Mar
11
I like birds.
By rachel on March 11, 2009 Leave a Comment
If poets are crows, fiction writers are probably vultures; not so different in what we eat, but less loved and more ungainly. We bald early and are occasionally mistaken for turkeys when seen out of our element. We roost together, sometimes, great heavy flocks of us clotting thick in bare-branched trees, all of us dressed (it is obligatory) in black. We vomit when terrified. We don’t speak to each other. They chase us out the next morning with poisoned meat and threats of fire. We take off on our broad wings that look so much like reaching hands and we fly each in a different direction. Even we don’t want to keep our company.
But you forget so quickly what it would be like if we weren’t around: death would be everywhere. Forget for a moment the smell, the buzz of flies and the air gummed up with rotting. Would you stand such reminders of mortality? The heaping bodies host to all your secret anxieties.
Be thankful we are hungry, and we take these things readily into our gullets, tear off shreds while they’re still warm and break them down in our eager stomachs, leaving you something already mulled over, something simple to understand. We learn from what we eat, of course, and that’s threaded through it too, but whatever would you do without our open throats?
Feb
12
Dostoevsky, human beings, inability to create interesting titles.
By rachel on February 12, 2009 Tagged dostoevsky Leave a Comment
Been reading Dostoevsky recently–just finished Crime and Punishment last night; loved it so so so much. It sounds strange, but even though I’d read The Idiot last semester and enjoyed it, I somehow was expecting to have more trouble with Crime and Punishment, or enjoy it less, or something. But I didn’t, and in fact it reassured me. I’ve been wondering if I burned myself out on reading–maybe permanently, even–since I’ve been having more and more trouble concentrating on it. One of the potential pitfalls of being a student of literature I guess. But Crime and Punishment grabbed me with the sort of brute strength books only seemed to have when I was in elementary school, reading them surreptitiously (or so I thought) under my desk, in my lap. And then, of course, with the same monster grip, it began beating me violently. Sounds bad, but I mean it–I felt physically run through the wringer after reading this book, but (fittingly?) in a very cathartic way.
One thing about Dostoevsky, something I am learning to pry into and to adore, is quite simply his characters. There is no character in Crime and Punishment who is not fascinating, human, and in some way deeply likable. Both Svidrigailov and Raskolnikov himself are twisted, selfish, vile men, and yet (in my experience, at least) both deeply understandable. Svidrigailov, admittedly, is less sympathetic than tormented Raskolnikov, but I found myself genuinely liking both characters despite that. Sonya and Dunya, Razumikhin, Porfiry–all the characters are, above all, terribly human. There are no boring characters, no characters who don’t in some way ring true. Even Ganya of The Idiot, designated by some as the “mediocre” character, is far from boring.
Somehow this all hooks up with the way I’ve been feeling recently. Last semester wasn’t so good; gloomy, lonely, frustrating and discontenting. Since I’ve been back this semester, it’s been better. Classes are–well, okay, they’re frustrating, but it’s the challenging, demanding kind of frustrating. Things are lightening. (And, of course, the weather’s a helping hand; I wandered around a t-shirt and flipflops today at 9pm, completely comfortable.) After Dostoevsky (rather: the start of Dostoevsky; I have three more books of his to read this semester, and others queued for summer), I’m beginning to be able to put into words what has been breaking my heart so recently. Put simply: people. I am surrounded daily with people who I don’t quite feel I measure up to; it’s humbling and a little frightening and often encourages me to put my foot in my mouth (where it spends most of its time). It’s an improvement, of course, but at the same time it’s sometimes jarring the way the thoughts strike me. Because people, though never quite so extraordinary (hyperreal? I think there must be another word I am looking for) as Dostoevsky’s characters, are pretty stunning.
I’m in four classes this semester, and they’re all making me sweat. I have three professors for those four classes, but I’m constantly running into other professors and professionals, whether I’ve had class with them or know them another way, and it still sort of startles me that I, as a student, am given leave to bother these people about my thoughts, opinions, etc. It sounds obvious, I know, but it’s a hefty responsibility when you think about it.
Or maybe I just think too much.
Feb
1
uh.
By rachel on February 1, 2009 Leave a Comment
Kinda feel like I should start doing this again.
Aug
19
Two very cool things.
By rachel on August 19, 2008 2 Comments
One: Video enhancement using still photographs.
Two: Yale grad student builds tiny house. (Madeline, I think you especially would like this.)
Aug
3
I actually finished Toni Morrison’s The Bluest Eye late last night, but rather than write about it then I thought I’d wait for today. And then I forgot, so it’s a little late tonight, too. But oh well.
I told a good friend that I’d read and liked it, and she was a little startled. She had read it at 17 and “violently disliked it,” and knew several others who had similar reactions. I am pretty sure one of the other English classes read it my freshman year at high school and responded similarly as well. I don’t really get why, but I can guess. It took me a long time to loosen up to assigned reading and not resent those books, and it’s much easier to take frustrations out on an assigned book than one you read for pleasure. That said, I’d read four of Morrison’s other novels already and knew this was her first. In some ways I sort of felt that the book gained its footing as it went along, but some of that could have been me, since these days I’ve been reading most often just before bed. I warmed up more and more to it as I went along, which was nice. And the moment I finished I wanted to reread it, which–I was about to type “which is what happened with Paradise,” but although it happened most fiercely with Paradise, that’s my typical reaction to finishing one of her books (although thus far I’ve only read Paradise, Jazz,, Song of Solomon, The Bluest Eye and Sula). And as a slight tangent, I’m going to put in one more plug for Paradise, which made strange and explosive things happen in my head.
I think I’ve sort of burnt myself out on reading, though, after this summer. Which is depressing, because mostly what I want to be doing is reading–I have so many books piled around the place which are full of amazing things I haven’t yet read. But I’m putting into action a self-imposed block on starting anything long for the next couple days. Instead I’m going to go to short stories when I want to read, because up next on my list is Dante, and I really don’t want to do him a disservice by reading him poorly. It should be fine; I have plenty of other things to do, like baking, watching movies, and oh yes, packing.
Jul
30
The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao. (With parentheticals.)
By rachel on July 30, 2008 Leave a Comment
So I think I have a little crush on Junot Diaz. (Possible signs you’re a little dorky: infatuation based on words.)
(Brief note of frustration: I started this book Friday night and only just finished it this evening. Where has my focus gone? Towards the end of spring semester there was a night where Stephanie was napping on the empty bed in my room and I was sitting on my bed reading The Habit of Being for three, almost four hours. Same deal first summer session (I read four books a week, I kinda had to), slightly less second session… And now I can read for not quite an hour before I just sort of fizzle out. I hope this ends soon.)
But anyway, The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao: I really liked it, and I want to re-read it as soon as I get my focus back so it doesn’t get chopped up so much. And I felt like a total nerd for catching as many references as I caught (Captain Trips and triffids being my two favorite). I’m not at all surprised the book won the Pulitzer. Toward the beginning, I was a little frustrated with the narrator and his footnotes; I’m on a big sincerity-and-authenticity kick recently, and it had a tinge of postmodernism about it. But the narrator is eventually brought into better perspective, and the book has a very real heart. (It may be only my opinion, but I find that postmodern or texts that get too ‘meta’ tend to lose their heart or their humanness. This is probably a continuation of my preference for sincerity and something I need to just get over.) I guess I don’t have a whole lot to say about the book yet, but I can recommend it. I’m probably too sleepy right now to really think right, but I want to make a start at writing something up here every book I finish, so there it is. Next up, The Bluest Eye.
Jul
27
More on books.
By rachel on July 27, 2008 3 Comments
So I’ve been cleaning and rearranging and going through lots of books, which has unearthed some I should have thought of before but hadn’t. So here’s another list of links, this time with a little bit of commentary.
Barry Hughart, Bridge of Birds
Barry Hughart, Eight Skilled Gentlemen
He wrote a third, The Story of the Stone, which I have not been able to get my hands on. They’re quite good, fantasy set in ancient China; the writing is clever but not too clever, the ride is enjoyable but has a heart. And they can get seriously unnerving at times, which I happen to like.
James Alan Gardner, Expendable
James Alan Gardner, Hunted
James Alan Gardner, Ascending
James Alan Gardner, Vigilant
James Alan Gardner, Radiant
James Alan Gardner, Trapped
James Alan Gardner, Commitment Hour
James Alan Gardner, Gravity Wells
All sci-fi but really, really well done. Soft SF so there’s aliens and such but the books are very human, which I like. There’s a lot of contemplation of morality and humanity and where thinking beings fit into things, but throughout everything he stays light-hearted enough that it’s never a chore to read. The last, Gravity Wells, is his short stories, which are usually pretty accessible and fun; one of them is available on his site, here.
David Mitchell, Number9Dream
I like this better than either Ghostwritten or Cloud Atlas by him, although I understand Cloud Atlas received a lot of approving press (as I recall I found it gimmicky and full of unfleshy tropes). This is, according to me anyway, stronger than those two, although he isn’t really my favorite author.
Robertson Davies, Fifth Business
Robertson Davies, The Manticore
Robertson Davies, World of Wonders
(Or, as one book.)
Robertson Davies makes me really happy; unfortunately, this is the only full trilogy of his that I’ve read (but I have read it three or four times through). I don’t exactly know how to describe his writing except that it is exact and eerie and very true. He has a way with characters. I like him a lot.
M John Harrison, Viriconium
This deserves a little explanation, I feel. I received it as a Christmas present during my last year at Carver, from one of my classmates with whom I’d never had a particularly good relationship. It was only in our last two years there that we could have a conversation without sniping at each other. Normally I try to just avoid people who I don’t get along with, but I genuinely liked this guy, and he was in my lit class, so it wasn’t that simple. Our last Christmas there I got presents for everyone in our class and I tried to make sure they were decent ones. I wasn’t really expecting anything back from people, but Matt gave me this and I gave him this, which he totally flipped over. And I ended up really liking Viriconium as well as being really touched, so it was a good Christmas all over. It’s in the vein of China Mieville’s stuff, weird sort of steampunky, surreal fantasy-sci-fi, lots of bizarre imagery. As I recall it starts doing fourth-wall-breaking things like the world starts breaking down because the characters become aware of the writer, or something. I haven’t re-read it in a year or so.
Nancy Farmer, The Ear, the Eye, and the Arm
This is one of my best-loved books from childhood (along with Calvin and Hobbes, which I’m re-reading again). Actually, I loved anything Nancy Farmer had to offer, but this was always my favorite; preternaturally sensitive detectives in a futuristic Zimbabwe? Awesome. Plus it’s a really quick and rewarding read.
I am about halfway through Oscar Wao and really loving it; the stack of books next to my bed which I have to read is growing precipitously, though. We’ll see how things go.
Edit: Why have I lost my blogroll? Hmm.
Jul
25
Back in MD.
By rachel on July 25, 2008 6 Comments
I’m home now, for a given value of “home,” at least, which means I’m cleaning my butt off. The process of packing makes it clear to me how much stuff I have accumulated, clear in a way it’s not when I’m living spread out. Partially because things aren’t so compressed, partially because I’m a chronically tidy person. So packing gets me agitated about how much crap I’ve got, and by the time it comes around to unpacking I’m ready to try to strip my stuff down and live like an ascetic. This never works, largely because some of my interests require clutter; my interest in art, as an example, encourages my relatives to give me scads of art supplies every Christmas. Because I tend to stick to pen or pencil on paper or maybe oil paints, most of this stuff sits around in drawers and boxes. Each time I scrape more of it away, send it off to Goodwill or related franchises, but so far I haven’t scraped enough away. Same with cooking; though I fetch most of my recipes from the internet or my grandmother’s repository people nonetheless seem compelled to give me cookbooks. Books in general are a problem, too, of course, and every time I come home with more books I instantly bundle some of the older ones into a box to go to the family storage unit. (My tastes have changed and matured since I’ve started doing this, and I fear opening the earlier boxes to be confronted with my own past missteps.)
This agitation was really only exacerbated this time; because there’s some work being done on the family room downstairs and my parents’ bathroom upstairs, all my stuff that had stayed peacefully in the den for years has been moved up into my room. So it’s a struggle not to freak out a little; clutter bothers me. It’s fine in spaces I’m not responsible for, and often charming when it’s someone else’s. But when it’s my clutter in the room where I spend most of my time, it truly grates. So today and tonight will be an ordered frenzy of deciding what I don’t need. Incidentally I have more blank books than the population of some small countries, so if anyone needs any…
I had a carefully sketched out plan of what I was going to read during my four week break before fall semester starts up again but I’ve already broken it. I came home to a copy of The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao on my desk and to my shame have already started it. But The Bluest Eye is really next, really really, I promise.
One great perk to being home (and what originally brought me to post here) is that I’ve got access to my library now. So here is a poem from Lia Purpura’s The Brighter the Veil which I truly love.
Today On My Walk
Today on my walk I kissed the cold air.
The pursing up was familiar, dear.
The store window caught and held the trace
of a shrinking, foggy moon on glass.
When I turned, the wind lifted a crazy bouquet–
it took and rode my breath away.
Today on my walk, I kissed the cold air.
I made a bouquet because you were not there.
—
EDIT: Was doing a quick proofread and wow. Ordered frenzy? Careful sketch? Milton really has rubbed off on me.
Jul
23
Music?
By rachel on July 23, 2008 2 Comments
Because I’m feeling nerdy and Milton-y, I’ve put up a muxtape sort of based on class, I guess. It’s here, and for posterity, here is the track listing:
01. Elbow – Weather to Fly
02. The National – The Geese of Beverly Road
03. Amy Annelle – Will Try
04. Wintersleep – Jaws of Life
05. Sea Wolf – The Garden That You Planted
06. Nick Drake – Road
07. Sunset Rubdown – A Day in the Graveyard
08. Sparklehorse – Gold Day
09. Apples in Stereo – Beautiful Machine Parts 3-4
10. Joey Ramone – What a Wonderful World
11. Wolf Parade – This Heart’s On Fire
12. Eluvium – Prelude for Time Feelers
Hopefully there’s something on there most people can find to like. We’ll see.
Jul
21
Foreshadowings, etc.
By rachel on July 21, 2008 2 Comments
So today’s talk of typology was hugely interesting and now I sort of feel like I should go read the Bible through a couple times and try and catch some of this stuff myself. But seeing as I am, like everyone else I think, being swallowed up by a paper at the moment, that doesn’t sound too feasible. I do sort of see how it connects into the paper writing, though, and beyond that prose writing (which is where my head is usually stuck, anyway).
Telling stories, you do get to play God a little bit. (And here is one continual item of frustration: spring semester, in Contemporary American Fiction, Professor Stewart gave an eloquent little talk about why God doesn’t tell stories, we tell stories. And now I can’t remember any of it but I know it was good and would help out here. So frustrating!) But when you start to tell enough stories, you begin to make them, well, better. Fuller and wholer. It’s like doing anything enough: as long as you put a certain amount of your head in the process and as long as you persist, you begin to get better at it. Keep doing it and you’ll find, looking back over what you’ve written, that things loop up the way they should. Seeds were planted before you knew you needed the tree, I guess. Things come to fruition in a more natural way. (What is with all the vegetative metaphors? It’s leaking through from my paper, I guess…) Anyway, seeing this, it’s a little easier to think about things as God makes them, at least for me. Sometimes you just have to plant things and wait a while before they sprout.
