Dubliners

I'm very ashamed of myself for taking this long to update. *peers around, desperately looking for a fitting distraction* Look! My first ever review of a short story collection! :D

In my Foundations of Literary Studies class, we were assigned to read James Joyce's novella "The Dead," which is featured in his collection Dubliners. I thoroughly enjoyed "The Dead," so I decided to read Dubliners over my Christmas break. I love short story collections, and Dubliners by far is one of the best I have ever read. I consider it the literary equivalent of a concept album, for each story is united by a common theme of social, psychological, and personal paralysis afflicting Dubliners of all ages. Joyce himself was terrified of the prospect of ending up like these characters--jaded and internally suffocating--and listed this fear as one of the reasons he fled Ireland. I think Joyce's strong feelings about the subject, justified or not, is exactly the reason why these stories are so powerful.

The fifteen short stories are divided up in four sections that span childhood, adolescence, adulthood, and public life. Most of the story lines are fairly commonplace--unrequited love, jealousy, and inferiority complexes. But, if you're even the slightest bit familiar with any of Joyce's work, you'll know that you don't read Joyce for plot. Joyce is a genius at creating complex characters and evocative atmosphere and absolutely gorgeous prose. And those three things are exactly what stand out so much about these short stories. Even if you've read a hundred stories about someone in a relationship with commitment issues, I dare say Joyce's "Eveline" will be the most exquisitely crafted one you'll ever read. That being said, as much as I liked the stories about children and teens, the aforementioned "Eveline" and "Araby" being my two favorites from those sections, I think the latter stories about adults and public life are the most memorable. My three favorites are "Little Cloud," a riveting tale of frustration and friendship; "A Painful Case," a heartbreaking story that relates the doomed relationship of lonely bank clerk and closet socialist Duffy and the wife of a sea captain; and "The Dead," the novella that chronicles painfully awkward intellectual Gabriel Conroy's night at his aunt's party, which leads to a startling revelation about Gabriel's own wife.

As you're reading this review,you may be thinking, "Ahem, Zella, it's all fine and good that you want to read dreary stories about sad people in Ireland, but I don't need to read a whole book full of it." I can understand that. The stories are certainly sad--a book devoted to the study of figurative paralysis isn't exactly a pick-me-up read. And because of the emphasis on character and atmosphere, the pacing is measured and the stories can seem a bit anti-climactic, if the endings aren't flat-out sorrowful or shocking. I know that type of fiction isn't for everyone. In that case, perhaps just read "The Dead," easily the most famous of the selections in Dubliners. The story is full of the superb characterization, atmosphere, and wordsmithing that is a hallmark of the other stories and is perhaps the most blatant in its portrayal of paralysis. The final paragraph is one of the most analyzed in all of literature. Regardless of whether you want to delve into the text that deeply--though it actually is fun! No, really! Don't glare at me and curse English majors under your breath--Joyce's beautiful prose, which there are not enough adjectives to adequately praise, is well on display here.

If you're looking for some meaty reading this holidays, give Dubliners a read. This selection is probably one of the more accessible of Joyce's works. If you want to sample Joyce but would prefer not to read through the whole book, at least give "The Dead" a chance.

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Announcements: I am so, so, so, so sorry for not having posted a book review in three months. Things have been crazy lately, but I would like to return to posting regularly, if not weekly, in 2011. Next semester, I am taking four literature classes *gulp* and I am going to have a slightly easier work-study job, so maybe I'll be able to keep up better than this semester.

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This Week in Literary History: 29 December 1916: This ties in so well with my review today, but on this date in history, James Joyce published his novel Portrait of an Artist as a Young Man. Though Dubliners was published in 1914, this novel is the one that brought him fame. Of course, Joyce being Joyce, he followed this success with his landmark stream-of-consciousness novels Ulysses, which was censored for years after publication, and Finnegans Wake, which is widely considered one of the most difficult novels in the English language.

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Next Week: Probably a review of Stephen King's The Green Mile.

Atonement

Thirteen year old Briony Tallis is an aspiring writer--she has big plans for the play she has written that will be staged in honor of her older brother's visit home. Her older sister Cecilia is also busy ensuring that the party for their brother goes as planned, but she is even more preoccupied with her conflicted feelings for the son of the family's long-term charwoman--Robbie Turner--whom she alternately adores and despises. However, nothing about that sultry summer day goes according to plan. When Briony witnesses an encounter between Robbie and Cecilia, her ever-inventive imagination--and perhaps some more nefarious motives--cause her to accuse Robbie of a horrible crime, an accusation that will have profound consequences for all involved, Briony included.

I have long wanted to read this novel, so when Rebel recommended it to me a couple of weeks ago on my villain post, I couldn't resist reading it as soon as possible. As with all of the recommendations I have received from my readers, I was not disappointed. I loved this novel! (Thanks so much, Rebel!) Rebel explained that it was a great historical fiction romance that was sad but not sappy, and I wholeheartedly concur.

Atonement is a fascinating novel on several levels. I love how complex Ian McEwan made all of his characters, especially the main three--Robbie, Cecilia, and Briony. Though sometimes these characters were hard to sympathize with, they were always real. I was particularly impressed with McEwan's skill in writing Briony, a character who could very easily be wholly despicable. I can't say I ever truly liked her, but she is far more interesting and three-dimensional than I had imagined and that made this novel far more unpredictable--and enjoyable--because of it. McEwan's eloquent and lyrical (but always effortless) style was also a huge plus for me. I liked the precise, lush historical details, as well. McEwan manages to capture the atmosphere of a troubled upper-middle class English home in 1935 and the horrors of WWII at Dunkirk and at British military hospitals. In fact, the war scenes make for some of the best military fiction I've read in awhile, though I know that's not the main focus of the story.

I also enjoyed the structure that McEwan employed in telling this story. I am a huge fan of experimental plots, especially of the multi POV and non-linear variety. The first part of the novel focuses on that fateful summer day in 1935 when Robbie, Cecilia, and Briony's world is forever changed. Each chapter tells the story in third person narration from a different character's point of view, jumping through time and often retelling scenes in which more (or conflicting) information is presented through that character's perspective. If you prefer linear plots, this technique may drive you crazy, but I enjoyed it immensely, both for the literary technique involved and for the realistic way in which McEwan shows how different people perceive the same event in very different ways. After the superb first half, I expected to be somewhat disappointed with the remainder of the novel, which follows the characters through 1940. Instead, the historical detail and the compelling plot still kept me riveted. I especially enjoyed the ending--set in 1999. In my mind, the entire time I was reading this novel, my inner cynic kept thinking that I didn't want the ending to be happy, because that would just almost be too much of a cop-out (and I hate happily ever after story endings. *glares into distance whilst emoting*) But, at the same time, my more dreamy, secretly optimistic inner self wanted things to somehow be all right in the end--but not happily ever after. I was pleased that McEwan found a clever way to do both in concluding this novel.

Atonement is a haunting tale that probes the power of fiction, imagination, guilt, and--yes--atonement. It is also a wonderfully-crafted literary historical novel and an enjoyable, non-melodramatic romance. (Yes, I am bragging on a romance novel that was not written in the 19th century. No, this is not a sign of the coming apocalypse. :P) Now I am determined to get my hands on the acclaimed film based on this novel.

P.S. I must note, there is some adult content in this novel. Not a lot--I have certainly seen much worse elsewhere-- but there is enough that I would rather post a warning for my younger readers. (I don't want your parents beating me over the head with a blunt instrument for not giving fair warning.)

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Next Week: I know you hear this a lot from me, but I am not sure. I have been reviewing a lot of literary fiction lately, so I want to try some genre fiction. I have a YA novel I have been meaning to read, plus some horror, a Western, and some other assorted books, so we'll see what I find. :P

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This Week In Literary History: *cue organ music*

26 May 1895: Bram Stoker's infamous vampire novel Dracula first goes on sale in London. Derided as trashy at the time, Dracula has gone on to become one of the all-time great horror novels (and one of my absolute favorites.) Dracula may not have been the first fictional vampire, but he was the first to capture the public's interest. I am a big fan of Dracula--he was #1 on my list of literary villains a couple of weeks ago. Forget about Eddie the glitter vamp! I'm Team Dracula, because real vampires don't sparkle. :D

Beatrice and Virgil

I have a treat for you guys today! No, I am not handing out cookies. Well, I am. Here, have some e-cookies. But that is not the main treat. You see . . . I usually review books that are at least a few years (if not a few decades or centuries) old. Today marks the first time in the nearly ten months I have had this blog that I review a book that has only been out for a month--Yann Martel's Beatrice and Virgil. I am a huge fan of Martel's Life of Pi, so I was totally psyched for this book! As soon as it was released, I rushed to the library I work at and snatched the first copy. Muahahaha It was mine! All mine! *cough*

For those of who you also love Life of Pi and are curious about Martel's latest book, you're probably wondering: Is Beatrice and Virgil like Life of Pi? Well, that depends upon your definition of "like Life of Pi." This book shares the same effortless prose and quirky humor, but the similarities end there. Life of Pi is much more fantastical than this novel, yet Beatrice and Virgil is much weirder. Life of Pi is odd, but Beatrice and Virgil is a very postmodern, literary work that is rich in symbolism and whether or not you like this book will hinge heavily upon your tolerance for postmodern literature.

I am one of those geeks who adores postmodernism and literary fiction, so I really enjoyed this novel, which relates the tale of Henry--who, like the writer in Life of Pi, is a thinly veiled version of Martel himself--as he struggles to find success in the publishing world after writing a bestseller. Frustrated when his imaginative work on the Holocaust is rejected for being too bizarre and inaccessible, he goes into a self-imposed exile in an unidentified city, taking music lessons and acting in community theater yet militantly refusing to write. One day Henry gets some fan mail from a local man who has enclosed an excerpt from his own work--a play starring a donkey named Beatrice and a howler monkey named Virgil. (If you know these two are named after Dante's guides in The Divine Comedy, you are my new nerdy best friend.) Henry meets the writer--a gruff, elderly taxidermist who is also named Henry--and the two strike up a somewhat dysfunctional collaboration on the play. And then Henry--the writer Henry--starts to wonder just exactly what he's gotten himself into . . .

I found Henry, the writer protagonist, likeable as a main character and Beatrice and Virgil, the fictional animals in the taxidermist's play, become intriguing characters in their own right. The plot starts off as a somewhat meandering tale of writer's block--Oh, how I can relate!--that has lots of simplistic charm and an intriguing atmosphere but not a lot of certifiable action. That's fine with me, because I enjoy Martel's style and the world he crafts; however, if you're expecting an action-packed plot, you'll be sorely disappointed. Not to say the story is boring. The interactions between the personable Henry and the emotionally distant and occasionally bizarre taxidermist are entertaining and easy to relate to. (Think of all the times you have tried your best to work with someone you could never, ever understand. Now you know how Henry feels.) The excerpts from the play itself--a witty, absurdist play highly reminiscent of Samuel Beckett's work--are fascinating in and of themselves.

Though I enjoyed this novel very much, I must warn you: The last few pages of the novel take a disturbing and surprising turn that both rattled and delighted me. I love surprises and this one was a genuine shocker, seeing how the rest of the novel lulled me into a false sense of security and then slapped me upside the head with said false sense of security. I have seen other people ranting on the internet that the ending was gratuitously violent and unfair. I think that's being naive--I mean, Beatrice and Virgil is an allegorical novel about the Holocaust, so it's only natural that it is going to be somewhat disturbing. That being said, definitely do not read this book if you're turned off by violent content. The whole book itself is not violent, but the ending will upset you.

This novel is definitely not for everyone, but I enjoyed it very much. (I just finished it this afternoon and am still trying to process it, but I think I actually like this book even more than Life of Pi, which is saying something.) I can't guarantee that you will like this book if you liked Life of Pi, but I think this is a book that those who enjoy postmodernist and/or literary fiction will relish. On its own merits, Beatrice and Virgil is a deceptively simple, engaging, and thought-provoking meditation on the nature of evil, art, personal responsibility, and guilt. I would definitely love to hear what you guys think if you read this, even if you want to kill me for recommending it. (I will defend myself with a very thick collection of encyclopedias if you want to book duel me. :P)

Next Week: Not sure. Maybe Cormac McCarthy. Maybe John Garder's Grendel. Maybe something else. We shall see! :)