American Pastoral by Philip Roth

This is the silking, that’s a story in itself, but this is what she’s going to do first. . . . This is called a pique machine, it sews the finest stitch, called pique, requires far more skill than the other stitches. . . . This is called a polishing machine and that is called a stretcher and you are called honey and I am called Daddy and this is called living and the other is called dying and this is called madness and this is called mourning and this is called hell, pure hell, and you have to have strong ties to be able to stick it out, this is called trying-to go-on-as-though-nothing-has-happened and this is called paying-the-full-price-but-in-God’s-name-for-what, this is called wanting-to-be-dead-and-wanting-to-find-her-and-to-kill-her-and-to-save-her-from-whatever-she-is-going-through-wherever-on-earth-she-may-be-at-this-moment, this unbridled outpouring is called blotting-out-everything and it does not work, I am half insane, the shattering force of that bomb is too great. . . . And then they were back at his office again…

The quote above comes from the golden lips of Swede Levov and I think it is easy to see why it is worth reproducing in full. Roth’s story of Levov (“rhymes with love”) is my favorite novel I’ve read since The Road last summer. (For the record, I’m not treating Franny and Zooey as a novel. If I was, I don’t know what I’d do. Also, Moby Dick was the more incredible work but this was a much better read if that makes sense—it didn’t contain all that taxing, florid 19th century wording.) I cannot be clearer: American Pastoral is very very good.

The story of hometown legend, Swede Levov, begins at the end. The first section is actually from the perspective of Levov’s younger brother’s childhood best friend, Skip, who is recalling growing up with the Swede—“a magical name in our Newark neighborhood”. We learn that the gods have heavily favored the Swede as he excels at everything he touches. He’s a 6’3 handsome Jew. He’s captain of the basketball team, the football team, and the baseball team. He can’t keep the ladies off him. He’s everything we think about when we think of the perfect childhood. Then he grows up. Passes up the Big Leagues to take over his dad’s pride and joy--his glove factory in the heart of Newark. Marries Miss New Jersey. Has a lovely daughter named Merry. The idealized American life complete.

After this character development, the story then switches from the narrative of Skip to a third-person account of the Swede. Merry has grown up and along with a stutter has developed a very passionate political opinion. As most daughters are wont to do, she eventually turns away from her father, Swede, and begins taking a serious interest in the war. One day her activism mushrooms into a savage act of terrorism. Overnight, Swede is taken out of his coveted pastoral and is forced to reconcile this event with his hitherto flawless life.

But the beauty of the plot is not just in what it is but how it is laid out. Roth is very sneaky as he constantly switches between different time periods and characters’ point of view. One moment you’re inside the argument of Swede and Merry and the next sentence you’re with Merry in the cradle. Many out-of-order events are stitched together and some seem like tangential ramblings but yet they are so focused on the main point. Roth crafts a beautiful portrait of the perfect life inside and out that has to be constantly reconciled with Merry’s terrorist act. It’s a constant struggle between the before and after of this event—the moment everything fell apart for Swede--and it’s this kind of storytelling—the shifting of times and development of outside characters—that is perfect for this book. It’s beautiful. Reading this gives you a sense that the pastoral life doesn’t exist. It can’t. Perhaps what Roth set out to do with this book is show that even the most seemingly perfect life can dissolve with one event. And the last two sentences in the form of questions are incredible and incredibly important. I won’t spoil them here but it’s as if Roth looks back at his somewhat depressing story and comments in a sanguine way. It's so good and the best way to punctuate the story as a whole. My one scruple is that Roth lays out some stuff in the beginning of the book that actually happen after everything else but he never shows how Swede gets to that point. It’s inconsequential, really, and beside the main plot but sometimes my curiosity is endless.

What I like so much about this book is the complete devotion to character psychology. We see over and over the mind of Swede who doesn’t seem to work hard for his life and that it’s more or less how the cards fell. His thoughts seem so real to a person like that. The other characters are also wonderfully crafted and each have their perfect piece in Swede’s life. As Swede’s life falls apart, his patience capitulates and his “why did this have to happen?” conscious takes over. It’s incredible prose and Roth unleashes his huge veteran author lexicon in this book.

The final two things I will say is that the other Pulitzer Prize-winning book I read this year, The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, is very similar to this book and I can’t help but think that it was a direct inspiration. The Brief tells of the hapless life of Oscar and goes through many generations from many different perspectives to explain why his life sucks. Both books employ personal perspectives of characters surrounding the main character and the event-to-event time difference can be 50 years. The plots are also both focused on the best or the worst ways of life—for Swede, it’s completely awesome (for a while) and for Oscar, it’s cursed by fuku. Finally, I think this book would make an excellent movie. It couldn’t touch the book but if the screenplay followed the same path with flashbacks and all then I think it would be very good. And it goes without saying that after Roth reads this book review he will be so impressed by my analysis that he will instantly ask me to play the young version of Swede. Who wants to be in my entourage? (Sorry, I can only bring 2 friends and T-Pain is one of them.)

Cathedral by Raymond Carver

She worked with this blind man all summer. She read stuff to him, case studies, reports, that sort of thing. She helped him organize his little office in the county social-service department. They’d become good friends, my wife and the blind man. On her last day in the office, the blind man asked if he could touch her face. She agreed to this. She told me he touched his fingers to every part of her face, her nose—even her neck! She never forgot it. She even tried to write a poem about it. She was always trying to write a poem. She wrote a poem or two every year, usually after something really important had happened to her.

What's so great about Carver is that he makes it look easy. Like Salinger in The Catcher in the Rye (though not so much in most of his other works) and Hemingway (Carver is considered by many to be his successor), he makes the reader feel smarter than the writer. That is to say, you think that you understand what's happening in the story better than Carver himself does. I tend to think this is a good thing.
Carver is a legend, especially among would-be writers and writing teachers. The reason for this is clear. To read a Carver story is not only to experience something great, but to receive a lesson in how to write something great. Reading, say, Nabokov or Faulkner, is absolutely worth the price, but I would argue that they can sometimes be negative influences on someone trying to learn how to write. Their styles are so unique and all-around high that a new writer finds himself striving for things that he simply is not ready to do.
I don't mean to say that you can read a Carver story and then immediately write a Carver story. And I certainly don't mean to say that he's any less of a writer than those that write in high style. I simply mean to say that Carver's stories are like beautiful post-and-beam construction houses, whereas Nabokov's and Faulkner's are more like mansions in the Hamptons. I think this comparison works in two ways: first, Carver's stories are more rustic than the others' though no less beautiful. But perhaps more importantly, in a post-and-beam construction house, you can see the construction of the house even as you are living in it. It doesn't mean you can just up and build one. But it does mean that you can get some inkling of how to build one just by being inside it.
Anyway, in this particular collection (the only one of Carver's I've read in whole, though I have read a few others of his stories), Carver seems to be pushing for something bigger than before, perhaps gearing up to write a novel (which he never did). In his earlier collections, the stories are usually about 6-10 pages, whereas here most are around twenty or so. I have heard some people say they prefer the earlier stories, but I haven't read enough of them to speak to that.
I can say, however, that Cathedral is a great collection. Carver loves to write about the everyday. There is very little here that would seem all that notable in the real world. But the sequencing and point of view that Carver uses in each of them gives them great meaning, often poignancy. I think I would agree with most people that the title story, in which a blind friend of the narrator's wife comes over and they watch TV together (think about it for a second), is the best of the collection. In fact, it is one of my favorite short stories ever, an opinion I share with quite a few people. But I'm surprised to say that "A Small, Good Thing" is a fairly close second for me. But all of the stories here are better than most writers will ever produce. Essential reading. Even if, for some reason, you don't want to read the whole collection, (to quote the godfather himself) do yourself a frickin' service and read "Cathedral" (http://www.ndsu.nodak.edu/instruct/cinichol/GovSchool/Cathedral2.htm) and "A Small, Good Thing" (http://wings.buffalo.edu/AandL/english/courses/eng201d/asmallgoodthing.html).

Stay Close by Libby Cataldi

"My son is in jail, Miami-Dade County jail. He faces a felony charge for heroin possession and a misdemeanor charge for possession of drug paraphernalia. This isn’t the first time he is in jail; maybe it won’t be the last. Addiction invaded our home in 1991. It slithered in and sat down at our dining room table, grew large and fat, fed on our misery, laughing, mocking us with its power. It claimed Jeff when he was a fourteen-year-old boy. I did everything I could think of to save my son, but in the end I could do nothing, not really, to extricate him or to free our family from addiction’s claw. If you love or care about an addict, you know this feeling of helplessness.”

“Stagli vicino [stay close in Italian].” Libby Cataldi confronts demons in Stay Close, her deeply personal account of her battle and frustrations with her son’s fourteen-year-addiction to heroin, alcohol, meth and other drugs. The book’s title is taken from advice the author received while staying in Italy. The director of a recovery community in San Patrignano explained that those affected by addiction should never sever their bonds of love with the addict – instead they should move in closer to give the support necessary for recovery.

Cataldi’s journey with her son’s addiction began when he was a child growing up in Calvert County, Maryland. Jeff, Libby eldest son, has always been adept at social networking. When skateboarding and alternative music took off during the late ‘80s-early ‘90s it was all Cataldi could do keep her son in the same neighborhood. After numerous incidents of getting caught with animal tranquilizers, Jeff began his double life. In some ways he was a normal teenager who went off to boarding school and loved his younger brother, Jeremy. In other respects he was a full-time partygoer who would stay up all weekend to go to raves and use drugs.

Jeff’s personal journey with drugs is not the main focus of the story; instead Libby offers a rare perspective of a betrayed mother. Her journal entries expand upon Jeff’s story with his personal account of certain events added for clarification and atonement.

The unflinchingly personal details of the story lay bare the inner workings of a mother who worked within the Maryland school system for thirty years, yet struggled to reign in her own son. The pressures and experiences mount until the final chapters when I found myself struggling to still love Jeff. The idea that his battle with drugs cost his family hundreds of thousands of dollars blows my mind. My own mother explained that if I were in Jeff’s shoes she would not have put up with me after I walked out of a couple rehabilitation clinics.

If there was one area I wish the book expanded on it was Jeff’s final rehabilitation. The final two chapters deemphasize the most pivotal decision in Jeff’s life. I was left with more than a few questions as to how Jeff changed and what he is up to now. While this was not a deal breaker it does leave the reader begging for more insight into the moment when an addict decides to turn the ship around.

Cataldi’s writing reveals the years of deceit and lies that made up her life. The inner turmoil that addiction brings is in full force here. It is said that for every one addict four other non-addicts are affected. Jeff painstaking worked with his mother to write this story, yet it is ultimately his mother’s to tell. If you have ever lost someone to addiction Cataldi’s story offers clues for coping. Fortunately, I have never developed any sort of substance addiction, but I feel like I am better prepared for the future having read Stay Close.

My Rating: 3.5/5

The Fellowship of the Ring by J.R.R. Tolkien

Never before a watcher of The Lord of the Rings movies, I felt guilty of that title being in New Zealand, where, as you may know, the trilogy was shot. But first my predilection of reading the book before the movie had to be appeased. And, alas! now that I have both read and watched The Fellowship of the Ring, I must, for the first time ever, admit that I liked the movie better than the book.

After doing a little research on the series in New Zealand, it is by far the most popular book and movie in this country. The book appeared at the top of NZ readers’ 100 favorite books of all time. Also, at the small, local library that didn’t contain a single Nabokov novel, I found many different editions of LOTR: a few tomes containing the whole trilogy and also multiple books of each individual story.

Many Christians could be forgiven for not ever reading the entire Bible, but the same could not be said of true fantasy fans and this book. I’ve never really gotten into much fantasy but the genius of Tolkien can easily be seen in this book. The writing is top-notch, and for this genre, I think it is the standard. The fact that Tolkien was so engrossed in every facet of this make-believe world is what sets it apart. The intricately detailed maps, development of languages, and creation of poetic songs are all part of the story and it’s easy to see why the trilogy has risen to such popularity.

In this book, set up by The Hobbit, Frodo, a small hobbit is tapped by Gandalf to carry the one omnipotent ring that rules all rings into the dark lands of Mordor, where the ring was created and now must be destroyed in order to restore tranquility. After escaping a few hiccups on the first leg of his journey, Frodo meets with representatives of other races—the elves, dwarves, men—who commit to help Frodo take the ring to Mount Doom. The story is mostly linear—a little bit of travel, some turmoil, turmoil assuage, travel again. Not many plot twists or truly exciting parts. Despite the fine writing, I found myself constantly drifting away from the text. Descriptions of landscapes and back-stories are described down to the minutest detail and are incessant throughout the book. Unfortunately, only a few times was I completely gripped by the story. This book, which may be indicative of the entire genre for me, was a trying experience.

On the other hand, the movie conveyed the story very well. Whereas many movie adaptations tend to dilute the original story, I thought this was a particularly strong production that concentrated the story. Although it is incredible that an entire lore of Middle Earth was created, I think a reader has to be actually fascinated by the lineages and histories to love the books; whereas the movie highlights the major points of the plot and smartly skips the finer points. In the end, the movie made me appreciate the book twofold and made me more interested in how the rest of the story will play out. And as I wake up each day with Mt Hutt on the horizon, I surely must be the last person in NZ to not know how it ends.

Additional: The cover picture I included is an actual photo of the ridiculously sweet 1967 edition of the series that I nabbed off ebay.

Everything Ravaged, Everything Burned by Wells Tower

It is nearly one o’clock, the hour that your mother comes home for lunch. You do not want to be alone in the house with your stepfather. It still angers you that he has sent you down the driveway on your sick day, your special day of rest. You take a dozen steps, and then a plan suggests itself. Very carefully, you litter the mail in a haphazard fan on the driveway gravel so that it looks as though it were dumped there suddenly. You ease yourself down into a tire rut, splaying your arms and legs in the attitude of someone stricken by a fainting spell. When your mother’s car swings into the drive, she will find you there. She may have to stand on the brakes to keep from running you over, but you are far enough up the driveway that you don’t think she could hit you by mistake. She’ll come to you crying and concerned. You’ll let her coax it out of you, the story of how your stepfather made you get the mail.

Above is an excerpt from the story "Leopard", a story unique in Tower's collection of short stories, being the only one in second person. But there is something here that runs throughout the book: a desperation in each of the protagonists to make something happen for him or herself. They all find themselves desperate enough for a change of some sort that they are willing to do things that are often harmful to themselves. The protagonist in "Leopard" is so angry at his stepfather that he is willing to put his life in danger to make a point. Another protagonist runs away to become a carnie. Another allows a much older man to kiss her just to shun her condescending cousin. There is a sort of very human desperation in all of these characters. And these desperations, at least as far as I'm concerned, all ring true.
Another strain related to this desperation running through the stories is violence. This is most apparent in the title story, which is about a group of vikings who go pillaging under the pretext of revenge when really it's because some of them are bored. In fact, this is a perfect blend of the desperation and the violence found throughout. (One of the most gory and fascinating things I've ever read happens in this story--I won't ruin it).
Finally, the writing itself in these stories is just first-rate. Tower has some metaphors and similes that are just astounding, and often equal parts hilarious and disturbing (see the description of the baby bird in "Wild America"). The man has a large vocabulary and he knows how to use it. I would say that while the content of his stories in this collection call to mind Hemingway and Carver, the prose seems akin to the late great John Updike. A very restrained Updike. While Updike would unleash a beautiful description of a smell or an idea, allowing it to go on in paragraph long sentences, Tower keeps it compact. But the rhythms and syntax remind me of Updike. This is Tower's first book, but you wouldn't know it by his prose--this is mature stuff.
If you can't tell by the fact that I have called him a sort of combination of Hemingway, Carver, and Updike (I'm certainly not the first to compare him to the first two, but I haven't read anyone comparing him to Updike, which may mean that I'm just wrong), I highly recommend this collection. A few of the stories have I'm-not-exactly-sure-what-to-think endings, but they are never truly unsatisfying. The majority, however, are so transparently yet complexly crafted, that by the time the end of even the first read comes, you know that you've read something special and you wouldn't change a word. Even reviewing this book at all feels superfluous, as there is all sorts of buzz about it in the literary world right now, but I just can't contain it. This book is grade-A stuff.

Freakonomics by Steven D. Levitt and Stephen J. Dubner

In Freakonomics, the economist Steven Levitt and the reporter Stephen Dubner pair up to co-write a book that explains the true nature of a small series of contemporary topics, ranging from the real-estate industry to the drop in crime-rates of the 90's to the inner workings of the urban crack cocaine market. Through analysis of huge amounts of data, Levitt and Dubner come to some startling conclusions: real-estate agents, on average, do not work as hard as we think they do at getting the best possible price for our houses when we sell them, a large number of public school teachers in Chicago were found to be cheating by physically changing the answers on the test sheets of their students so as to meet the standards set by policies like the No Child Left Behind Act, and perhaps the most controversial one in the book, the drop in crime rates that took place during the 90's is in a large part due to the legalization of abortion enacted by Roe v. Wade in 1973.

If you haven't read the book, this last finding may be particularly confusing, so I'll give a brief overview of the argument. Levitt and Dubner argue that after the legalization of abortion, more women, especially single mothers of low socioeconomic status, had abortions. This led to a significant decrease in the number of children born into the kinds of households that statistically tend to produce more children prone to commit crimes as they grow older. By the time the 90's rolled around, these unborn children would have been in their late teens, which is high-time for people to commit crimes. Thus since there were fewer would-be-criminal teenagers from poor, single-parent households alive during the 90's, Levitt and Dubner conclude that the increase in abortion during the 70's provides a reasonable explanation for the drop in crime that took place two decades later. The co-authors do, however, make sure to state that they do not advocate abortion as any sort of crime-fighting strategy.

They cover several more topics throughout the book, many of which are equally as interesting as the theory on Roe v. Wade's effect on crime in the 90's. Although there is no clear tie from one topic to the next within the book, I think what they all point to is the value of questioning the things you hear from newspapers, TV, people, and any other source from which we receive information about the world. As it is pointed out in the book, there are a good number of cases where reports are made that appeal to us mainly because they are in accordance with our own beliefs but that, in reality, don't line up with the data.

This isn't a book intended only for those who have already studied economics. On the contrary, it is well-written and engaging. It is, after all, an "International Bestseller" (or so says on the cover of the book, although I'd like to see the numbers). So if you're looking for a non-fiction book that's an enjoyable read and never becomes tedious, I know few, if any, that fit this description better than Freakonomics.

Uncle Tom's Cabin by Harriet Beecher Stowe

"One of the greatest productions of the human mind."
-Tolstoy

Dear Mr. Tolstoy,

I know that you are perhaps the greatest novelist who ever lived, but I have a question: REALLY?

Your friend,

Jonathan

When talking about this book, it's important to draw a line between the words "important" and "good". This isn't always easy to do. For example, when we talk about the works of James Joyce, which are certainly both important and good, the two terms are inextricably linked. Why are they important? Because they're so good. Why are they so good? Among other things, because of the important literary inventions found in them. Their importance and goodness have everything to do with one another.

When talking about Uncle Tom's Cabin, however, I think we can draw a very clear line. Put simply, it is undoubtedly important, but I would argue that it's not good. Stowe's book changed America, the world even. And it changed them for the good. To argue otherwise would be ridiculous. As literature, however, it just doesn't hold up. I make no secret that I'm not a huge fan of 19th century American literature in general. It almost hurts my conscience to say so, but this may be the worst of the worst. The main problem, it seems to me, is in the characters. The bad guys are so very bad, and the good guys are so nauseatingly good. "Uncle Tom" has justly become a by-word in America for a black man who is obedient to the point of being used. He's absurd. Little Eva, the white daughter of a slave owner who loves Tom and everybody (yes, EVERYBODY) falls fatally ill and gives a speech to everyone about how they should love each other before she dies, giving a lock of her hair to everyone. Stowe makes sure to let us know (as she does elsewhere in the novel) that literally everyone in the room is crying as this is happening. This kind of generalization pervades the novel and becomes tiresome and even dangerous. She generalizes about blacks, how they are more emotionally susceptible to events around them, etc. Given that this was a different time, I still can't believe some of the things she says about black people, especially as someone who is supposedly advocating for them. I would look up some example passages, but I don't want to waste my time. And what is her idea of a resolution at the end? After most of the main characters have been freed, they all go to Africa. Stowe's ideal: set the slaves free, and then they need to get out of our country.

In the Garden of The North American Martyrs by Tobias Wolff

He started to talk almost the moment he sat down, and he didn't stop until we reached Wallingford. Was I going to Choate? What a coincidence--so was he. My first year? His too. Where was I from? Oregon? No shit? Way the hell and gone up in the boondocks, eh? He was from Indiana--Gary, Indiana. I knew the song, didn't I? I did, but he sang it for me anyway, all the way through, including the tricky ending. There were other boys in the coach, and they were staring at us, and I wished he would shut up... I wanted to know boys whose fathers ran banks and held Cabinet office and wrote books. I wanted to be their friend and go home with them on vacation and someday marry one of their sisters, and Eugene Miller didn't have much of a place in those plans. I told him I had a friend at Choate with whom I'd probably be rooming.

In the Garden is Wolff's first collection of short stories that was published back in the 70s. The above quote comes from the story, Smokers, which has a definite Holden Caulfield feel to it. But other than that story, the book exhibits a much different type of writing than Salinger's. The characters aren't extremely compelling in themselves, the dialogue is less witty, and the plot plays more of a role. I'm not completely sure of this theory but I think it's the subtleties in Wolff's writing that makes him so good.

I especially liked this one story about 3 friends going hunting. One of them is kind of the pick-on, and I really like how he describes this. For instance: Tub had trouble getting through the fences. Frank and Kenny could have helped him; they could have lifted up on the top wire and stepped on the bottom wire, but they didn't. They stood and watched him. For me, that produces a lot of empathy. The story turns pretty serious but as it ends Wolff downplays the actually drastic situation to make it not feel so heavy. It's almost like he's unable to do otherwise.

The title story is also a winner. I've read a fair amount of short stories in the past year and every now and then I would reach the last sentence, sit there and wonder if I missed something. It's weird how some great stories don't even seem like stories at all. Anyway, this story is different in that it has a clear climax and such a defining moment. It's about a professor who gets invited to interview at this prestigious university but she finds out it's not quite what she thought it was.

I know one, maybe two, stories are a little dull, but at the end of most I was taking one of two paths: either flipping back to reread passages or immediately starting the next one. I can recommend this book to the reader who likes stories of everyday life in typical suburbia. Wolff doesn't really display his creative, out-of-the-box side here, although that side does exist--Bullet to the Brain (in a newer collection) is definitely creative. I'd say fans of Raymond Carver and probably Cheever will enjoy this book mucho. And Hey! Raymond Carver's actually a huge fan: "I have not read a book of stories in years that has given me such a shock of amazement and recognition--and such pleasure." And with a top writer that looks like this, with THAT intense a glare, it's amazing if he affords you any attention at all. I bet he talked like Clint Eastwood in Gran Torino.

The Road by Cormac McCarthy

I realize some or all of you guys may have already read The Road. In keeping with the spirit of the Robert Goulet’s Gentlemen Society, however, I have nonetheless decided to compose a review, the entirety of which undoubtedly amounts in quality to less than any single word chosen at random from Cormac McCarthy’s brilliant novel.

In The Road, some catastrophe has rendered the world lifeless, save those few who somehow survived. The survivors can essentially be divided into two groups: the good and the bad. Among the good, there is the man and the boy. They have few possessions, all of which the man wheels around in a shopping cart, and they are in a constant state of danger as they must try to avoid “the bad”: men and women who have resorted to the most depraved means of sustenance. I won’t say here what their method is but I will say that I’ve never read something so frightening as the passage where the man and the boy come face to face with it.

The man’s plan is to head for the coast. As you read on, however, (and you will read on, and on, and on, and wish that you had a bedpan because you won’t want to put the book down until you’ve finished reading the book straight through) you begin to realize how little hope there is for him and his son. This leads to a question I came to while reading: when all is for naught, does one go on struggling to survive? I cannot help but find myself in agreement with the sentiments of the man. I see my instincts leaning towards struggle rather than capitulation and would be curious to hear others’ views on the subject. Putting this discussion aside, though, I’m sure most would agree there is no good reason to believe the man and the boy will come out okay by the conclusion of the novel. Still, just as the man recognizes the innate preferability of life be it life in a world of hardship and pain, the reader too can find solace in the beauty of McCarthy’s words despite the theme of desolation that pervades throughout The Road.

On a side note, there’s going to be a film-adaptation of the book coming out sometime soon, I think. Viggo Mortensen is the man. I’d also slow dance with him.