This was a book group selection, and although I started out well, I was out by the 100-page mark. There was a scene involving rats on the attack, and I could not, would not continue. Call me squeamy. I'd DNF this a thousand times if it were possible.
I hate when this happens! I'm mired in the middle of 3 books right now and can't seem to finish any of them. Did I say finish? I'd be happy if I could just make it to the middle of at least one. It feels like my eyeballs stepped in chewing gum. There's a familiar whooshing sound followed by a decisive sounding gurgle. That's the sound of my dream of triple digits 3 years in a row going down the toilet.
Here's what I'm reading and my limping progress:
1. Love and Hate in Jamestown - David Price. 33% pages read.
2. The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket - Edgar Allen Poe. 37.5% pages read.
3. How Soccer Explains The World - Franklin Foer. 27% pages read.
All of these books are well-written and engaging, so that's not the reason for my malaise. However, I am reading the Poe novella in a PDF format on my laptop. There are 2 columns of print on each page, so I'm constantly scrolling back and forth, which plays hell with my concentration.
No matter what, I've got to finish Poe this weekend. My Cracked Spinz book group is meeting Tuesday to discuss it. Also, the book about Jamestown is due back at the library next week. The soccer book is mine. I might finish it in time for the 2014 World Cup.
Everytime this bogged-down stuff happens, I worry that it might become a permanent condition.
I want to blog, but am having trouble putting together a real post. For now, we'll all have to be content with hazy thoughts that have floated through my mind this past week -- all bookish, of course.
1. Determined to work on my Pulitzer challenge a little more this year, I started reading Angle of Repose (1971) by Wallace Stegner and I'm in book love again. Roll over, Robertson Davies and give Nick Hornby the news. What took me so long to discover this author? He's like John Steinbeck with a bit of F. Scott Fitzgerald thrown in. Even better, when he was a lit professor, his specialty was the American realism/naturalism period: Twain, Garland, Wharton, Crane, Dreiser, Norris -- many of my favorites. I must hit Kyobo bookstore next time I'm in Seoul and grab Stegner's autobiographical novel, The Big Rock Candy Mountain (1943). I'm a giddy bookworm; nothing pleases me more than discovering a past literary treasure.
2. Speaking of discovering fine authors from the past, I'm happier than ever that this seems to be my predisposition. Trish's unpleasant encounter with a new author distressed me greatly -- so much so, that if I had any inkling about reviewing new authors, all of that is gone now. It would be thrilling to discover some wonderful new talent all by my lonesome, but oh, well. Let other bloggers and critics and time sort them out.
3. I got curious about Mt. TBR and counted 'em up: 210 unread books! My library is flourishing, but it's gonna get harder and harder to convince people that I'm a poor little expat in dire need of reading material. In addition, I guess it would be poor form to complain about having to move all those books! from Gumi to Seoul in a couple of months.
I've been thinking a lot about banned books since I found out recently that my birthplace was the site of such a controversy a while back. I felt a little cringe-y about it at first, but everything worked out all right. Still, as a bookworm, I'd like to think that I was born in a place where everyone would consider book banning anathema.
Marshall, Missouri. Population around 12,000. They've only had a public library since the 1980s or 90s. Anyway, almost exactly 2 years ago, some relative (?) of Sarah Palin's was sashaying through the stacks and came across a copy of Fun Home, the incredibly wonderful graphic novel by the incomparable Alison Bechdel.
You know the distasteful and distressing drill by now: The patron failed to recognized that it was a richly layered coming-of-age story and focused his/her blinders-vision on the nudity and lesbian relationship in one tiny section of the novel. This person was shocked! Shocked! He or she said it was pornography! This person also ragged on Blankets by Craig Thompson, another graphic novel. (I haven't Blankets yet, but now I really want to badly.)
Soon, there was an uproar in the media as other citizens made their way to the library (I'd almost be willing to bet some of them had to ask directions) and demanded that these books be *banned* immediately. Those curious tracks in the dust around the town square? Yup, all made by knuckles dragging the ground. I don't want to, but I can almost see the forefingers up the noses, trying to keep down the deafening sound of those lone brain cells, rattling around like the last bean in a maraca.
The library's director, Amy Crump, defended Fun Home and Blankets, pointing out that they'd both been reviewed in reputable book journals. Crump also correctly pointed out that if these books were banned, Marshall Public Library would be taking that first step on "the slippery slope of censorship" that it might be best not to travel. Good on her for having a brain, a heart and courage. The library board met, banned the books briefly while they worked out a new policy, then reinstated the books the following year. Sounds like they handled the situation with intelligence and skill. But a slap in the face with a 3-days-dead fish to the original idiot and all who supported the banning is so in order.
Alison Bechdel took the situation in stride, calling the banning "an honor".
On the off-chance that I should ever meet Alison Bechdel and in the even more unlikely occurrence that she should ask where I was born, I can't decide whether to be forthcoming or just mumble something like, "Oh, somewhere around Kansas City." Meanwhile, I think I'll reread Fun Home and try to hunt down a copy of Blankets.
