5.20.2013

Reading life review


Number of books read in 2013: 43
Complete list of books read in 2013 can be found here.
Number of books read since last "reading life review" post: 7
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The 5th Wave (Rick Yancey; 2013. 480 pages. Fiction.) The comparisons to The Hunger Games (Suzanne Collins) and The Road (Cormac McCarthy) caused me to hope for much more than this novel could deliver.

Very Good, Jeeves (P.G. Wodehouse; ed. 2006. 304 pages. Fiction.) Precisely the palette-cleanser that was needed.

Animal Man, Vol. 1 (Jeff Lemire; 2012. 144 pages. Graphic fiction.) Not sure I quite grasp the significance of "The New 52" (being still rather new to graphic works), but Lemire (the genius behind Sweet Tooth) brought me to this.

Saga, Vol. 2 (Brian Vaughn; 2013. 144 pages. Graphic fiction.) Since it collects Issues 7 through 12, I'm giving myself credit for this one. The local comic shop persuaded me I couldn't / shouldn't wait for Vol. 2. Heh, heh, heh.

 ■ Life Itself (Roger Ebert; 2011. 448 pages. Memoir.) I had meant to read it sooner... personal, folksy, insightful, rambling, poetic, and poignant.

 ■ So Much for That (Lionel Shriver; 2011. 480 pages. Fiction.) All but the glittering rich are a health crisis away from financial ruin. This excellent novel -- about marriage, friendship, illness, death, and "The Afterlife" (no, not that one) -- ably explores this fundamental truth. Highly recommended.

Richard III (William Shakespeare ((1592); Folger ed. 2005. 352 pages. Drama.) With the Misses.

Act I, Scene iii
And thus I clothe my naked villany
With old odd ends stolen out of holy writ,
And seem a saint when most I play the devil.

5.18.2013

Semicolon hosts "The Saturday Review of Books." Consider participating this week.

5.17.2013

Further adventures

Henry VIII at the Chicago Shakespeare Theater
After seeing the rehearsal, we were certainly anticipating the play -- and were not disappointed. Ora Jones as Katherine of Aragon and Scott Jaeck as Cardinal Wolsey were the standouts. Reviews can be found here and here.

■ Oklahoma! at the Lyric
We actually purchased our tickets for this on the way home from La Bohème in late January. Spectacular! Not your typical Lyric Opera fare, this Rodgers and Hammerstein classic benefitted from the full orchestra, grand voices, and larger-than-life treatment. We loved it. Reviews here and here.

Yo-Yo Ma and Chicago Symphony Orchestra Musicians
This was our third time seeing Ma, but all of us agreed that the real star of the evening was the CSO's Yuan-Qing Yu, who played in both Dvořák's American String Quartet and Beethoven's Septet.

The Great Gatsby
Fitzgerald's novel figured prominently in our studies last term; in fact, Miss M-mv(i) is still knee-deep in the author's collected letters, and Mellow's biography of the Fitzgeralds is on my nightstand. Because we love the book and because we thoroughly enjoyed Baz Luhrmann's Romeo + Juliet, we were beyond excited about his new film, so Mr. M-mv took us to the first show in our area when it was released. As we exited the theater, Miss M-mv(ii) dubbed it "Gatsby for Dummies," and for the most part, our assessment goes downhill from there: The color palette was distracting; the computer-generated effects (e.g., Nick's garden path) were obvious and often silly, as was the text on the screen; for that matter, the narrative framing device did not work (i.e., Nick is changed, matured, resigned by his experiences -- not broken). And so on. None of us expected the movie to be the book, but we expected... better. Two bright spots: the anachronistic soundtrack worked for us, and Leonardo DiCaprio was, as always, magnetic.

Upcoming adventures:

■ We so loved Othello: The Remix at the Chicago Shakespeare Theater that we're going to see it again later this month.

■ And we'll also head to the Court Theatre for The Misanthrope. Earlier this academic year, we read Molière's play in anticipation of seeing The School for Lies (a retelling of The Misanthrope) at the Chicago Shakespeare Theater. We thoroughly enjoyed The School for Lies, but we're looking forward to seeing "the original."

5.12.2013

Spring recital

Earlier this month, we attended Miss M-mv(i)'s second violin recital. (She has been studying violin for a year now.) In the image above, she and her accompanist, Miss M-mv(ii), are tuning and warming up. If the image looks familiar, the program was held in the same venue (and the same dresses) in November.

5.06.2013

Reading life review


Number of books read in 2013: 36
Complete list of books read in 2013 can be found here.
Number of books read since last "reading life review" post: 6
_____________________________

Two or Three Things I Forgot to Tell You (Joyce Carol Oates; 2013. 288 pages. Fiction.) Suicide. Emotional abuse. Cutting. Divorce. This is twenty-first-century "problem novel" if ever there were one! More about JCO here.

Dare Me (Megan Abott; 2012. 304 pages. Fiction.) Looking for "television in print," I stumbled on this psychological study of cheerleaders and their new coach. Got what I came for.

The Gaslight Effect: How to Spot and Survive the Hidden Manipulation Others Use to Control Your Life (Robin Stern; 2007. 288 pages. Non-fiction.) Background information for a fiction piece.

Give Me Everything You Have: On Being Stalked (James Lansdun; 2013. 224 pages. Non-fiction.) From Amazon's description:
... Give Me Everything You Have chronicles the author’s strange and harrowing ordeal at the hands of a former student, a self-styled “verbal terrorist,” who began trying, in her words, to “ruin him.” Hate mail, online postings, and public accusations of plagiarism and sexual misconduct were her weapons of choice and, as with more conventional terrorist weapons, proved remarkably difficult to combat. James Lasdun’s account, while terrifying, is told with compassion and humor, and brilliantly succeeds in turning a highly personal story into a profound meditation on subjects as varied as madness, race, Middle East politics, and the meaning of honor and reputation in the Internet age.
Harvest (A.J. Lieberman; 2013. 128 pages. Graphic fiction.) A grisly journey into the underground world of organ transplants.

The Guilty One (Lisa Ballantyne; 2013. 480 pages. Fiction.) The conclusion is apparent in the first fifty pages, but the secondary story was a taut psychological study.

5.03.2013

Semicolon hosts "The Saturday Review of Books." Consider participating this week.

4.30.2013

Adventures, we've had a few (more).

"Exploring Henry VIII"
As I mentioned here, earlier this month, we had the opportunity to see a working rehearsal of Henry VIII, which opens tonight at the Chicago Shakespeare Theater (CST) and will run through June 16. We are certainly looking forward to seeing the polished production in May!

Chicago Symphony Orchestra
In that same entry I mentioned that last week, we attended an open rehearsal of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra led by Ricardo Muti and featuring pianist Maurizio Pollini (Mozart's Piano Concerto No. 21 in C Major, K. 467). The 2.5-hour program also included Beethoven's Consecration of the House Overture, Op. 124; Schumann's Symphony No. 3 in E-flat Major, Op. 97 (Rhenish); and our favorite piece of the day -- Mendelssohn's Calm Sea and Prosperous Voyage Overture, Op. 27, which was inspired by two Goethe poems.

Chris Thile (mandolin) and Brad Mehldau (piano)
The week prior to that, we saw Thile and Mehldau at the home of the CSO. Most people would not think of pairing bluegrass and jazz, but Thile and Mehldau are onto something with this complex conversation between the two music traditions. The Chicago papers were surprisingly brief in their remarks, but here's a review from the duo's stop in Boston.

Giulio Cesare
Have you checked out FathomEvents.com yet? Among other programs, they promote live broadcasts of the Metropolitan Opera's productions, including the current David McVicar production of Handel's 4.5-hour opera, Giulio Cesare, which stars Natalie Dessay as Cleopatra (although the absolute showstopper is Alice Coote in the "pants role," Sesto -- listen here). The broadcast was shown in a movie theater one town over on a Saturday on which all of us were available. Woot! It was terrific! And may I just add that as much of a privilege as it is to see productions at the Lyric Opera (in fact, we're heading to another next month), movie theater seats are eversomuch more comfortable than seating at the Lyric. Heh, heh, heh.

The second case erupted.

4.29.2013

The Girls Rule! School: Another progress report

As I mentioned here, the Girls Rule! School operates year-round. Our academic year begins in August, and our studies sort themselves into three terms of unequal length: August through December (five months), January through April (four months), and May through July (three months). Rather than taking an extended break of any sort, we generally enjoy relaxed periods of study that usually coincide with the winter holidays, the conclusion of winter swim season, and the conclusion of summer swim season. 

For us, "relaxed" means, minimally, math-music-literature, but also includes wrapping up aspects of independent study projects, working on neglected art pursuits, and taking additional field trips, particularly those related to birding or nature study.  During our relaxed period of study this term, however, the literature leg of our math-music-literature model was shortened somewhat to more fully accommodate independent study projects and to allow for the time demands of both the driver education course (four days weekly for two hours each day; four weeks) and the lifeguard certification program (thirty-six hours of classwork over a two-week period (not to mention the assigned reading)). 

With the second term of our 2012-2013 academic year drawing to a close, then, I find myself reviewing our progress, which included (admittedly) only sporadic work with Destinos (Spanish) but also continued excellence in history, math, logic and philosophy, and science (the latter of which included the girls' ongoing self-directed study in animal behavior and physics, respectively).

Here are some highlights:

LITERATURE
Shakespeare studies: 
Julius Caesar (a reread) 
Measure for Measure
Othello (review only)
Henry VIII

Novels: 
Flowers for Algernon (Daniel Keyes) 
Catcher in the Rye (J.D. Salinger) 
Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? (Philip K. Dick) 
The Great Gatsby (F. Scott Fitzgerald)

Poetry:
Poetry 180: A Poem a Day for American High Schools
Poetry Out Loud

FIELD TRIPS AND OTHER ADVENTURES 
Theater: 
Julius Caesar at the Chicago Shakespeare Theater
Sweet Charity at the Writers' Theatre
Othello: The Remix at the Chicago Shakespeare Theater
"Exploring Henry VIII" at the Chicago Shakespeare Theater (discussions and rehearsal)

Music:
■ Frank Vignola (guitar) at SecondSpace Theatre 
Chris Thile (mandolin) and Brad Mehldau (piano) at Chicago Symphony Center
Open rehearsal for donors: Chicago Symphony Orchestra led by Ricardo Muti and featuring Maurizio Pollini (piano)

Opera:
La Boheme at the Lyric Opera
Giulio Cesare, a live broadcast of the Met performance at the movie theater

Museums:
■ Lincoln Park Zoo
■ "Picasso and Chicago" at the Art Institute of Chicago
"Art in Bloom" at the Milwaukee Art Museum


Other:
Chicago Wolves hockey game
"Beluga Encounter" at the Shedd Aquarium
■ The Vera Meineke Nature Center at Spring Valley 
Volo Bog State Natural Area
Eight swim meets: two rec team (including the conference meet) and six USA Swimming (including last-chance time trials for regionals, a conference meet, and regional championships)
■ Work: Miss M-mv(i)'s regular assignment as a lifeguard and both Misses' as substitute swim instructors 
■ Weekly piano (both Misses), violin (Miss M-mv(i)), and guitar (Miss M-mv(ii)) lessons and daily practice
■ A piano performance / evaluation at [insert college name here]
Driver education course
Lifeguard certification course (Miss M-mv(ii)) 
Stroke clinic 

4.28.2013

Reading life review


Number of books read in 2013: 30
Complete list of books read in 2013 can be found here.
Number of books read since last "reading life review" post: 6
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Henry VIII (William Shakespeare (1613); Folger ed. 2007. 352 pages. Drama.) With the Misses. Henry VIII will run April 30 through June 16 at the Chicago Shakespeare Theater, so we had planned to read the play in April ever since CST's 2012/2013 season was announced. But we pushed it a wee bit ahead on our planner when we received an invitation to attend a rehearsal held earlier this month. (I know, right? Squeeeeee!) Before the rehearsal, we were treated to a discussion hosted by Bob Mason and Chris Plevin, during which we learned how the incomparable Barbara Gaines distilled from the play three key relationships, eschewing pageantry for intimacy; how her vision is being interpreted by the production team; and even how CST productions, including this one, are cast. We then headed to the main theater. The actors had only just that afternoon moved from their initial rehearsal space to the stage and were reworking the blocking in Katherine of Aragon's (Ora Jones) divorce trial scene. After rehearsal concluded, director Gaines indulged participants in a Q&A. Wonderful, wonderful stuff.

(Related aside: This month, we also attended an open rehearsal of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra led by Ricardo Muti. The program included a piano concerto featuring Maurizio Pollini. I know, I know, right? Again, squeeeee!)

The Great Gatsby (F. Scott Fitzgerald; 1925/1980. 182 pages. Fiction.) With the Misses, in anticipation of the film. This was a reread for me, and I found the prose even more beautiful this go-'round.

p. 36
Yet high over the city our line of yellow windows must have contributed their share of human secrecy to the casual watcher in the darkening streets, and I was him too, looking up and wondering. I was within and without, simultaneously enchanted and repelled by the inexhaustible variety of life.
p. 58
Jordan Baker instinctively avoided clever, shrewd men, and now I saw that this was because she felt safer on a plane where any divergence from a code would be thought impossible. She was incurably dishonest. 
p. 59
"Suppose you meet somebody just as careless as yourself?"

"I hope I never will," she answered. "I hate careless people. That's why I like you."
p. 81
A phrase began to beat in my ears with a heady sort of  excitement: "There are only the pursued, the pursuing, the busy, and the tired."
p. 97
It had gone beyond her, beyond everything. He had thrown himself into it with a creative passion, adding to it all the time, decking it out with every bright feather that drifted his way. No amount of fire or freshness can challenge what a man will store up in his ghostly heart.
p. 131
Angry as I was, as we all were, I was tempted to laugh whenever he opened his mouth. The transition from libertine to prig was so complete.
p. 165
At first I was surprised and confused; then, as he lay in his house and didn't move or breathe or speak, hour upon hour, it grew upon me that I was responsible, because no one else was interested -- interested, I mean, with that intense personal interest to which every one has some vague right at the end.
Attachments (Rainbow Rowell; 2011. 336 pages. Fiction.) Light, sweet, well-written. More here.

Reconstructing Amelia (Kimberly McCreight; 2013. 400 pages. Fiction.) A bona fide page-turner. Smart and entertaining. EW's review can be found here.

The Autobiography of Henry VIII: With Notes by His Fool, Will Somers (Margaret George; 1998. 960 pages. Fiction.) This probably counts as my "chunkster" this year. Phew. It was a little... plodding, but I enjoy the subject and so stuck with it.

Picasso and Chicago: 100 Years, 100 Works (Stephanie D'Alessandro; 2013. 112 pages. Non-fiction.) In anticipation of our trip to see the exhibit at the Art Institute of Chicago. Related entry here. Also, some "lightweight" reading on the artist:

And Picasso Painted Guernica (Alain Serres; 2013. 52 pages. Juvenile non-fiction.)
Pablo Picasso (Artists in Their Time) (Kate Scarborough; 2002. 46 pages. Juvenile non-fiction.)
Picasso: Soul on Fire (Rick Jacobson; 2011. 32 pages. Non-fiction.)

4.24.2013

Loving Will


The following post was first published here in April 2004.


"Shakespeare is hard," asserts Fintan O'Toole in his book of the same title, "but so is life, and so long as you can see that there's a lot of life in Shakespeare, then the effort begins to make sense."

Now, I adore O'Toole's provocative, irreverent take on the bard, but I also have some fairly strong convictions about the "Shakespeare is, well, pretty easy, actually" camp.

At summer sessions for teachers, Peggy O'Brien, Ph.D., formerly of the Teaching Shakespeare Institute (Folger Shakespeare Library in Washington, D.C.), would distribute a "Shakespeare Laundry List" to her students. Top on the list? "Everyone — all levels of society — went to see Shakespeare's plays. There weren't many other forms of entertainment... People went to the bear-baiting ring for a thrill, they went to a public execution of two — and they went to the theatre."

Bear-baiting. An execution or two. The theater. Anyone seeing, oh, I don't know, horse-racing, Court TV, and the theater? (And that's theater with an "er," please; "re" is an affectation, and I'll bet O'Brien knew it, but Ph.D.s, well... let's just say they come with their own academic baggage.) The point is that it was the "beloved groundlings" to whom Shakespeare and company played. To us. The Mountain Dew-swigging, overalls-wearing, pun-loving, regular folk.

Shakespeare can be hard, yeah. But he needn't be. Honestly, is there any doubt about his message in this passage from As You Like It, for example:
All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
You've got it — the seven stages of man.
________________________

Seventh on O'Brien's "Laundry List" is a much uttered rarely heeded bit o' wisdom: "Reading Shakespeare is hard. [His] plays were written to be performed — acted and seen on a stage."

Ayup. It is cold water on... okay, you're with me... to have Mrs. Grimm the English teacher pass out a musty copy of Julius Caesar or Macbeth and say, "Read Act I. Be ready for a quiz tomorrow."

*SHUDDER*

With all of the productions now available on DVD and video, why would any teacher turn her students loose without a hint of what the beloved groundlings once knew (i.e., that Shakespeare's play must be seen and heard)? If you're wondering, by the way, Norrie Epstein's The Friendly Shakespeare is a good place to begin for viewing recommendations because there is no comparison between, say, Mel Gibson's Hamlet and Kenneth Branagh's Hamlet.
________________________

In The Shakespeare Book of Lists, Michael LoMonico notes, "Unlike many, I didn't fall in love with Shakespeare in high school or college. No, my passion began some 30 years ago, when I first heard lines from Hamlet, Macbeth, and Othello coming from the mouths of my students."

Ditto, Michael.

I took the requisite courses, both undergrad and grad. I attended if not acclaimed then certainly decent productions of the plays, oh, yes. I appreciated Shakespeare, for sure. But I didn't fall in love until my son decided that this was the "coolest" writing he had heard in his then eleven years:
Let me have men about me that are fat,
Sleek-headed men, and such as sleep o' nights:
Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look;
He thinks too much; such men are dangerous.
And when my daughters dressed their dolls as a princesses and their brother's long forgotten G.I. Joes as kings and enacted the wooing scene from Henry V ("O Kate! Nice customs curtsey to great kings"), I made a long-term commitment to ol' Bill.

And here we are. Writing about him again. Hoping someone else will see what we see: That there's something in Shakespeare's plays for all of us. And asserting that, no, Fintan, Shakespeare isn't all that hard; at least, he doesn't have to be. Visit the Folger Shakespeare Library site. It's not about Shakespeare's inaccessibility, is it?
________________________

Harold Bloom's Shakespeare: The Invention of the Human is a frequently consulted book in our house. That said, let me hastily add that I don't think our tastes are necessarily "snobbish" (yeah, there's that word again) or even particularly high-brow. Remember? Mountain Dew? Overalls? Beloved groundlings? But Bloom's love of Shakespeare is heady stuff, his fervor infectious:
Bardolatry, the worship of Shakespeare, ought to be even more a secular religion than it already is. The plays remain the outward limit of human achievement: aesthetically, cognitively, in certain ways morally, even spiritually. They abide beyond the end of the mind's reach; we cannot catch up to them. Shakespeare will go on explaining us, in part because he invented us....
Amen.

From A Midsummer Night's Dream:
If we shadows have offended,
Think but this,—and all is mended,
That you have but slumber'd here
While these visions did appear.
And this weak and idle theme,
No more yielding but a dream,
Gentles, do not reprehend;
If you pardon, we will mend.
And, as I am an honest Puck,
If we have unearned luck
Now to 'scape the serpent's tongue,
We will make amends ere long;
Else the Puck a liar call:
So, good night unto you all.
Give me your hands, if we be friends,
And Robin shall restore amends.
___________________________________

Happy belated birthday, Mr. Shakespeare! For more Bardolatry, visit the archive.

4.19.2013

Joyce Carol Oates: (Woman) Writer


This entry was first published in September 2006 and has been pulled from the archives and lightly updated by request.

Joyce Carol Oates (or, more accurately, my admiration of her work) was partially responsible for my success in graduate school: One of two scholarly essays of mine to capture honors in my second year of study concerned JCO, and part of my oral defense involved examining her work within the framework of the Burkean pentad.

Perhaps because I've been so frank in my admiration or maybe because I've recommended so many of her works, a few readers have written to ask my opinion about reading and appreciating JCO. I had occasion to review my replies to two such queries this weekend and realized they might be pulled together into worthwhile entry.

She has written so many books! Where should I start?

Where to start, where to start... Well, the first book I read was her first, Them, but I think others are far more inviting: Marya, What I Lived For, Because It Is Bitter and Because It Is My Heart, American Appetites, Foxfire, You Must Remember This, Blonde....

Then again, her collections of short stories give you an opportunity to dip and choose. Haunted, Heat, and A Sentimental Education come immediately to mind.

And her non-fiction is the easiest of all her work to embrace. My particular favorites: (Woman) Writer, The Faith of a Writer, and Where I've Been and Where I'm Going.

Oates has written a number of psychological thrillers under the pseudonym Rosamond Smith (e.g., The Barrens), as well as several slim, intense novels (e.g., Zombie, Beasts, Rape: A Love Story) and a number of novels for young adults (e.g., Freaky Green Eyes, Sexy). If you like mysteries, psych thrillers, and/or YA lit, then these may be comfortable introduction to the slightly off-kilter world of JCO.

If she's an entirely new author to you, why not start with the short story "Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been"? It's widely anthologized and also available online.

I just recalled that We Were the Mulvaneys was an Oprah pick. Like most O selections, it's a large, sprawling novel of the despair and destruction just beneath the surface of a seemingly "perfect" family. What separates it from most of the talk show host's selections is that this is a remarkable piece of contemporary fiction. Of course, I'm partial to the amazing Ms. Oates.

Some tips: 

■  JCO's sentences tend to repeat, fold in upon themselves, and swirl like water down a drain. This effect is a hallmark of her style. It drives some readers bonkers.

■  It's not uncommon for her to wander down one path, chase a thought to its near death, and then... abandon it. Just as we do, her characters do.

■  Some her work spends a lot of time in the darkest, most appalling places of the human experience and imagination. If you arrive at one of these novels or short stories and it's some place you don't want to be, set it aside. Not all of her books go there... or there... or even there. If, for example, the humanization of a serial killer boggles your mind, skip Zombie. If the secret sexual predilections of senior professors on a sleepy college campus do not interest you one bit, skip Beasts.

Her body of work is immense and, some have argued, uneven, but it's the work of a living literary legend. Choose the pieces that appeal to your readerly soul. And enjoy.

What makes What I Lived For a good book to you? This book is so gritty (for lack of a better word) that I have a hard time appreciating it.
JCO often employs the meanest aspects of life -- poverty, brutality (sexual, emotional, physical), prejudice, ignorance, etc. -- as characters in her books, and, as I remember, it is wanton stupidity (Corky's) that plays a leading role in WILF. How does one accumulate so much wealth and power and fail to accumulate any wisdom, any insight into the nature of being fully human? Corky dies a meaningless death, having lived a meaningless life, ending, as he did, profoundly unenlightened, uninformed, and unshaped by the people and events of his life.

Murder. Cruel sex. Drug use. Corruption. These are, indeed, gritty. But Corky's failure to learn and grow is, perhaps, the most haunting aspect of Oates' portrait of a politician. (Related aside: Much is made of Oates' use of metaphor and metonymy. Is what Corky lived for, then, essentially nothing? Did he even really live?)

Oates spends a lot of time charting the dark side of the human soul. Even her non-fiction obsession with boxing is about the sport's animal-like violence. I'll confess to having more stomach for her when I was younger. Hers is a bleak world, a sort of suffocation in the suburbs -- where men stray, women suffer, politicians lie, and children know far too much about the adults in their lives. Firmly planted in middle age, I find that Oates (who will likely win the Nobel Prize in Literature -- if she lives long enough; the Nobel is not only a testimony to greatness but to endurance: it is never awarded posthumously) still astounds me as a stylist but confounds me as a storyteller; that is, she is great, but she is unrelentingly grim, and in my middle years, I am having more difficulty bouncing back from the depths of despair into which she can sink me. I share this by way of saying that JCO is an acquired taste for some readers.

It's hard to know exactly which book will interest someone else; I like nearly all of them, including those published under her pseudonym. You know, while reading The Thirteenth Tale [in 2006], I was struck by some of the same readerly reactions I remember experiencing when I read JCO's Bellefleur. That may better suit you than WILF.

And now, reviewing my reply, I see that I didn't explain, as you asked, what makes this a good book to me. It's been a decade nearly two decades since I read WILF. I remember closing it and turning to Kurt, with whom I rode the train home from work many evenings, and saying, "This will win the Pulitzer... or at least be shortlisted." It was shortlisted. Isn't it funny how we can recognize greatness -- in art, in music, in literature, even in a sporting arena -- and not necessarily possess the vocabulary with which to explain its greatness?

For more information about the incomparable JCO, visit Celestial Timepiece.


4.05.2013

This week's adventures

■ A 9.3-mile bike ride -- the first of the season

■ "Picasso and Chicago" at the Art Institute of Chicago

■ A trip to the Lincoln Park Zoo -- 57 sunny degrees on Lake Michigan

■  Measure for Measure at the Goodman Theatre

■ A large NY-style pizza from Cafe Luigi 

■ A 4.3-mile bike ride

■ A delicious meal at Fat Willy's

Othello: The Remix at the Chicago Shakespeare Theater -- Reviews here and here. If you're in the area, do NOT miss this.

3.30.2013

Semicolon hosts "The Saturday Review of Books." Consider participating this week.

3.29.2013

Happy Good Friday!

For seven years, the man who initialed memos and requisitions "JOB" greeted me such on this day in the Triduum. The first time it staggered me. Happy Good Friday? Even in my child-like understanding of the Roman Catholic tradition, I couldn't reconcile "Happy" with "Good Friday."

"It's the beginning of the greatest mystery of our faith," he explained. "He dies, but we know how the story ends. He rises. It is a celebration, the greatest celebration in our tradition. Happy Good Friday."

Happy Good Friday.

Once upon a time ago...
I was a lector in one of the city's large Catholic parishes. I am a great reader-aloud, and the stories on the liturgical calendar are among the greatest ever told, aren't they? Whether you believe or not, the stories inspire awe. And it is this reader's opinion that they should not be thundered or mumbled or chanted. The stories simply must be told. Read. With expression, not affectation. Oh, and I loved sharing those stories as much as I love reading aloud to my own children.

It happened, then, that the Triduum schedule was drafted. The liturgical director "scripted" the Passion readings for the evening Good Friday mass, breaking them into parts that five lectors would share. I was one of the lectors asked to read.

When I took my place at the lectern for the third time that Good Friday evening, it was to read the passages concerning Christ's crucifixion and death.

I can affect no false drama -- I laugh when it's funny, cry when it's sad. There can be no pretense. Artificiality is the death of narrative. Heck, it's the slow death of feeling, of everything, isn't it?

Well, at the sentences in which Jesus acknowledges his mother, my throat closed with silent sobs, and at "Jesus said, 'It is finished.' With that, he bowed his head and gave up his spirit," I was reading through tears. Usually one to look my fellow parishioners in the eye while lectoring, I simply couldn't see anymore. I chose to keep looking at the page. I can't tell you what I thought or observed in the long moment that followed my last word and my move away from the lectern to take my place among the other lectors. I knew only that these were among the most profound passages in perhaps the greatest narrative ever written, and that they overcame me. (Later, I realized that, believer or no, if these words do not arouse in one overwhelming emotion, then one simply isn't human.)

I stood with the other lectors and, as they say, collected myself. Writers know that these moments arrange themselves and occur far more quickly than we can possibly describe. As regular awareness returned to me, though, I realized that silence was an immense roar in my ears. That "what comes next" had not begun, seemed unlikely to begin. That the hundreds of people crowded into that large, darkened church, the priests on the altar, the Eucharistic ministers behind me... we were, all of us, spellbound.

Of course, at some point, the liturgy did continue, in its power and the promise of hope and renewal.

But, for a few moments, we were, that Good Friday night, aware of terrible sorrow, the ineffable sadness that precedes a renewal or realization of a hopeful promise.
_______________

What wise man said that we must look at Christ and not Christians because Christians disappoint but Jesus himself never does? If we were spellbound, then the spell did not last nearly long enough. Many parishioners felt compelled to talk with me afterward, about how this was the first time they had actually heard the words, felt them, been moved by them. A hundred, two hundred, and more thank-yous and hugs and tears. My legendary personal space issues had been lifted from me for this one evening, and I began to understand the meaning of "a community of faith."

On the Monday after Easter, however, I learned that a young new priest was disturbed by the "drama" of the Good Friday liturgical celebration and was vehemently recommending a more traditional approach -- notably a "straight read-through" delivered by priests or deacons, not members of the lay ministry.

My faith is usually strong, but my religion? A fragile thing in a glass menagerie.

It shattered that day.

Christ is in my heart, I think, in the hearts of anyone who can even begin to sense the enormity of his narrative. And today, he acknowledges his mother, giving her to his trusted friend. And today, he dies. Again. Because it is only in the repetition of the narrative that we humans get it. He will die every year. And he will be born every year.

It's a story that perhaps mothers see most clearly.

And it makes us weep.

And that's not drama, you foolish priest.

It's life. And, perhaps, the promise of something beyond it.

Happy Good Friday.

3.28.2013

Reading life review

Number of books read in 2013: 24
Complete list of books read in 2013 can be found here.
Number of books read since last "reading life review" post: 4
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Measure for Measure (William Shakespeare (1603); Folger ed. 2005. 288 pages. Drama.) With the Misses, in anticipation of the Goodman Theatre production. (Reviews here and here.) I purchased the tickets the day the went on sale. Alas, the "Intended for mature audiences" note was appended to the to the play description some time after my purchase. While the Misses are certainly mature, you can't un-see what folks are saying is quite the spectacle, so it looks as if I'm going alone. We have ordered the BBC film from the library, though.

Wave (Sonali Deraniyagala; 2013. 240 pages. Memoir.) From the horror of Deraniyagala's loss to the brutal honesty with which she describes her grief journey, this was a difficult but worthwhile read. Recommended.

The Diving Bell and the Butterfly: A Memoir of Life in Death (Jean-Dominique Bauby; 1998. 131 pages. Autobiography.) Teresi mentions Bauby in his book, and as this memoir had been sitting of the shelves forever, it seemed as good as time as any to read it. Intelligent, beautiful, and haunting. Highly recommended.

The Undead: Organ Harvesting, the Ice-Water Test, Beating-Heart Cadavers (Dick Teresi; 2012. 368 pages. Non-fiction.) An article in the May 2012 issue of Discover sent me in search of this book, which, by turns, horrified and fascinated me.

Happy spring!

3.26.2013

It snowed on the first three Tuesdays of March.

And that made all of us playful.

March was a month of accomplishments and adventures: The Misses obtained their permits, finished their driver education course, and began putting a dent in their fifty-hour behind-the-wheel requirement. We attended the end-of-season award banquet, and the Misses returned home with ribbons, plaques, and an abiding sense of satisfaction. We saw Frank Vignola in concert, per a request from Mr. M-mv and Miss M-mv(ii), who continue to study guitar. We also saw Sweet Charity at the Writers' Theater, a delight in every way. And Miss M-mv(ii) became a certified lifeguard. (Yes, I cried just a bit. Has it really been two years since Miss M-mv(i) did the same? And eight years since their brother did? My baby is not a baby and has not been for a long time now. I grow old... I grow old...)

3.15.2013

Semicolon hosts "The Saturday Review of Books." Consider participating this week.

3.13.2013

A mystery

Four boxes arrived from Amazon on Tuesday. Four? I thought. I expected three.

The fourth contained a Capresso Frothpro.

And no packing slip.

Yes, I called Amazon. The rep says it is likely a gift, not an error, as I kept insisting. Then to whom do I express my thanks? They can't and/or won't say.

Reading life review

Number of books read in 2013: 20
Complete list of books read in 2013 can be found here.
Number of books read since last "reading life review" post: 11
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Human .4 (Mike A. Lancaster; 2011. 240 pages. YA fiction.) Matrix-inspired and thus intriguing, but approached a bit too simplistically to be pulled off completely. Still, not bad.

Warm Bodies (Isaac Marion; 2011. 256 pages. Fiction.) No, I haven't seen the movie, but now I think I may. This was a serviceable work of zombie fiction, with a clever twist on the genre's central premise: Maybe the shuffling brain-eaters are not quite as dead as we think they are.

The Underwater Welder (Jeff Lemire; 2012. 224 pages. Graphic fiction.) As an ardent fan of Sweet Tooth, I couldn't resist this fictional account of a man seeking his dead father, including all of the profound ways in which that search affects his emotional development. And the unintentional juxtaposition to Michael Hainey's account of his own search for his father? Just ol' serendipity / synthesis / synchronicity working its magic, I guess.

After Visiting Friends: A Son's Story (Michael Hainey; 2013. 320 pages. Non-fiction.) Excerpt here. Reviews here, here, and here.

From the memoir's conclusion:
She goes silent, and that moment, I see her anew. And I realize, Here I am -- a son who went looking for his father, and found his mother.

Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep (Philip K. Dick; 1968. 256 pages. Fiction.) A reread, this time with the Misses.

Accelerated (Bronwen Hruska; 2012. 288 pages. Fiction.) Why did I think this was a satirical sci-fi novel, akin to Edward Bloor's Story Time, but for adults? Insert a shrug. About a third of the way through, I reread the book description online and realized my error. Given the topic -- the obsession with the "right" schools, the best methods, high test scores, achievement, and giving students an "edge," no matter what the costs -- it certainly would have worked as a satire, a sci-fi novel, or a hybrid. It also worked as a contemporary novel, though. Recommended.

The Catcher in the Rye (J.D. Salinger; 1951. 288 pages. Fiction.) A reread, this time with the Misses. Related entry here.

Flowers for Algernon (Daniel Keyes; 1966. 324 pages. Fiction.)  A reread, this time with the Misses.

Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet (Jamie Ford; 2009. 301 pages. Fiction.) Are you a reader? the clerk asked. Oh, yes. What are you reading? I mentioned that I had recently read and appreciated The Song of Achilles (Madeline Miller) and had also recently read Dracula (Bram Stoker). How did I miss that when I was younger? I asked. Oh, you have to read Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet, he insisted. Here's a question: Did he even listen to my reply? To be fair, the book wasn't awful, but similar themes are explored with far more deftness and magic in The Art of Hearing Heartbeats (Jan-Philipp Sendker), which I read and loved in early 2012.

Balzac and the Little Chinese Seamstress (Dai Sijie; 2002. 104 pages. Fiction.) While history, friendship, and the vagaries of first love contribute to the power of this slim work, books are the real story -- how they change us, grow our imaginations, and sometimes free us. Beautiful and highly recommended.

Revival, Vol. 1 (Tim Seeley; 2012. 128 pages. Graphic fiction.) I liked this more than Girl Detective did, but she's right: It's awfully hard to follow. I picked it up because but it reminds me of Les Revenants (They Came Back), that French zombie movie I raved about a couple of years ago, and I wanted to see where it went.

Notably in progress:

Moby-Dick (Herman Melville; 1851/2001. 672 pages. Fiction.)
Physics for Future Presidents (Richard A. Muller; 2009. 384 pages. Non-fiction.)
May We Be Forgiven (A.M. Homes; 2012. 496 pages. Fiction.)

2.22.2013

Semicolon hosts "The Saturday Review of Books." Consider participating this week.

2.21.2013

Defending Holden

The Holden Caulfield Fan Club

Years ago, when the College Board published its version of the "books every high school student should read," they included "The Short List." I no longer see either list online, but I have a hard copy of the latter:

Jane Eyre
The Mill on the Floss
Invisible Man
The Great Gatsby

The Scarlet Letter
The Odyssey
Hamlet
Oedipus Rex

Gulliver's Travels
The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn


I agree with the boldfaced titles. Based on my experiences as a student and as a teacher, however, I would replace the remaining four with

The Catcher in the Rye (Salinger)
No Exit (Sartre)
Fahrenheit 451 (Bradbury)
The Stranger (Camus) or Crime and Punishment (Dostoyevsky) *


I'm unsurprised by inquiries about my inclusion of The Catcher in the Rye. Folks approaching the discussion from what they perceive as a "classical tradition" sometimes pooh-pooh Holden's smarmy, smutty, smug (and ultimately sad) retreat from the world of "phonies," dismissing it as somehow (for lack of a better word) unworthy. In fact, dismissing Holden (and, by extension, Salinger) is something of a literary sport. In "J.D. Salinger's Holden Caulfield, Aging Gracelessly" (Washington Post, October 18, 2004), for example, Jonathan Yardley argues, "The combination of Salinger's execrable prose and Caulfield's jejune narcissism produced effects comparable to mainlining castor oil." He notes later, however, that while it is "a maladroit, mawkish novel," its popularity and influence are inarguable.

Indeed. Perhaps the popularity and influence have something to do with the fact that Holden's narrative resonates. From the classrooms of a tony suburban high school into an undergrad honors seminar in a small liberal arts college over to the cramped, dirty classroom of a juvenile detention center and into my own livingroom, Holden bounds. In my twenty-five years of teaching, he has captivated, angered, and alternately dismayed and delighted. Most recently, the inconsolable, bereft, and grieving Holden has elicited deep and abiding sympathy.

Some might argue that just about any book can provoke students and yield discussion, but I'd counter that this is really only true when you're working with readers. I haven't always worked with readers, though, and with non-readers (or less than ideal readers), a deafening sound of silence often follows an enthusiastic teacher's inquiries about the latest reading assignment when, for myriad reasons, a book has failed to connect with the students (or vice versa).

Oh, sure, you can lead, cajole, and coach responses. And I did. But with Holden? I never needed to. He spoke to (shouted at!) both readers and non-readers alike, with little to no interpretation from me. Yes, the students fairly exploded with questions, opinions, assertions, and reactions. Call me crazy, but I love that sort of visceral response to literature, so for this alone, Holden deserves a spot in my top ten.

When my own children met Holden, they proceeded to stitch bits of him to bits of Harrison Bergeron and to parts of Mercutio and even Hamlet and then basted that to scraps of Pip and threads of, yes, Pi, and so on. To observe them so easily synthesizing what they read with what they have read before, to see characters roam so freely and knowingly in the rooms of their imaginations — nodding acquaintances who share secrets — is one of the most remarkable privileges of the reading, thinking, teaching, learning life.

And so Holden joins Huck. And Horatio. And the trio of eyelid-less sinners of Sartre's No Exit. And so on.

Because these characters talk to the readers I've met.

And they talk to me.


* Naturally, I find it difficult to limit myself to ten: What about Great Expectations (Dickens), The Three Musketeers or The Count of Monte Cristo (Dumas), and Heart of Darkness (Conrad)? I suspect this is why the College Board's list comprised one hundred and one titles. Just ten? So difficult.

1.25.2013

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1.23.2013

Reading life review

Number of books read in 2013: 9

Life after Death (Damien Echols; 2012. 416 pages. Non-fiction.Two decades ago, in West Memphis, Arkansas, three second-grade boys were murdered; their mutilated bodies were found on the bank of a watery ditch. About a month after the gruesome discovery, three local teens were arrested. The murders were determined to be part of a satanic ritual in which they had allegedly participated.

Anyone with a little legal knowledge (or a sometimes diet of "Law & Order") knows that an accused person is entitled to acquittal if, in the minds of the jury, his guilt has not been proved beyond a "reasonable doubt" — that is, if the jury lacks an abiding conviction as to the truth of the charge. That the jury in the trial of Jesse Misskelly and the trial of Damien Wayne Echols and Jason Baldwin did not doubt is both baffling and profoundly disturbing.

Arguably the most recognizable face of the so-called "West Memphis 3," Damien Echols received a death sentence for his crime. In Life after Death -- part memoir, part stream-of-consciousness, part self-indulgence, part horror story, part existential tract -- he describes his childhood, the days leading up to his arrest, his imprisonment, his relationship with his wife, his eventual release from prison, and life since that time. Although the writing is, at best, uneven, the narrative is compelling enough to remain through most tiresome bits.

My interest in the West Memphis 3 developed after seeing the documentaries Paradise Lost: The Child Murders at Robin Hood Hills and Paradise Lost 2: Revelations. (Yes, Paradise Lost 3: Purgatory is on my TBW (to be watched) pile, and Devil's Knot: The True Story of the West Memphis Three (Mara Leveritt) has been loaded onto the Kindle.)

Reviews of Echols' memoir can be found here and here.

p. 49
My mother denied later that they treated me like this. She has a very convenient way of forgetting and rearranging the past to fit whatever view she currently wishes to promote, much like the history changers in George Orwell's 1984. She now knows very little about me, but makes up stories so as to seem closer to me that she truly is. It gains her more attention.
p. 60
I'm now at a point in my life where I look back on both of them [his parents] with mingled feeling of love, disgust, affection, resentment, and sometimes hatred. There's too much betrayal to ever be completely forgiven. I am not like my mother, who may argue with you one day and go back to life as usual the next. The best I can do is say that their good deeds may have softened the blow of the bad ones.
Daddy Love (Joyce Carol Oates; 2013. 240 pages. Fiction.) The jacket copy appears to "give it all away": Chester Cash abducts five-year-old Robbie Whitcomb and runs the boy's mother down with his van as he flees the scene, leaving her for dead. But this is JCO; the jacket copy has given us nothing. Like Zombie, Daddy Love features a particularly depraved character committing horrifying acts of physical and emotional brutality, and the underlying message is neither hopeful nor life-affirming. Still, there is much to admire here, particularly the first five chapters, which narrate a pivotal sequence of events over and over, with increasing urgency (and blame? insight? remorse?), an exercise both frustrating and mesmerizing. And the conclusion haunts: "Hi, Mom."

Reviews of this novel can be found here and here.

Fatal Friends, Deadly Neighbors (Ann Rule; 2012. 544 pages. Non-fiction.) The casebook opens with two novella-length investigative reports: the disappearance of Susan Powell in 2009 and the deaths of billionaire Jonah Shacknai's son and girlfriend in 2011. Seven other cases are given chapter-length explorations.

Don't Turn Around (Michelle Gagnon; 2012. 320 pages. Fiction.) Oh, how I wanted to love and recommend this novel. As addictive as movie theater popcorn, it went down in mindless fistfuls until I reached the bottom of the bag and wondered why I was so unsatisfied. Billed as "a teen soul mate to Lisbeth Salander," the protagonist awakens on a gurney with a healing incision on her chest and no memory of an illness or accident that would have required surgery. A sixteen-year-old hacker and victim of the foster care system, Noa flees the makeshift hospital and performs computer wizardry. And flees and performs computer wizardry. For the rest of the novel. At the 35 percent completed mark on the Kindle, the point of all of the flight and hacking remains stubbornly vague. More, the hacking descriptions are poorly executed. (See Cory Doctorow's Little Brother for an excellent example of taut computer-related suspense.) The character development is weak, the plot devices contrived.

But someone likes it: In a Beast interview, Gagnon reveals that Don't Turn Around is the first of a trilogy.

Julius Caesar (William Shakespeare (1599); Folger ed. 2003. 288 pages. Drama.) How does the play weather a fourth reading? Excellently. It was wasted on my teenaged self, but it was a revelation when I taught it to my son in 2003 and again when I brought it to my daughters in 2009. The Chicago Shakespeare Theater will stage the play beginning next month, so in preparation, the Misses and I decided to revisit it. Still relevant. Still memorable. Still amazing.

Act I, scene ii
Would he were fatter! But I fear him not:
Yet if my name were liable to fear,
I do not know the man I should avoid
So soon as that spare Cassius. He reads much;
He is a great observer and he looks
Quite through the deeds of men: he loves no plays,
As thou dost, Antony; he hears no music;
Seldom he smiles, and smiles in such a sort
As if he mock'd himself and scorn'd his spirit
That could be moved to smile at any thing.
Such men as he be never at heart's ease
Whiles they behold a greater than themselves,
And therefore are they very dangerous.
I rather tell thee what is to be fear'd
Than what I fear; for always I am Caesar.
Come on my right hand, for this ear is deaf,
And tell me truly what thou think'st of him.
Act IV, scene iii
“All this”? Ay, more. Fret till your proud heart break.
Go show your slaves how choleric you are
And make your bondmen tremble. Must I budge?
Must I observe you? Must I stand and crouch
Under your testy humor? By the gods,
You shall digest the venom of your spleen,
Though it do split you. For from this day forth,
I'll use you for my mirth, yea, for my laughter,
When you are waspish.
La Bohème: Black Dog Opera Library (2005. 144 pages. Libretto, history, and commentary.) To prepare for the Lyric Opera of Chicago's staging of La Bohème, the Misses and I read this entry in the Black Dog Opera Library collection. Each book in the series features a history and summary of the opera and the complete libretto in both the original language and English, as well as recording of the opera with accompanying commentary.

Brain on Fire: My Month of Madness (Susannah Cahalan; 2012. 288 pages. Non-fiction.) This is the most frightening book I've read since Howard Dully's My Lobotomy. You'll find an excerpt at Scientific American and reviews here and here.

p. 43
We are, in the end, a sum of our parts, and when the body fails, all the virtues we hold dear go with it.
The 13 Clocks (James Thurber (1950); 2008. 136 pages. Fiction.) In his lectures for the Teaching Company, Peter Saccio says of Iago that he, like "cold, agressive Duke" of  Thurber's blend of fairy tale and parable, may be bad for no other reason than that is simply who and how he is.

p. 114
"We all have flaws," he [the Duke] said, "and mine is being wicked."

The reference sent the Misses and I in search of the source late last summer, but as sometimes happens, the book ended up in a TBR stack. When I came upon it this morning, however, I remembered precisely why it was there. And then I came across this:

p.  93
"I do not trust him," growled the Duke. "I like a spy that I can see. Let me have men about me that are visible."
Oh, how I love synchronicity / serendipity / synthesis! From Julius Caesar, Act I, scene ii:
Let me have men about me that are fat;
Sleek-headed men and such as sleep o' nights:
Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look;
He thinks too much: such men are dangerous.
Saga, Vol. 1 (Brian K. Vaughan; 2012. 160 pages. Graphic fiction.)
The conclusion of Sweet Tooth (sad, fitting, if a bit predictable) left a graphic fiction gap for me to fill. Saga was recommended by the elves behind that big online retailer's website. Given how much I adored Vaughan's Y: The Last Man and appreciated his Ex Machina, it's unsurprising how engrossing I found his latest effort.