More Books

For some time, I have vacillated between books and movies as an "escape of choice", with the past three months marking a turn towards books. For the record, I do find it to be a blessing of the modern age (Amazon.com, especially) that I find things to read that I generally like, despite a lack of like-minded cohorts to provide any recommendations.

I have recently read two books by Italo Calvino. I am thankful that I read "If on a Winter's Night a Traveler..." first, even though "Invisible Cities" was the title that first brought him to my attention. "Winter's Night" is far more engaging, which is perhaps inevitable when you consider that "Invisible Cities" is all but bereft of characters. "Winter's Night" shows Calvino's powerful imagination and equally powerful ability to convey these images. It is quite unafraid of itself, acknowledging of its own limitations and existing completely in its own excesses. In concept, it may be nothing as much as it is an exploration of the possibilities of the literary act. In this way, these two books are somewhat analogous, "Invisible Cities" being an exploration of the nature of cities. In "Invisible Cities", however, the philosophical act suggested upon the subject is closer to the surface of the writing. Perhaps it even IS the surface.

I do believe that I will read more of Calvino's works in the future.

I also recently read "The House of Sleep", which by my perceptions of the categories of literature, exists in the amorphous blob of modern literature, so many of which are "bestsellers" by default (Really, how much does that term mean anymore?) that are long on situational creativity and tenuously short on any sort of discipline in the story-making or writing processes. The book, like so many of its categorical brethren, is marked by unlikely situations, unlikely characters, unlikely decisions, and heaps of coincidence. Quite simply, this is lazy writing for the sake of entertainment and sales; some sort of literary equivalent of the soap opera. At least THIS literary soap opera contains the correct elements of the genre in order to be enjoyable. Ahem, I'm looking at you, "Wuthering Heights".

I did finish the book (as if that is hard to do), and I did enjoy many parts and several overall aspects of it. Some time ago, I vowed to work hard at appreciation, so that I would choose to endure things that produced feelings of both affection and disgust, rather than reject them wholly. This book was a beneficiary of this attitude.

Next up: Gravity's Rainbow and One Hundred Years of Solitude.