, by Fyodor Dostoyevsky. Nine hundred and eighty-five pages. Sixty-six chapters. I-don't-know-how-many characters. Completely wonderful. (I recently realized that I will never review a book I don't recommend. When I dislike a book, either there's not much to say about it, or I'm ashamed to admit I read it.) If my review is a bit confusing because I didn't put in enough stuff about the plot, I apologize, but it really is one of those books that's impossible to summarize. Also, I'll occasionally be comparing it to Crime and Punishment, but if you haven't read that, you can just ignore those parts.
(Note: I would like to insert some tangential praise of high school English class, which is where I read Crime and Punishment. I know it's easy to bash English ("it just teaches kids to hate books, blah blah blah..."), but I am a huge fan. Crime and Punishment is something I would never have read on my own - esoteric Russian author, lots of pages, unexciting title, etc. But I read it in class - and loved it. In fact, I loved it so much that I sought out another book by the author. One with even more pages and a less exciting title. And I loved it even more. So I owe an debt to English class, if for nothing more than bringing The Brothers Karamazov into my life. And in fact, while reading the latter, I found myself missing the in-depth discussion environment I had while reading the former. Discussing a book with yourself just isn't the same.)
Anyway. The Brothers Karamazov. Like I said, kind of impossible to summarize, but I'll try. It's about three brothers - Mitya, Ivan, and Alyosha - and their father, Fyodor. And another possibly-brother. When that father is murdered, it seems obvious that the eldest son, Mitya, is the killer. To the astute reader, however, it is even more obvious that nothing is ever that simple.
The murder doesn't occur till halfway through the book, though. Everything before it, and a great deal after it as well, is dedicated to developing the brothers. We learn of Mitya's and Fyodor's rather disturbing woman troubles, and Alyosha's spiritual journey/issues. Ivan has troubles of his own, of course, and I find him to be the most complex brother. I wish that Dostoyevsky had spent more time inside Ivan's head, because he is also the least discussed. As it is, the "main" character is Alyosha. Which I am okay with, because I love Alyosha. In fact, I like all of the brothers, even though I'm not quite sure I'm supposed to.
Alyosha (Aleksey Fyodorovich), the youngest, is the spiritual one, a novice at a monastery and devotee of its resident Elder. He is somewhat of a "holy fool," which is an archetype of Russian literature, and one I wish was more prominent in the Western tradition; I believe it - and Alyosha - really tap into the "as a little child" ideal that is otherwise so hard to explain.
Mitya (aka Dmitry Fyodorovich) is the one most suspected of the murder because he and his father both love the same woman (eeeew) and he believes his father has cheated him out of his inheritance. Again, I like him, even though he is a "scoundrel" (which has rather different connotations here; it means wicked person more than mischievous rascal). He is blatantly immoral, a drunkard, spendthrift, womanizer, gambler - pretty much everything that is despicable about mankind, he is. And yet he has a rigid honor, and is constantly racked by his own conscience. There is a Promethean quality about him that I like very much - a rebel against the universe, but also great and good, a hero.
The thing I liked most about The Brothers Karamazov is the morality and philosophy contained in the story. The relationships are key - Mitya's with his father and lover(s), Alyosha's with his Elder and his family, and Ivan's with himself (he's a tortured intellectual atheist). In Crime and Punishment, I liked that the reader experienced moral discovery with Raskolnikov. At the beginning, she could be convinced that moral law really is just a convention, and some people are above it; Raskolnikov's choices aren't apparent right from the start. The Brothers Karamazov is the same way, although the morality is a bit more complex. I think, though, that the core of the issue is whether or not a person can love and help others (including his family) when both he and they are imperfect, even evil. Can one sinner redeem another?
Perhaps because that question is so complicated, the sense of closure at the end is minimal. Sure, all the important thematic issues are resolved, but I would have liked to know what happened to Ivan. Despite this, I did like the ending a lot, and think it was one of the most powerful parts of an extremely powerful book.
A few words on some more schematic matters: I read the Penguin Classics edition, which was okay. The translation was pretty good, but not beautiful, and had enough notes for me to tell that the original language really is beautiful. It had helpful footnotes, but for some reason they were all at the back of the book, which was annoying. Also it had a very nice introduction, but if you can, don't read it until you've finished the book. Oh, and protip: Grushenka is the same person as Agrafena Alexandrovna. It took me ages to figure that out.
(Note: I would like to insert some tangential praise of high school English class, which is where I read Crime and Punishment. I know it's easy to bash English ("it just teaches kids to hate books, blah blah blah..."), but I am a huge fan. Crime and Punishment is something I would never have read on my own - esoteric Russian author, lots of pages, unexciting title, etc. But I read it in class - and loved it. In fact, I loved it so much that I sought out another book by the author. One with even more pages and a less exciting title. And I loved it even more. So I owe an debt to English class, if for nothing more than bringing The Brothers Karamazov into my life. And in fact, while reading the latter, I found myself missing the in-depth discussion environment I had while reading the former. Discussing a book with yourself just isn't the same.)
Anyway. The Brothers Karamazov. Like I said, kind of impossible to summarize, but I'll try. It's about three brothers - Mitya, Ivan, and Alyosha - and their father, Fyodor. And another possibly-brother. When that father is murdered, it seems obvious that the eldest son, Mitya, is the killer. To the astute reader, however, it is even more obvious that nothing is ever that simple.
The murder doesn't occur till halfway through the book, though. Everything before it, and a great deal after it as well, is dedicated to developing the brothers. We learn of Mitya's and Fyodor's rather disturbing woman troubles, and Alyosha's spiritual journey/issues. Ivan has troubles of his own, of course, and I find him to be the most complex brother. I wish that Dostoyevsky had spent more time inside Ivan's head, because he is also the least discussed. As it is, the "main" character is Alyosha. Which I am okay with, because I love Alyosha. In fact, I like all of the brothers, even though I'm not quite sure I'm supposed to.
Alyosha (Aleksey Fyodorovich), the youngest, is the spiritual one, a novice at a monastery and devotee of its resident Elder. He is somewhat of a "holy fool," which is an archetype of Russian literature, and one I wish was more prominent in the Western tradition; I believe it - and Alyosha - really tap into the "as a little child" ideal that is otherwise so hard to explain.
Mitya (aka Dmitry Fyodorovich) is the one most suspected of the murder because he and his father both love the same woman (eeeew) and he believes his father has cheated him out of his inheritance. Again, I like him, even though he is a "scoundrel" (which has rather different connotations here; it means wicked person more than mischievous rascal). He is blatantly immoral, a drunkard, spendthrift, womanizer, gambler - pretty much everything that is despicable about mankind, he is. And yet he has a rigid honor, and is constantly racked by his own conscience. There is a Promethean quality about him that I like very much - a rebel against the universe, but also great and good, a hero.
The thing I liked most about The Brothers Karamazov is the morality and philosophy contained in the story. The relationships are key - Mitya's with his father and lover(s), Alyosha's with his Elder and his family, and Ivan's with himself (he's a tortured intellectual atheist). In Crime and Punishment, I liked that the reader experienced moral discovery with Raskolnikov. At the beginning, she could be convinced that moral law really is just a convention, and some people are above it; Raskolnikov's choices aren't apparent right from the start. The Brothers Karamazov is the same way, although the morality is a bit more complex. I think, though, that the core of the issue is whether or not a person can love and help others (including his family) when both he and they are imperfect, even evil. Can one sinner redeem another?
Perhaps because that question is so complicated, the sense of closure at the end is minimal. Sure, all the important thematic issues are resolved, but I would have liked to know what happened to Ivan. Despite this, I did like the ending a lot, and think it was one of the most powerful parts of an extremely powerful book.
A few words on some more schematic matters: I read the Penguin Classics edition, which was okay. The translation was pretty good, but not beautiful, and had enough notes for me to tell that the original language really is beautiful. It had helpful footnotes, but for some reason they were all at the back of the book, which was annoying. Also it had a very nice introduction, but if you can, don't read it until you've finished the book. Oh, and protip: Grushenka is the same person as Agrafena Alexandrovna. It took me ages to figure that out.
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