The Friday 4: Books I'm Embarrassed to Have Not Read

You might think that I like to read given that I have a master of fine arts degree in creative writing; am a PhD student studying contemporary American literature; have three large bookshelves full of books and many other stacks of books that won't fit; and teach courses focused on writing and reading. You would, however, be wrong. 

Graduate school officially killed my love of reading. I can't say when this happened - year 2? 4? - and I hope in my heart of hearts that the damage is not irreparable, but I wouldn't place any bets at this point. These days, the most I like to read is Martha Stewart's amazing website (crafts, decor, and wonderful things galore!) and Shape magazine. Anything more involved than that, well, thanks but no thanks. 

Even so, I fake a love for reading when necessary (like, at school), playing the role of the avid, interested reader at least semi-convincingly when it counts. There are, though, more than a few gaping holes in my reading that I just don't know if you can fake your way around. These books are so frequently referenced and so commonly known by others - whether students of literature or not - that I really should just break down and, well, read them. But I don't wanna . . . . 

4.  Catch-22 by Joseph Heller (1961) 

I love using the phrase that originates with this novel's name, but I couldn't tell you a darn thing about the contents of this book. I feel like everyone I know who read this read it in high school - along with #2 below - and it seems that we're about a decade or so past that point. Brad loves this book and highly recommends it, though. (He's read all the books on this list except #1 - what a show off.) 

3.  1984 by George Orwell (1948) 

Doesn't he look like
Sean Penn?!

Let me tell you, it's harder than you may think to pretend you've read a book (a classic, no less) when not one, but two of your students are writing a paper on it. I recommend Wikipedia, backed up by reputable websites. Maybe go to the third or fourth page of Google results so that when you talk about the book you're not using the same exact language your students are likely to see when they, invariably, search for their so-called "favorite" book online so they can figure out something to say as well. 

I do give a thumbs-up to Orwell's essay "Shooting an Elephant," which is a thought-provoking read. I taught it in two creative writing classes a few years ago, though, and it definitely wasn't a class favorite. 

2.  The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger (1951) 

I know a few things about this topic. I know, for example, that Salinger was a recluse. I know, also, that my mother used to teach this book to high schoolers (along with To Kill a Mockingbird, another one that I, unsurprisingly, haven't read) - at least I'm pretty sure she did. 

That about covers what I've got to offer. I don't know if I heard one word about this novel in high school, which is apparently when you've got to read this thing for it to be the most unbelievable book blah blah etc. etc. But I can't tell you the number of times people have mentioned this book in my presence since then. 

1. Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad (1902) 

Last fall, we studied Heart of Darkness in my modernism class. Did you not read said novella then, dear student? you ask. No: I listened to it on cd. Two months in advance. And I didn't remember a damn bit more than the plot when the time came for class discussion. You can imagine how actively I participated that night. 

Thematically and structurally, it's a cool book. But otherwise, let's just say it's not my cup o' joe. I mean tea. No, I actually mean joe. Unfortunately, I feel like this book more than all others that I've read and haven't read is on the tongues of professors and other students, no matter their interests. I mean, at least I know the basics, right? Doesn't that count for something? 


A young Robert Duvall! He rocks!   

(Note: I have seen Apocalypse Now - Francis Ford Coppola's 1979 film based on Heart of Darkness - and I didn't hate it, but I didn't love it. Then again, I almost categorically dislike any movie made before 1985, so not hating it is kind of a compliment. Plus, Robert Duvall as Lt. Col. Bill Kilgore could not be any awesomer.)

This again?

Unless I'm dreaming - and the whole point here is that I'm not, unfortunately - then yes, I am up again at 4:30 a.m. Working. 

This time, I'm not dealing with grading, but with a paper on a poem by modernist poet Mina Loy, visual culture, and feminist theory. Basically, it's about marriage/female objectification and commodification/consumer culture/dept. store display windows/the male gaze/mannequins/and possibly prostitution (why not throw a little bit of that in there?), which, I realize, sounds anything but basic. 

Why such odd timing, you ask? Well, I've got Mr. Snores-a-Lot to thank for that. He somehow managed to go through not 1, not 2, not 3, but 4 varieties of snores in about 15 minutes. Every time I nudged him awake, he shifted slightly and proceeded to snore differently. Unfortunately, once I'm un-sleepified even the tiniest bit, I'm pretty much done for the next few hours. So, with no time to waste during this final week of the semester, I dragged my 4.5-hours-of-sleep arse out of bed and down here to start working on this paper. Again. 

Sigh. 

Before this proceeds, I think I need some Word Bubbles Rising to get my mind going . . . okay, really I just love that game. 

In the Trenches

Tomorrow I will begin teaching The Hours to my class of freshmen for the second half of our fiction unit. The above title might at first seem more applicable to the first part of the unit - for which we read The Things They Carried, Tim O'Brien's classic, 1990 National Book Award-nominated collection of short stories about the Vietnam War, memory, and storytelling - but I assure you, it's not. 

My students loved O'Brien's book even more than I hoped they would. And it makes sense: I was their age when I was first introduced to his work, and over the years he has come to be possibly my favorite author (though there's a strong case for the award going to Hemingway). 

While for me and certainly those generations older than me (read: those who were alive during the Vietnam War or its immediate aftermath), the potential stickiness of the topic is obvious. But these students are too young to have any investment in Vietnam and, to a large extent, anything more than the most superficial knowedge about Vietnam. And so, while the book's stance (anti-Vietnam Wat, though decidedly not anti-American soldier) is surely contentious to me or you, none of them seemed to interpret this as a political issue and, therefore, none took umbrage with it. 

Michael Cunningham's 1999 Pulitzer Prize-winning The Hours (which was the original working-title of Virginia Woolf's 1923 novel Mrs. Dalloway), however, is a littttttttle bit of a different story. 

Some of you may have seen the (very gripping) movie with Meryl Streep (love her!), Nicole Kidman, and Julianne Moore (who I could totally do without). It came out when I was a junior in college, so, 2003 or 2004. If you have seen it, jog your memory a bit. Yep, there you go - now you know why I'm anxious to see how teaching this book will go over with a group of freshman. Two of whom are in seminary. Many of whom have probably never interacted with a person they knew to be gay. 

Nicole Kidman as Virginia Woolf 

Basically, the novel follows the lives of three women in three very distinct historical time periods - the 1920s, 1950s, and the very end of the 20th century. One of these women is an open lesbian, another (a fictionalized version of Woolf) suffers from debilitating mental illness that leads to suicide, and the third contemplates suicide b/c she feels suffocated by her role as a 1950s suburban housewife. Oh, and did I mention Richard? He's a gay man suffering from AIDS, which has basically eaten away a large part of his brain. 

Yesterday, after they finished their peer workshop on their papers, I put a few of the book's "thematic concerns" on the board for them to consider as they read. My list looked something like this: 

Gender - questioning the traditional definitions and roles; questioning the relations b/t genders 
Sexuality - homosexuality, heterosexuality, bisexuality 
Mental illness/"madness" - how is it represented in society? in fiction? what are the effects of its being stigmatized? 
Performing "roles" - what does it mean to be a "wife," "mother," etc. 

There were not a few wide eyes when I mentioned "homosexuality." I was impressed, however, that when I asked for the difference b/t sex and gender (which, interestingly, we also talked about in my theory class later in the day), someone actually had an accurate answer. That, if nothing else, seemed promising. 

After a book focusing on all male characters, I'm glad to throw some female in the mix, but this experience might end up being one minefield after another. However, if I don't expose them to these issues, who will? I guess we'll see how this goes . . . .

I think I've found my calling

Every day is Women's Day. Or at least it ought to be 

Okay, that whole calling thing is a bit of an exaggeration, especially b/c you most likely need to have a lot more energy than I do to respond to a calling, but I do think I've found something (finally!) that I like re: literary/critical theory. 

It should surprise, well, no one that what I'm talking about is feminist theory. It doesn't surprise me, as I always figured if something was going to interest me in terms of theory, it would be feminist, but even so, it's a pleasant revelation b/c I've definitely got no love for deconstruction and the rest of post-structuralism nor for reader response theory. 

And, as it turns out, this year in my papers I've actually been using some of these fem. theory concepts (and even some of the theorists) without knowing it. And, just as interestingly, the little that I've read so far is ridiculously applicable to my own fiction. It's making me think about my own work and its preoccupations in a whole new light. 

Talking about the prevalence of illness in women's fiction/poetry, for instance, Susan M. Gilbert and Sandra Gubar (whose Madwoman in the Attic I read part of - and loved - last semester, having no idea it was feminist theory) explain, "the woman writer feels herself to be literally or figuratively crippled by the debilitating alternatives her culture offers her, and the crippling effects of her conditioning sometimes seem to 'breed' like sentences of death in the blood shoes she inherited from her literary foremothers." Um, yeah - like, this kind of stuff is all over my work. Who knew I was writing in some kind of tradition (albeit - and I have to say this - one hindered by the patriarchy)? I kind of feel empowered. (Brad is now officially wary of my taking feminist theory this coming fall - and to think, not two days he was encouraging it.) 

Just the other day, one of my classmates asked me if all this theory stuff is affecting my creative writing. I responded, "That's such a cute idea - like I have time to write creatively right now." But had I answered her seriously, I would've said, No, I think most of the stuff is either nonsense or it's interesting and has no place in practical discussions of creative work and no place in actually doing that work. Now, I'm not so sure about that. 

As for a theoretical stance apart from my own fiction, this fits me pretty well; it's in line with my interests, my politics, and my concerns (even while Kristeva and surely a host of others seem like idiotic nonsense to me). To end, an oh-so-true thought from Simone de Beauvoir's brilliant The Second Sex: 

"Thus, as against the dispersed, contingent, and multiple existences of actual women, mythical thought opposes the Eternal Feminine, unique and changeless. If the definition provided for this concept is contradicted by the behavior of flesh-and-blood women, it is the latter who are wrong: we are told not that Feminity is a false entity, but that the women concerned are not feminine."

Addendum to "A Thought on Birth"

Upon further reflection, I think perhaps King Lear had it right a few hundred years ago: 

     When we are born, we cry that we are come 
     To this great stage of fools . . .

The king had reason for his misanthrophy, even if I don't.