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March 05, 2007
Yes, I Still Read Books
What with all the viruses, sock-knitting, house-buying, house-impaling, three-turning and such, you're probably wondering if I'm once again listing all the books I'm reading this year as I did last year. Or maybe you have important things to worry about. I don't know.
Yes, I'm still reading, despite everything else that's going on. Remember, I'd rather read than sleep. That's how I fall asleep most nights - with a book still clutched in my hand. I finally took a minute tonight to set up the 2007 list.
Yeah, it's pretty meager so far. In my defense the last book I read in 2006 (King Dork) ran into the first 10 or so days of 2007. I tend to fall asleep rather quickly these days.
After that I read Possible Side Effects, the latest from Augusten Burroughs. It's fun. Nothing much to seperate it from any collection of essays from any skilled humorist. It's worth the read, especially if you have to spend a few hours on a plane and need something to keep you amused.
Then it was on to Truck: A Love Story by Michael Perry. Again, a pleasant enough read. It's a memoir of a year in a tiny Wisconsin town, told by a writer/volunteer firefighter as he falls in love and restores his truck. Now, I know that with a title like Truck: A Love Story, there's going to be a lot of stuff about trucks. Too much stuff about trucks. Perhaps I'm not very bright for spending three weeks reading this book and constantly thinking, "Damn. There's a lot of detailed information about really old trucks in this book." Still, it was engaging enough to keep me going, although a bit slow at times. Like when there are huge 27-page passages about the transmissions of 1957 International trucks.
Okay, maybe those passages weren't actually 27 pages long, but sometimes it felt like it.
I needed some fiction, so next I went for The Memory of Running by Ron McLarty. This was recommended to me by Kathie, a reader of this-here blog who teaches high school English.
If Kathie ever recommends a book to you, listen to her. She knows her stuff. Loved this book. Really. Loser alcoholic named Smithy in Rhode Island loses his parents in a horrific auto accident, then learns his long-missing sister has been found dead in Los Angeles. Despite being nearly 300 pounds and addicted to beer and smokes, he takes off on his bike in a drunken haze one night that leads him to pedalling cross-country to claim his sister's body.
That would have been plenty for me. There's a subplot involing Smithy and his parents' paraplegic next-door neighbor that I could have done without.
While shopping at Target one day recently, I noticed The Elegant Gathering of White Snows by Kris Radish. It's about a bunch of women in rural Wisconsin who up and start walking.
Hey! It's in rural Wisconsin, like Truck! And it's about wandering off in search of ... something, like Memory of Running! This is a great idea! In 2007, I'll read nothing but books that are interconnected in cosmic ways like that!
This might possibly be the worst reading decision I've made in my entire life.
Seriously. I'm 150 or so pages into this thing. Today, Clara Jane yanked the bookmark out of it, and I honestly think the work required to find the proper page just isn't worth it, despite the fact that once I hit the 50-page mark, I pretty much refuse to quit a book, no matter how awful it is.
This is possibly going to be the exception to the rule.
Now, there was a time in my life when I really liked "chick lit". Back before it was called "chick lit". While I don't think it was particularly well-written, Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood struck a chord with me. I also liked Bridget Jones' Diary, along with a lot of other books about women struggling to find their place in the world.
I wonder, though, if I'd like those books if I read them for the first time today, at this stage in my life.
I've always considered myself a feminist. Always. I remember arguing about the Equal Rights Amendment with my father when I was eight years old. In my mid-twenties or so, back in the late '90s when such books started appearing, I was delighted. Finally! Women writers are getting attention and making serious takes on what womanhood is like!
But then it turned into a genre. A big, money-making, cheesy genre. Publishing houses love genres; it's what keeps them in business, those paperbacks with cute (or sexy or scary, depending on your genre) covers that catch your attention more than the title or description. It gauls me that some really great books written by women, about women get lumped in with some real crap. But I'm not going to go on that tirade. There was an anonymous editorial published in Boston's Weekly Dig last August that hits a lot of the key points. I don't feel the need to reinvent that particular wheel. I just wish the author of the article had put her name on it.
Anyway, back to this abomination of a book I can't be bothered to finish reading. It's a great example of faux feminism. Eight women are so fed up with ... what? We're never really told ... that they just get up and start walking ... where? In a circle around the county, as far as I can tell because ... um, I haven't figured that out yet.
And yet, this little constitutional garners national media attention! Women! Out walking! Oh my Jesus God, alert Walter Cronkite! Wait, isn't he dead? No? Well, get that hot guy from CNN with the gray hair! We need to cover these walking women who are changing the world by walking!
How are they changing the world? Why, through the power of female friendship and that special bond all women inherantly share via the commonality of similar pelvic organs.
Bullshit.
I know the power of female friendship. I do. I have some amazing friends who've overcome incredible odds. I have friends who, like me, struggle with the crap our society foists on us about what it means to be a woman/wife/mother/daughter.
I've also had plenty of women friends who damn near sucked the life out of me. Women who couldn't or wouldn't do a damn thing for themselves if their lives depended on it. Women who often called themselves feminists, or sang the praises of the strength of women (while poking great fun at the weaknesses of men), who didn't have the guts to get up and walk, regardless of how many friends were standing behind them, screaming, "Stand up and walk! You can do it! Here, I'll hold your hand. I'll even pull you. Oh, what the fuck. Just get on my back and ride. I'll haul your weak, lazy, entitled ass around because that's what girlfriends are supposed to do. Women never turn their backs on their friends!"
I no longer believe that just having womanhood in common is enough. We're not all sisters and never will be. As I've gotten older, I've preferred to create friendships based on who I am as a person and who my friends are as people. I don't want to be friends with people who constantly needed to be hauled around by me. Not that I won't stand by a friend who's going through a rough time. That's different entirely. There's a difference between dealing with the crap life deals and playing the victim.
Anyway, as I'm reading the atrocity, I keep thinking that on the surface it's supposed to be a pro-woman, feminist story, but it's anything but. Well, I don't know. Maybe it is, but the writing's so vague and there are so many plot holes that it's impossible to tell. All I know is I've yet to find anything I can respect in any of the characters. Nothing. They're weak, most of them stuck on shit that happened to them years ago.
Guess what. We all have bad shit that happens when we're young. We have bad shit that happens when we're middle-aged. We have bad shit that happen when we're old. Such is life. Strong people deal with those things, learn from them, and don't let them ruin their lives. Sure, those ugly things will rear their nasty heads at times. The difference is whether you plow through it with all your might, or let it dictate the rest of your life.
A book about women who have the strength to wander around the county? That's not pro-woman at all. That's "Oh, look at the poor little women who've suffered so and have finally, after decades, gained the strength to deal with their shit and move on." That's pro-vicitm.
And yet, I wonder why I'm being harder on the women in An Elegant Gathering of White Snows than I was on Smithy in The Memory of Running. Is it because they're women, or because they have the misfortune of being trapped in a really badly-written book? I'm going with the badly-written option. Smithy was weak and had let a traumatic youth dictate and nearly destroy his life, only getting his shit together years later when he lost everyone. But at least his author did him the service of letting the readers in on why he was the way he was.
Yep, I think I'm gonna quit this bitch, maybe move on to Candy Girl - A Year in the Life of an Unlikely Stripper by Diablo Cody. I have a feeling its message is going to be better for women than the dreck I've been reading.
Posted by Robin at March 5, 2007 09:20 PM
Comments
Rock on! I just spent the weekend with 20 or so women and one woman (Late 50's perhaps?)dominated every conversation with her loud braying voice, telling us how she was such a take charge kind of gal, only EVERY single sentence this woman uttered started with "Daddy said..." Daddy was her husband. Daddy used to drink a lot. Daddy said a lot of stupid, mean things. Daddy sounded like a total knob. But this woman who wanted everyone to think she was so totally in charge couldn't have a single thought unless "daddy said". There were times when some of us had to step out of the room so we didn't hurl.
Sorry, just a little feminist decompression.
Posted by: Tina at March 6, 2007 05:57 AM
Another example, although not needed, of chick lit gone bad is the series The Quilter's Apprentice. I picked it up at the thrift store (a sign!) thinking, "oh, a book about quilters! Sounds good!"
WRONG. It's Chick Lit! And the author used a quilting group IN PENNSYLVANIA NO LESS!
I liked Bridget Jones' Diary. Loved it, loved it, laughed out loud. The movie blew, but I liked the book.
16 classes until Spring Break!
Posted by: allison at March 6, 2007 06:51 AM
Be sure and read Diablo Cody's book before you come up here, and then I can show you all the awesome strip joints she talks about in her book. It's hilarious.
Posted by: Wendy at March 6, 2007 07:21 AM
I also loved The Memory of Running, yet cringed whenever the neighbor was involved.
And, I hate it when "feminism" is tossed around in popular literature. I haven't seen or read Radish's book, but unless the women are walking to raise money to send to women in Iraq or Darfur or somewhere else, it isn't feminism.
In The Memory of Running, Smithy's cross-country journey was never made out to be something other than an intense personal journey. Personal journeys are important - just don't call them something else. I don't mean to say that feminism isn't personal because it is. However, if feminism is to ever change national or international policies or the patriarchy, it has to move beyond the personal. The personal is political, but only if one makes it so.
Writers who keep feminism on the personal, individual level are actually doing a disservice because it keeps feminism harmless.
Posted by: carrie at March 6, 2007 09:36 AM
I love that you read something by Michael Perry. I've spent half of the summers of my life in New Auburn, WI (the camp I went to/was a counselor at/directed is there) and reading his stuff is like being there for me. Especially Population 485. I know the exact people and places he talks about, and it just makes me happy.
Posted by: Meghan at March 6, 2007 10:24 AM
I need the escape from reality into some good literature. I will check out your recommendation.
Did you see Jack's Big Music Show is on CD now?
Cassie
Posted by: Cassie at March 6, 2007 10:40 AM
Well I read the content of "Candy Girl" when it was a blogspot blog called "Pussyranch" and Diablo Cody wrote as "Darling Girl." Yes, it was good. ;)
Posted by: Eden at March 6, 2007 10:40 AM
Me Too! I got started reading Diablo Cody's "Pussy Ranch" on CityPages -- it's usually hilarious and I can't even remember how I ran onto it.
I thought "Candy Girl" was a great book, I enjoyed the reading even though I've never set foot in a strip club -- but when I finished, there was a part of me that wanted to go just for the people-watching! It was a real-person-real-story-of-a-real-experience, and I think I finished it in about three days because I was reading every time I had a minute.
Posted by: Debbie at March 6, 2007 11:24 AM
Radish's book does not get better. Trust me. Angry Housewives Eating Bon Bons is better (even though still not great). Just walk away from the book.
Posted by: Chris at March 6, 2007 11:29 AM
I have to do more reading. More real reading and less fluff reading. If I could only put down my knitting long enough.
Posted by: Dixie at March 6, 2007 02:57 PM
So glad you liked Memory of Running. His new one is titled The Traveler. I liked it a lot too. I have a great one that is technically listed as young adult fiction. It is called The Book Thief. Amazing book.
Remember that book She's Come Undone by Wally Lamb? I hated, I mean hated, that book. Oprah said she was so shocked it was actually written by a man..bull shit..That female protagonist had to deal with every single fear and trauma that a women could possible live through, only to be saved by a man. I was so angry when I finished that I popped off a letter to the author, Wally Lamb. The bugger's eyes are probably still burning. hahah He never wrote back.
Ok, I am calm now.
Kathie
Posted by: Kathie at March 6, 2007 08:46 PM
I'm glad you hated Radish's book. It was recommended to me by a friend whose opinion I usually respect. I don't know what happened to her with this one. I hated it -- I couldn't tell one woman from another and couldn't see the point of the walk.
Posted by: Katya at March 6, 2007 09:01 PM
Hey Kathy
I hated Come Undone too!!! I had to read it for a senior level Women's Studies course. This course was taught by a male professor who was not asked to return to teach the course. Funny!!!
Robin, I wish I could keep interest in books like you. Maybe I cant because I constantly have a pile of required reading that is shoved down my throat!!
I could never give up InStyle or British Vougue, no matter how terrible or petty they are. Plus I can flip through those in the sauna.
Posted by: Katrina at March 7, 2007 01:33 PM
Tina, oh, I know that type of woman. If someone - male or female - has to repeatedly announce how strong s/he is, chances are s/he's not. Not even a little. Calling her husband "Daddy"? Holy shit.
Allison, I've seen those books and had a feeling they'd be wretched. I loved "Bridget Jones' Diary", too. Even liked the movie. The second book, eh. I didn't even bother with the movie.
Wendy, I'm going to hold you to that. I don't know if I'm going to get to "Candy Girl" this time around. After that last awful book, I decided to read something I knew would be awesome - "The Heart is a Lonely Hunter" by Carson McCullers. I'll probably return "Candy Girl to the library and immediately get back on the waiting list for it.
Carrie, my main problem with Norma goes right along with what's being discussed here - all the bravado about how tough and strong she was, but she never did much to prove it. I didn't buy that she and Smithy would fall in love, just like that. I give them six months before he's fat and drunk again and she's living with her mom.
Meghan, small world! I'm thinking about putting "Population 485" on my list.
Cassie, thanks for the head's up about the Jack CD! I hadn't heard.
Chris, I walked away. Ran, actually. It's going back to the library tomorrow.
Dixie, my knitting has definitely interfered with my reading. Were it not for the current sock obsession, I'd be reading "Candy Girl" and the Carson McCullers book simultaneously, instead of playing either-or.
Kathie, ooooooooooooh, I HATED "She's Come Undone"! I was okay with it, even though I thought it was completely unbelievable that one person could have every single stereotypical problem happen to her. But the last 20 pages pissed me off to no end for the exact reasons you mentioned.
Katya, I'm glad that I wasn't the only one who couldn't tell the women apart and couldn't figure out why they were walking. I kept thinking that maybe some pages were stuck together and I missed some pertinent info, because surely it wasn't that badly written.
Katrina, at first I laughed at having a male professor for a women's studies class, then I remembered that my African-American Lit. professor was white. And I was the only white person in the class.
When I was taking English lit. classes, reading for pleasure was out of the question. Last thing I wanted to do. If I was going to read something for myself, it was going to be a music magazine.
Posted by: Robin at March 7, 2007 06:19 PM
