Tuesday, August 28, 2012
2.0 (Revised and Revisited)
This past week I have created a new blog that I am rather creatively calling Kester Goes To Grad School. In the few days of its existence, I've come to appreciate how the tumblr setup lends itself to short posts, quotes, and commentary on what I'm learning and reading. As such, I am putting What Kester's Reading on extended/indefinite hiatus. For a list format of what I'm reading, be my friend on Goodreads. For everything else, check out the new blog. Thanks.
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
2.0
Been a couple of weeks since my last post. In that time I have packed up a house into boxes, loaded said boxes into a U-Haul truck, driven said truck from Austin to Abilene, unloaded said truck, unpacked said boxes, settled into Abilene and started my first class headed towards completing an M.Div degree in 2015.
Given that I am now in grad school and not working full time in a bookstore, there are going to be a few changes to the blog:
Required Reading
Given that I am now in grad school and not working full time in a bookstore, there are going to be a few changes to the blog:
- What Should Kester Read? will be discontinued for the time being. Much as I enjoyed having friends assign me books to read, I'm about to get reading assignments out the wazoo. What little chance I get to read books unrelated to the classes I'm taking will be books of my own choosing.
- What Kester's Reading is going to be overloaded with theology texts. That said, I will continue to write reviews and reflect on said texts as well as leave updated lists as to what I am currently reading.
Required Reading
- After You Believe by N.T. Wright
- The Blackwell Companion to Christian Spirituality by Arthur Holder
- Holy Conversation: Spirituality for Worship by Jonathan Linman
- The Imitation of Christ by Thomas a Kempis
- Practicing Our Faith by Dorothy Butler Bass
- Spiritual Disciplines Handbook by Adele Calhoun
- Spiritual Formation As If The Church Mattered by James Wilhoit
Non-required Reading
- Caliban's War by James S.A. Corey
- The Daily Bible: NIV Version (daily devotional)
- A Life-Giving Way by Esther de Waal
Saturday, July 28, 2012
A Fan's Notes
Though the events in this book bear similarity to those of that long malaise, my life...I have drawn freely from the imagination and adhered only loosely to the pattern of my past life. To this extent, and for this reason, I ask to be judged a writer of fantasy.
Subtitled "A Fictional Memoir," Frederick Exley's A Fan's Notes rings truer than any "creative non-fiction" that I have ever read and, while generally shelved in the fiction section of most bookstores, is every bit as revealing and revelatory as Dave Eggers' Heartbreaking Work or James Frey's controversial Million Little Pieces. Published in 1968, Fan's Notes was literary memoir before it was hip and set the bar for Frey and Eggers along with another too-little-known classic of this genre, Frank Conroy's Stop Time.
A humorous and heart-wrenching account of alcoholism, sexual frustration, and shock therapy; Fan's Notes paints a perfect picture of the dark underbelly of the 60s, a confession and conversation on self-absorption, emptiness and isolation. Reminiscent of the best work by Vonnegut, Kesey, and Wolfe; Frederick Exley's Fan's Notes is a most brilliant example of the tragicomic.
Saturday, July 7, 2012
7-7-12
What Should Kester Read?
- A Fan's Notes by Frederick Exley
- Stoner by John Williams
What else is Kester reading?
- The Awakening of Hope by Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove
- The Daily Bible: NIV Version (daily devotional)
- Ready Player One by Ernest Cline (New and Noteworthy book club)
- The Way of Perfection by St. Teresa of Avila
So Long, See You Tomorrow
This month's selections shared the common trait of being almost completely new to me. A few of them I had seen on shelves, but none were stories that I had any insight into nor authors that I was at all familiar with. Each of them has been a more than pleasant surprise, particularly Frederick Exley's A Fan's Notes (which I have yet to finish, but may join the ranks of my top 25 favorite novels of all time) and William Maxwell's So Long, See You Tomorrow. A sparse, but lyrical portrait of small communities and shared secrets and best friends and betrayals; Maxwell's tale is incisive and concise, what my retired detective and sheriff grandfather means when he says "short and sweet."
In less than 150 pages, the narrator looks back almost 50 years to a friend he has neither seen nor spoken to in all that time and to a murder and trial that sent them drifting apart. So Long is a slow burn; part mystery, part history; reminiscent of Daniel Woodrell's Winter's Bone and Philipp Meyer's American Rust. Maxwell could give lessons in "show, don't tell" and "less is more." His novel is course study in storytelling, with style, setting, tone, and characters all deftly handled and intimately drawn.
In less than 150 pages, the narrator looks back almost 50 years to a friend he has neither seen nor spoken to in all that time and to a murder and trial that sent them drifting apart. So Long is a slow burn; part mystery, part history; reminiscent of Daniel Woodrell's Winter's Bone and Philipp Meyer's American Rust. Maxwell could give lessons in "show, don't tell" and "less is more." His novel is course study in storytelling, with style, setting, tone, and characters all deftly handled and intimately drawn.
The Snarkout Boys and the Avocado of Death
There's this thing that happens every time that I eat a donut. My mind conjures up this memory from my childhood about donuts that tasted like rubber, but in a good way. I find that much of the appeal (or lack thereof) of a donut is how well it plays to this description, the source of which I had long forgotten, but the memory of which remains strong.
While reading Daniel Pinkwater's Snarkout Boys I quickly got that deja vu feeling that just as quickly morphed into memory. While I hadn't remembered the title or the author, this story was a familiar one, one that I had read years before. Certain scenarios would begin and I would know where they were headed, sometimes only sentences before we arrived there together. The scene with the speeches in the park and the guy who keeps shouting about meat. The scene where Rat invites Walter and Winston over for family dinner. Or the scene in which Walter and Winston visit the Hasty Tasty Diner and each grab a donut that tastes like rubber and oh I can't believe it THIS IS THAT BOOK!
What a joy it was to rediscover this novel from my childhood. A story of lonely misfits making their way through high school, slowly and maybe not so surely. This was the theme I sought out in fiction almost exclusively from the 5th through 9th grade. And while Snarkout Boys' reading level is more along 5th than 9th grade lines, it's a fun little adventure that I was glad to revisit. My son, Harrison, took one look at the title and said, "that just sounds silly," and it is. Very silly. And strange. And a little bit sad. It hints at the alienation that more modern YA fiction hits on so heavily and is more real in its imaginings for doing so. Pinkwater's fiction may be too fantastic to paint an accurate picture of what I was doing in middle school, but it is a more than fair assessment of how I was feeling. And reading it again was a nice reminder.
While reading Daniel Pinkwater's Snarkout Boys I quickly got that deja vu feeling that just as quickly morphed into memory. While I hadn't remembered the title or the author, this story was a familiar one, one that I had read years before. Certain scenarios would begin and I would know where they were headed, sometimes only sentences before we arrived there together. The scene with the speeches in the park and the guy who keeps shouting about meat. The scene where Rat invites Walter and Winston over for family dinner. Or the scene in which Walter and Winston visit the Hasty Tasty Diner and each grab a donut that tastes like rubber and oh I can't believe it THIS IS THAT BOOK!
What a joy it was to rediscover this novel from my childhood. A story of lonely misfits making their way through high school, slowly and maybe not so surely. This was the theme I sought out in fiction almost exclusively from the 5th through 9th grade. And while Snarkout Boys' reading level is more along 5th than 9th grade lines, it's a fun little adventure that I was glad to revisit. My son, Harrison, took one look at the title and said, "that just sounds silly," and it is. Very silly. And strange. And a little bit sad. It hints at the alienation that more modern YA fiction hits on so heavily and is more real in its imaginings for doing so. Pinkwater's fiction may be too fantastic to paint an accurate picture of what I was doing in middle school, but it is a more than fair assessment of how I was feeling. And reading it again was a nice reminder.
The Porcine Canticles
"You can write about pigs," suggested John, the wise and unlettered neighbor of David Lee. A former seminary candidate, semi-professional baseball player, and hog farmer; Lee is the author of eight books of poetry and Utah's first Poet Laureate. The advice is well heeded, and Lee creates a collection of narratives and epic tales about pigs and farming and neighbors and community and the rural Southwest.
I like my poetry like I like my bacon (or liked it before I became a vegetarian), lean and seasoned. Lee's is that; seasoned with the direct and uncompromising impact of common talk and local vernacular, Porcine Canticles is a tribute to the hope and promise found in the everyday ordinariness of things. Fans of Wendell Berry and Flannery O'Connor will find much here to love, as Lee's writing shares that same flavor and feel. The Porcine Canticles is that rare book of poems that "reads like a good novel."
I like my poetry like I like my bacon (or liked it before I became a vegetarian), lean and seasoned. Lee's is that; seasoned with the direct and uncompromising impact of common talk and local vernacular, Porcine Canticles is a tribute to the hope and promise found in the everyday ordinariness of things. Fans of Wendell Berry and Flannery O'Connor will find much here to love, as Lee's writing shares that same flavor and feel. The Porcine Canticles is that rare book of poems that "reads like a good novel."
Saturday, June 30, 2012
What Should Kester Read? July Edition
What Should Kester Read?
- A Fan's Notes by Frederick Exley
- The Porcine Canticles by David Lee
- The Snarkout Boys and the Avocado of Death by Daniel Pinkwater
- So Long, See You Tomorrow by William Maxwell
- Stoner by John Williams
What else is Kester reading?
- The Daily Bible: NIV Version (daily devotional)
- Moby Dick by Herman Melville (Required Reading Revisited book club)
- Ready Player One by Ernest Cline (New and Noteworthy book club)
Sunday, June 24, 2012
6-24-12
What Kester's reading
- The Daily Bible: NIV Version (daily devotional)
- Moby Dick by Herman Melville (Required Reading Revisited book club)
Saturday, June 23, 2012
Housekeeping
Housekeeping is the story of Ruth and her younger sister, Lucille; about the grandfather who died with hundreds of other passengers aboard a train that slipped into a lake; about the mother, Helen, who drove her car into that same lake and drowned; about the grandmother who cared for them until she also died; about the befuddled great-aunts who stepped in for a brief time; about Helen's eccentric sister, Sylvie, who eventually takes charge of the girls.
Housekeeping is referenced throughout Housekeeping, both directly and indirectly, literally and figuratively. Robinson has said that her debut novel was initially nothing more than a series of metaphors that she had written. It was only after she gathered them together that she recognized some cohesion that developed into characters and plot. That plot is simple, the characters complex, and the metaphor hold up and is never heavy-handed.
This is a story about "home is where the heart is" and "getting your house in order" and "this world is not my home." This is a story about the ways in which we make ourselves at home; the things said and done and stored up and collected and cast away and destroyed. This is a novel about those who cannot seem to make themselves at home or do not wish to. This is a novel about connections made and broken; about love and loss and loneliness.
There is a passage towards the end of Robinson's novel that is less a concise summation of the plot so much as a clear expression of the theme. It is, perhaps, my favorite passage in a book full of stunning passages. It reads:
Cain murdered Abel, and blood cried out from the earth; the house fell on Job's children, and a voice was induced or provoked into speaking from a whirlwind; and Rachel mourned for her children; and King David for Absalom. The force behind the movement of time is a mourning that will not be comforted. That is why the first event is known to have been an expulsion, and the last is hoped to be a reconciliation and return. So memory pulls us forward, so prophecy is only brilliant memory...
Housekeeping is referenced throughout Housekeeping, both directly and indirectly, literally and figuratively. Robinson has said that her debut novel was initially nothing more than a series of metaphors that she had written. It was only after she gathered them together that she recognized some cohesion that developed into characters and plot. That plot is simple, the characters complex, and the metaphor hold up and is never heavy-handed.
This is a story about "home is where the heart is" and "getting your house in order" and "this world is not my home." This is a story about the ways in which we make ourselves at home; the things said and done and stored up and collected and cast away and destroyed. This is a novel about those who cannot seem to make themselves at home or do not wish to. This is a novel about connections made and broken; about love and loss and loneliness.
There is a passage towards the end of Robinson's novel that is less a concise summation of the plot so much as a clear expression of the theme. It is, perhaps, my favorite passage in a book full of stunning passages. It reads:
Cain murdered Abel, and blood cried out from the earth; the house fell on Job's children, and a voice was induced or provoked into speaking from a whirlwind; and Rachel mourned for her children; and King David for Absalom. The force behind the movement of time is a mourning that will not be comforted. That is why the first event is known to have been an expulsion, and the last is hoped to be a reconciliation and return. So memory pulls us forward, so prophecy is only brilliant memory...
Monday, June 18, 2012
6-18-12
What Should Kester Read?
- Housekeeping by Marilynne Robinson
What else is Kester reading?
- The Awakening by Kate Chopin
- The Daily Bible: NIV Version (daily devotional)
- Moby Dick by Herman Melville (Required Reading Revisited book club)
- Redshirts by John Scalzi
- A Stranger In Olondria by Sofia Samatar
Underworld
Long before people referred to everything from a Taco Bell taco salad to the latest Katy Perry song as "epic" there were certain creations actually worthy of that description. Great works of art, masterfully crafted symphonies, challenging pieces of literature. Don DeLillo's Underworld can be rightfully described as epic.
It's size alone is daunting. Weighing in at around five pounds (give or take) and at nearly 1000 pages, Underworld is a lot to take on. It's subject is equally grand, the latter half of the 20th century in the United States of America. This is "great American novel" kinds of stuff. It begins with baseball (and how American is that) and then expands itself from the 50s into the 90s, but in reverse; constantly looking back to yesteryear. The approach itself is just one more way that DeLillo brilliantly addresses the very 20th century American themes of nostalgia and regret.
Nick Shay is our protagonist (of a sort) and his wife and brother and mother and lover all have their roles to play. But so do Frank Sinatra and Lenny Bruce and Jackie Gleason. So do the Dodgers and the Giants. So does the city of New York. This is about actors and artists and aspirations, it's about heartache and fallen heroes. It's about the Cold War and the American family. And it's about trash. Literal trash (Shay works in waste management) and trash as metaphor for all the waste that can pile up in our lives and all the wasted time and effort we can spend on acquiring it. This book is about so much, that it's a wonder that DeLillo could fit it all in. It is sweeping in its scope; a grand vision. It is one amazing piece of work.
So, why (according to Goodreads) would I only give this book 4 stars instead of 5? Because this is also a long and rambling read. Make no mistake, it is intentionally done; DeLillo accomplishes exactly what he sets out to do. But that doesn't mean it doesn't bog down a bit. I've read big books before; Wallace's Infinite Jest and Dostoevsky's The Brothers Karamazov are among my favorites. But those books have a lot to say about a few things and a specific set of people, and so they draw me in with the details. DeLillo does that (most of the time) as well, but he also wants to talk about everything and in his attempt to leave nothing out, he occasionally makes you wish he had. In order to communicate the sheer mass of all their is, DeLillo often seems as if he's attempting to bury his readers in it. It can be a bit overwhelming.
But, for the most part, this was well worth the work. DeLillo is a master at cutting to the heart of the American psyche and psychosis and much of his best work can be found in this book. When you have the time, I highly recommend spending it on this book. It will certainly not be time wasted.
It's size alone is daunting. Weighing in at around five pounds (give or take) and at nearly 1000 pages, Underworld is a lot to take on. It's subject is equally grand, the latter half of the 20th century in the United States of America. This is "great American novel" kinds of stuff. It begins with baseball (and how American is that) and then expands itself from the 50s into the 90s, but in reverse; constantly looking back to yesteryear. The approach itself is just one more way that DeLillo brilliantly addresses the very 20th century American themes of nostalgia and regret.
Nick Shay is our protagonist (of a sort) and his wife and brother and mother and lover all have their roles to play. But so do Frank Sinatra and Lenny Bruce and Jackie Gleason. So do the Dodgers and the Giants. So does the city of New York. This is about actors and artists and aspirations, it's about heartache and fallen heroes. It's about the Cold War and the American family. And it's about trash. Literal trash (Shay works in waste management) and trash as metaphor for all the waste that can pile up in our lives and all the wasted time and effort we can spend on acquiring it. This book is about so much, that it's a wonder that DeLillo could fit it all in. It is sweeping in its scope; a grand vision. It is one amazing piece of work.
So, why (according to Goodreads) would I only give this book 4 stars instead of 5? Because this is also a long and rambling read. Make no mistake, it is intentionally done; DeLillo accomplishes exactly what he sets out to do. But that doesn't mean it doesn't bog down a bit. I've read big books before; Wallace's Infinite Jest and Dostoevsky's The Brothers Karamazov are among my favorites. But those books have a lot to say about a few things and a specific set of people, and so they draw me in with the details. DeLillo does that (most of the time) as well, but he also wants to talk about everything and in his attempt to leave nothing out, he occasionally makes you wish he had. In order to communicate the sheer mass of all their is, DeLillo often seems as if he's attempting to bury his readers in it. It can be a bit overwhelming.
But, for the most part, this was well worth the work. DeLillo is a master at cutting to the heart of the American psyche and psychosis and much of his best work can be found in this book. When you have the time, I highly recommend spending it on this book. It will certainly not be time wasted.
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
Dragonbreath
Danny Dragonbreath is, you guessed it, a dragon. Not a komodo dragon like Big Eddy, the bully. He's a real dragon, like the stuff of legends. But real dragons breathe fire. And Danny hasn't quite mastered that. In fact, Danny is a kid who has quite a bit left to master. His at the last minute written report on the ocean received a grade of F and his potato salad tried to stab him with a fork. If it weren't for the encouragement of his parents and best friend, Wendell (an iguana), he might just give up hope.
Written as half comic strip and half straight prose, Dragonbreath is a funny enough little story, though that's about as much as I can say for it. The comic strip bits are sort of like a less funny Calvin & Hobbes and the undersea adventure that ends up being most of the story (Danny goes to visit his cousin Edward, a sea monster, when he's ordered to rewrite his report on the ocean) is like an educational episode of SpongeBob Squarepants.
Harrison preferred the comic book parts of the book, as did I. The written parts feel like they were written by someone Harrison's age and not just for someone Harrison's age. Ursula Vernon would be better off writing a straight up Dragonbreath comic book or even comic strip. In fact, the jokes and storyline read very much like a weekly comic strip.
Harrison's favorite character was the fun-loving and goofy Danny, while I thought the cautious and nerdy sidekick, Wendell, to be more interesting. Unfortunately, there's not enough done with either character, and the story has less plot development than most picture books. Still, it's a harmless bit of fun and an easy read for kids looking for something light. And a living potato salad is kind of funny, though not as funny as when Calvin makes his oatmeal into a monster.
Dragonbreath is the first in a series and a good way for early readers to get engaged with reading. Harrison thought it was kind of funny and finished it in about half an hour. I thought it was less funny and finished it in about 10 minutes. So, for the amount of effort it takes, the payoff is acceptable. Still, you get what you pay for. This one didn't cost us much in the way if effort and didn't get us much in the way of enjoyment. Neither Harrison nor I are particularly interested in reading further in this series ("Are you sure? I might want to read further in the series." says Harrison, looking over my shoulder as I write), but both of us "liked it pretty much" as Harrison says. If "liked it pretty much" seems like a less than thrilling endorsement, you're getting the picture. Your kid will like it, but probably not love it. They certainly won't remember it fondly years from now. But then, not every book needs to be that kind of memorable. Some books are just there to be enjoyed in the moment and then we move on to what's next. In this case, what's next is probably Shakespeare's Secret, a book Harrison and I are both enjoying far more.
Written as half comic strip and half straight prose, Dragonbreath is a funny enough little story, though that's about as much as I can say for it. The comic strip bits are sort of like a less funny Calvin & Hobbes and the undersea adventure that ends up being most of the story (Danny goes to visit his cousin Edward, a sea monster, when he's ordered to rewrite his report on the ocean) is like an educational episode of SpongeBob Squarepants.
Harrison preferred the comic book parts of the book, as did I. The written parts feel like they were written by someone Harrison's age and not just for someone Harrison's age. Ursula Vernon would be better off writing a straight up Dragonbreath comic book or even comic strip. In fact, the jokes and storyline read very much like a weekly comic strip.
Harrison's favorite character was the fun-loving and goofy Danny, while I thought the cautious and nerdy sidekick, Wendell, to be more interesting. Unfortunately, there's not enough done with either character, and the story has less plot development than most picture books. Still, it's a harmless bit of fun and an easy read for kids looking for something light. And a living potato salad is kind of funny, though not as funny as when Calvin makes his oatmeal into a monster.
Dragonbreath is the first in a series and a good way for early readers to get engaged with reading. Harrison thought it was kind of funny and finished it in about half an hour. I thought it was less funny and finished it in about 10 minutes. So, for the amount of effort it takes, the payoff is acceptable. Still, you get what you pay for. This one didn't cost us much in the way if effort and didn't get us much in the way of enjoyment. Neither Harrison nor I are particularly interested in reading further in this series ("Are you sure? I might want to read further in the series." says Harrison, looking over my shoulder as I write), but both of us "liked it pretty much" as Harrison says. If "liked it pretty much" seems like a less than thrilling endorsement, you're getting the picture. Your kid will like it, but probably not love it. They certainly won't remember it fondly years from now. But then, not every book needs to be that kind of memorable. Some books are just there to be enjoyed in the moment and then we move on to what's next. In this case, what's next is probably Shakespeare's Secret, a book Harrison and I are both enjoying far more.
What's Harrison (and Kester) Reading?: Harrison's Summer Reading Selections
What's Harrison reading?
- The Bible
- The Chronicles of Prydain, Book One: The Book of Three by Lloyd Alexander
- Dragonbreath by Ursula Vernon
- Shakespeare's Secret by Elise Broach
- The Sisters Grimm by Michael Buckley
- Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson
Monday, June 11, 2012
6-11-12
What Should Kester Read?
- Housekeeping by Marilynne Robinson
- Underworld by Don DeLillo
What else is Kester reading?
- The Daily Bible: NIV Version (daily devotional)
- Moby Dick by Herman Melville (Required Reading Revisited book club)
- Redshirts by John Scalzi
Wittgenstein's Mistress
Rene Descartes famously wrote cogito ergo sum; translated "I think, therefore I am."
I often don't know what I think until I've written it down or said it aloud.
A wise old professor of mine once told us young bucks that "you don't have to say everything you think."
I'm often driven half crazy by the fact that it seems like everyone feels the need to write down every thought they have and post it online. Because you don't have to (and often shouldn't) say everything you think.
But we often don't know what we think until we've written it down or said it aloud.
Which means we don't know who we are.
Kate isn't sure who she is and we aren't so sure either. She may be the last person left on earth. She may be crazy. She may be both. So she's writing notes and leaving them around. "In the beginning, sometimes I left messages in the street." So begins David Markson's Wittgenstein's Mistress, Kate's message to us/herself/nobody; her working out of what she's thinking and who she is. Wary as I normally am of experimental fiction, it would quickly become my favorite genre if it were always this good. In the hands of a Jonathan Safran Foer, this would have been nothing more than adorable ramblings packaged as deep. In the hands of a master craftsman like Markson, it is philosophy of mathematics/the mind/language wrapped up deceptively as adorable ramblings.
Part of me wishes I had read this entire book is one sitting. Part of me is glad that I only took it 2 and 3 pages at a time. All of me knows that this won't be my last interaction with Markson's book. It helps me understand what I'm thinking. It helps me understand who I am.
I often don't know what I think until I've written it down or said it aloud.
A wise old professor of mine once told us young bucks that "you don't have to say everything you think."
I'm often driven half crazy by the fact that it seems like everyone feels the need to write down every thought they have and post it online. Because you don't have to (and often shouldn't) say everything you think.
But we often don't know what we think until we've written it down or said it aloud.
Which means we don't know who we are.
Kate isn't sure who she is and we aren't so sure either. She may be the last person left on earth. She may be crazy. She may be both. So she's writing notes and leaving them around. "In the beginning, sometimes I left messages in the street." So begins David Markson's Wittgenstein's Mistress, Kate's message to us/herself/nobody; her working out of what she's thinking and who she is. Wary as I normally am of experimental fiction, it would quickly become my favorite genre if it were always this good. In the hands of a Jonathan Safran Foer, this would have been nothing more than adorable ramblings packaged as deep. In the hands of a master craftsman like Markson, it is philosophy of mathematics/the mind/language wrapped up deceptively as adorable ramblings.
Part of me wishes I had read this entire book is one sitting. Part of me is glad that I only took it 2 and 3 pages at a time. All of me knows that this won't be my last interaction with Markson's book. It helps me understand what I'm thinking. It helps me understand who I am.
The City In Which I Love You
For whatever reason, I find it next to impossible to review poetry. I know what I like, but find that my best case I can make for liking it is simply reading it aloud to others. I liked Li-Young Lee's The City In Which I Love You a lot. And the best case I can make for it is this:
Choose a quiet
place, a ruins, a house no more
a house,
under whose stone archway I stood
one day to duck the rain.
The roofless floor, vertical
studs, eight wood columns
supporting nothing,
two staircases careening to nowhere, all
make it seem
a sketch, notes to a house, a three-
dimensional grid negotiating
absences,
an idea
receding into indefinite rain,
or else that idea
emerging, skeletal
against the hammered sky, a
human thing, scoured, seen clean
through from here to an iron heaven.
A place where things
were said and done,
there you can remember
what you need to
remember. Melancholy is useful. Bring yours.
There are no neighbors to wonder
who you are,
what you might be doing
walking there,
stopping now and then
to touch a crumbling brick
or stand in a doorway
framed by the day.
No one has to know you
think of another doorway
that framed the rain or news of war
depending on which way you faced.
You think of sea-roads and earth-roads
you traveled once, and always
in the same direction: away.
You think
of a woman, a favorite
dress, your father's old breasts
the last time you saw him, his breath,
brief, the leaf
you've torn from a vine and which you hold now
to your cheek like a train ticket
or a piece of cloth, a little hand or blade-
it all depends
on the course of your memory.
It's a place
for those who own no place
to correspond to ruins in the soul.
It's mine.
It's all yours.
The Oresteia
For the first time since What Should Kester Read? first started, I have been assigned a collection of plays (and of poetry, but that's another blog post). The collection of plays; Agamemnon, The Libation Bearers, and The Eumenides is, in fact, a trilogy of Greek tragedies known as The Oresteia. Written by the deeply religious thinker Aeschylus, the story focuses on the House of Atreus and the curse upon it.
It seems almost silly for me to refer to such a classic work as brilliant, but brilliant is what it is. It was once written (though, Google be damned, I cannot seem to find the source) that "justice without mercy is tyranny and mercy without justice is sentimentality." The Oresteia addresses these themes of justice and mercy with great thoughtfulness and care. In brief, the story goes that Agamemnon sacrifices he and his wife, Clytemnestra's, daughter, Iphigenia to the gods. Upon his return from Troy, Clytemnestra takes revenge upon Agamemnon and kills him and his concubine, Cassandra. Agamemnon and Clyemnestra's son, Orestes, then kills Clyemnestra, seeking justice for the death of his father. Clyemnestra's ghost then urges the Furies to torment Orestes, who seeks refuge from Apollo and then Athena.
What makes the play so compelling is the delicate balance it strikes between the themes of justice and mercy. Each of these killings is, in some sense, justified, and yet each killing leads only to more killing. And so, Orestes ultimately appeals for mercy. And, in light of where all these justice killings have gotten us, mercy seems the prudent response.
What follows then is a warning from the Furies of what will be wrought upon mankind should justice be too quickly dismissed. Without a healthy fear and awe for justice, there will be more killing, but of an increased senselessness.
In the end, the play is a reminder that justice and mercy must act within and alongside one another; that too err to firmly on one side is to, in fact, undermine both sides.
It seems almost silly for me to refer to such a classic work as brilliant, but brilliant is what it is. It was once written (though, Google be damned, I cannot seem to find the source) that "justice without mercy is tyranny and mercy without justice is sentimentality." The Oresteia addresses these themes of justice and mercy with great thoughtfulness and care. In brief, the story goes that Agamemnon sacrifices he and his wife, Clytemnestra's, daughter, Iphigenia to the gods. Upon his return from Troy, Clytemnestra takes revenge upon Agamemnon and kills him and his concubine, Cassandra. Agamemnon and Clyemnestra's son, Orestes, then kills Clyemnestra, seeking justice for the death of his father. Clyemnestra's ghost then urges the Furies to torment Orestes, who seeks refuge from Apollo and then Athena.
What makes the play so compelling is the delicate balance it strikes between the themes of justice and mercy. Each of these killings is, in some sense, justified, and yet each killing leads only to more killing. And so, Orestes ultimately appeals for mercy. And, in light of where all these justice killings have gotten us, mercy seems the prudent response.
What follows then is a warning from the Furies of what will be wrought upon mankind should justice be too quickly dismissed. Without a healthy fear and awe for justice, there will be more killing, but of an increased senselessness.
In the end, the play is a reminder that justice and mercy must act within and alongside one another; that too err to firmly on one side is to, in fact, undermine both sides.
Joan Didion
While usually I am assigned five books for any given month's What Should Kester Read?, this month I was assigned four books and then one author whose work I was free to choose from. That author was Joan Didion. Having never read Didion, I opted for non-fiction and eventually narrowed my choices down to The White Album or The Year of Magical Thinking. Unable to choose between the two, I decided that I would begin both and then finish one. In the end, I finished both. And so, this review is of both books and their one author.
First of all, based upon these two books alone, I would count myself a fan of Joan Didion's work. Didion is critical in the classic sense of reporting; offering an involved analysis of a subject and not in the new news sense of simply naysaying louder than the competition. Whether she is focused on politics or religion or the more personal story of the loss of her husband, her eye is keen and her insights are sharp. The White Album is neither an apologetic for the 1960s nor a condemnation, it is an honest look and the ups and downs and ins and outs of a turbulent and conflicted decade. The Year of Magical Thinking isn't simply heartfelt, but also heady; approaching the topic of death and loss as both reporter and subject. Her willingness to place herself within her assigned essays of The White Album never undermine her work as subjective reporting often can. When she takes on her own loss as the reporter she is, it is never so objective as to leave the reader cold. The stories Didion tells, in either case, are enhanced and deepened by her being part of them and yet also by her ability to stand outside of them. It's a fine line to walk for any writer and Didion handles it deftly. She is a gifted writer, to be sure, and I would be curious to get her take on almost any topic. I am certainly excited to begin reading more.
First of all, based upon these two books alone, I would count myself a fan of Joan Didion's work. Didion is critical in the classic sense of reporting; offering an involved analysis of a subject and not in the new news sense of simply naysaying louder than the competition. Whether she is focused on politics or religion or the more personal story of the loss of her husband, her eye is keen and her insights are sharp. The White Album is neither an apologetic for the 1960s nor a condemnation, it is an honest look and the ups and downs and ins and outs of a turbulent and conflicted decade. The Year of Magical Thinking isn't simply heartfelt, but also heady; approaching the topic of death and loss as both reporter and subject. Her willingness to place herself within her assigned essays of The White Album never undermine her work as subjective reporting often can. When she takes on her own loss as the reporter she is, it is never so objective as to leave the reader cold. The stories Didion tells, in either case, are enhanced and deepened by her being part of them and yet also by her ability to stand outside of them. It's a fine line to walk for any writer and Didion handles it deftly. She is a gifted writer, to be sure, and I would be curious to get her take on almost any topic. I am certainly excited to begin reading more.
Sunday, June 10, 2012
6-10-12
What Should Kester Read?
- The City In Which I Love You by Li-Young Lee
- Housekeeping by Marilynne Robinson
- Underworld by Don DeLillo
- Wittgenstein's Mistress by David Markson
What else is Kester reading?
- The Daily Bible: NIV Version (daily devotional)
- Moby Dick by Herman Melville (Required Reading Revisited book club)
Monday, June 4, 2012
6-4-12
What Should Kester Read?
- Averno by Louise Gluck
- The City In Which I Love You by Li-Young Lee
- The Oresteia by Aeschylus
- Underworld by Don DeLillo
- Wittgenstein's Mistress by David Markson
- The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion
What else is Kester reading?
- The Daily Bible: NIV Version (daily devotional)
- Moby Dick by Herman Melville (Required Reading Revisited book club)
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
What Should Kester Read? (June)
This month's What Should Kester Read? looks a few selections too long, but with good reason. When my friend and co-worker, Jenn, made her picks for June, she asked if she might have two collections of poetry, given how short each collection was. I was happy to make this concession. She also assigned me Joan Didion, but left it to me to decide which work I would read. I narrowed it down to two and decided that I would begin both and finish one (maybe both). And so...
What Should Kester Read?
What Should Kester Read?
- Averno by Louise Gluck
- The City In Which I Love You by Li-Young Lee
- The Oresteia by Aeschylus
- Underworld by Don DeLillo
- The White Album by Joan Didion
- Wittgenstein's Mistress by David Markson
- The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion
- The Daily Bible: NIV Version (daily devotional)
- Moby Dick by Herman Melville (Required Reading Revisited book club)
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
5-23-12
What's Kester reading?
- Cryptonomicon by Neal Stephenson
- The Daily Bible: NIV Version (daily devotional)
Look Homeward, Angel
"Wherever you go, there you are," so the old proverb goes. In a way, that's what Thomas Wolfe's Look Homeward, Angel is about. In another way, it's not about much of anything and in another way, I'm not sure what it's about. Not about much of anything in the sense that Angel is driven more by the characters and their conversations and connections than it is driven by plot. Not sure what it's about in that this is a book that I'm going to have to sit with for awhile and quite possibly re-read before I can get any kind of handle on it.
But let's get back to that first one. This is a story about the places we're from and the people that bore us and how getting away isn't the same as being free. It's about how we're shaped and what by and what for. It's about so much more than that. It's about something too big and beautiful for me to explain without some more time spent, but the month quickly draws to a close and you were promised a review.
Let's do this. Let me give you an excerpt from just over halfway through the book and see if it doesn't help. This is my expurgated version of a conversation that takes place between the main character's brother, Ben, and the family physician, Doctor Coker.
"In Christ's name, Coker," he said, "what's it all about? Are you able to tell me? What in heaven's name are we here for? You're a doctor--you ought to know something."
"Why?" he said deliberately. "Why should I know anything?"
"Where do we come from? Where do we go to? What are we here for? What the hell is it all about?" Ben cried out furiously in a rising voice.
"What do you want me to say?" said Coker. "What am I? A mind reader? A spiritualist? I'm your physician, not your priest. I've seen them born, and I've seen them die. What happens to them before or after, I couldn't say."
"Damn that!" said Ben. "What happens to them in between?"
The conversation that continues is, in many ways, Angel's ongoing conversation, but it's Ben's question about the "in between" that is the linchpin. It's not a question that Wolfe gives a definitive answer to, as the job of fiction is to ask the question, not to answer it. It is our job, dear reader, to wrestle with that question and to answer it with our lives.
Later in the book, we get a glimpse into Wolfe's thoughts on the subject when Ben asserts that "There is no happy land. There is no end to hunger." It's not an answer that I'm satisfied with, but it is one that explains the despair that hangs over big brother Ben Gant and the main character, Eugene Gant, and the entire Gant family. They are folks without a reason to get out of bed in the morning, and yet they keep getting up and out of bed. This is a story of strivers, not seekers, and it may be that man was born to seek more than strive. But that's me beginning to provide my own answers before you've even had a chance to read the questions yourself. Get the book. Read the story. Wrestle with the questions. Search for answers. Live them out. Do the work that books like this challenge us to do.
But let's get back to that first one. This is a story about the places we're from and the people that bore us and how getting away isn't the same as being free. It's about how we're shaped and what by and what for. It's about so much more than that. It's about something too big and beautiful for me to explain without some more time spent, but the month quickly draws to a close and you were promised a review.
Let's do this. Let me give you an excerpt from just over halfway through the book and see if it doesn't help. This is my expurgated version of a conversation that takes place between the main character's brother, Ben, and the family physician, Doctor Coker.
"In Christ's name, Coker," he said, "what's it all about? Are you able to tell me? What in heaven's name are we here for? You're a doctor--you ought to know something."
"Why?" he said deliberately. "Why should I know anything?"
"Where do we come from? Where do we go to? What are we here for? What the hell is it all about?" Ben cried out furiously in a rising voice.
"What do you want me to say?" said Coker. "What am I? A mind reader? A spiritualist? I'm your physician, not your priest. I've seen them born, and I've seen them die. What happens to them before or after, I couldn't say."
"Damn that!" said Ben. "What happens to them in between?"
The conversation that continues is, in many ways, Angel's ongoing conversation, but it's Ben's question about the "in between" that is the linchpin. It's not a question that Wolfe gives a definitive answer to, as the job of fiction is to ask the question, not to answer it. It is our job, dear reader, to wrestle with that question and to answer it with our lives.
Later in the book, we get a glimpse into Wolfe's thoughts on the subject when Ben asserts that "There is no happy land. There is no end to hunger." It's not an answer that I'm satisfied with, but it is one that explains the despair that hangs over big brother Ben Gant and the main character, Eugene Gant, and the entire Gant family. They are folks without a reason to get out of bed in the morning, and yet they keep getting up and out of bed. This is a story of strivers, not seekers, and it may be that man was born to seek more than strive. But that's me beginning to provide my own answers before you've even had a chance to read the questions yourself. Get the book. Read the story. Wrestle with the questions. Search for answers. Live them out. Do the work that books like this challenge us to do.
Saturday, May 19, 2012
5-20-12
What Should Kester Read?
- Look Homeward Angel by Thomas Wolfe
- Cryptonomicon by Neal Stephenson
- The Daily Bible: NIV Version (daily devotional)
- The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway (Required Reading Revisited book club)
- We Only Know So Much by Elizabeth Crane
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
5-15-12
What Should Kester Read?
- Look Homeward Angel by Thomas Wolfe
- Cryptonomicon by Neal Stephenson
- The Daily Bible: NIV Version (daily devotional)
- Five Novels of the 1960s and 70s by Philip K. Dick
- We Only Know So Much by Elizabeth Crane
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
5-8-12
What Should Kester Read?
- Look Homeward Angel by Thomas Wolfe
- Cryptonomicon by Neal Stephenson
- The Daily Bible: NIV Version (daily devotional)
- Five Novels of the 1960s and 70s by Philip K. Dick
- Giving Up The Ghost by Eric Nuzum
- My Life With The Saints by James Martin
- Runaways, Vol. 3: The Good Die Young by Brian K. Vaughan
- We Only Know So Much by Elizabeth Crane
Sunday, May 6, 2012
5-6-12
What Should Kester Read?
- Look Homeward Angel by Thomas Wolfe
- Cryptonomicon by Neal Stephenson
- The Daily Bible: NIV Version (daily devotional)
- Five Novels of the 1960s and 70s by Philip K. Dick
- My Life With The Saints by James Martin
- This Will End In Tears by Adam Houghtaling
- We Only Know So Much by Elizabeth Crane
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)