On not buying anything today at the wonderful HBW

"I'm a bibliophile / and I also know what that means" - Even Hoshen

Hebrew Book Week or HBW (Hebrew site) is... awesome. Once a year, for a week and a half, my book-loving self finally gets to drag the others around me into the insanity of book-buying. There's nothing quite like it. A normally literate but unenthusiastic country turns into a gushing bibliophile within a few hours. Advertisements for the two leading bookstore chains line the bus stops. Signs point to the nearest fairground. Almost everyone in the street carries a plastic bag from either the bookstores or the publishers.

Instead of buying books, I collected catalogs

I could ramble about the many practical and beautiful aspects to HBW (and I will), but I want to focus on today's visit and that one, glorious fact: I did not purchase a single book.

This is, of course, a bizarre and unheard of notion. What's the point, one might ask, of a week and a half of book fairs and sales (3 for the price of 2! Buy 1 get 2 free! Buy 2 get 2 free! All books half price!*) if I didn't buy anything now?

I recently read an article about HBW that asked how relevant it is now that the bookstores offer year-round sales and deals (in response to a statistic that showed that only** 44% of Israelis plan to attend the events). My answer is simple: you don't go to HBW just to get cheap books. You go for the experience. You go for the crick in your neck from bending down to stare at so many books. You go to chat up the teens and adults who try to push you the popular bestsellers but after a few moments break down and recommend the really good books. You go to see authors signing books one minute and patiently listening to their kids' excited gush about a book they just discovered the next. You go for the joy of finding like-minded folk - people who love books, love literature and love this culture of reading we're working so hard to maintain.

"Reserved for HBW 2011" ad as mentioned here

Only after all these do you actually go to buy books. The books are the cookies on top of the ice-cream sundae. And boy, do I want those cookies.

Today I walked around with a small notepad. Because I went with a friend, I didn't have quite as many opportunities to talk to authors and the booksellers*** but I managed to scribble down a long and thorough list of books that interest me. Do they all fall in line with the deals? Probably not. But I'll buy more books than I really want and at the end of the day, I'll probably find some gems hidden in the stacks of bestselling thrillers, religious texts and wonderfully nostalgic kids books.

Really heavy, but the back ache was worth it...

By not buying anything today, all I had "going for me" was the experience. And you know what? It was worth it. Even though I didn't get that author signature I was hoping for, even though I didn't make it to all the publisher booths (my friend isn't quite as obsessive as me and after a long day, grew rather tired), even though I didn't get into any in-depth conversations with booksellers, even though I didn't buy anything... there's no doubt about it. HBW isn't about the sales. It's about the literary experience. Isn't that just wonderful?


* Real sales
** "Only" being, of course, a relative term. I'm sure if 44% of Americans attended such events, it would be considered monumental. Israel prides itself in HBW's influence and wide-spread appeal - 44% attendance is a somewhat embarrassing decrease, apparently.
*** I don't like using the term "bookseller" because the association is of a seller in a bookstore, but that's the most accurate description of these guys. They're sellers... of books.

The start of a good week (and a half)

Yesterday marked the launch of one of my favorite yearly events - Hebrew Book Week. The morning opened with the now-familiar writers/poet takeover of Ha'aretz's news pages and continued onto... well, nothing. I didn't attend any events yesterday. But you know what one of the greatest things about Hebrew Book Week is? It lasts a week and a half.

So I turn to my shelves (reminded of a great ad I saw that showed packed bookshelves and a small gap, with a sign that read "Reserved for Hebrew Book Week!"), thinking about these past months. I've decreased my book-buying incredibly, only purchasing two books in eight months. Meanwhile, I've knocked several titles off my guilt list, making my shelves look a lot less threatening.

All that is going down the drain this week. And I'm so very excited.

On author power and influence

I started reading this Forbes post about "the 10 most powerful women authors" and my first reaction was surprise. This is because based on the first few names, it appears as though Avril David mistakes "powerful" with "bestselling".

Perhaps my issue is with the use of the word "powerful". David meant influential - but use of the word powerful alters the meaning. Regardless, reading over this list, I'm somewhat disappointed from a strictly literary perspective. Influence has a lot of forms, but how exactly does Danielle Steel challenge her readers? Does the fact that Stephenie Meyer can capture an audience mean that her message has necessarily resonated with readers? J.K. Rowling, even as author of one of my favorite series ever, isn't exactly my first choice when it comes to influence perhaps because her incredible ability to tell a story doesn't mean that I'll jump at her every word.

David's list becomes a little more interesting once we get to the award-winners. Once she stops focuses on the monetary value of the author (and more on the accolades), there's a little more... weight. But even so, I'm still left somewhat unsatisfied. True, authors like Maya Angelou, Jhumpa Lahiri, Alice Walker and the rest deal with interesting issues and broaden readers' minds. That is clearly influence. But would I choose these women?

The better question is: would I choose anyone? The more I think about it, the more I realize that the answer is no. I can't think of very many authors - male or female - who I would call powerful or influential, perhaps because these are some pretty strong words by themselves. Maybe there are authors who are fairly influential within a specific field - literary criticism, for instance - but to say that they're powerful... I can't do it. I can't put that kind of label on authors.

David doesn't pretend that the list is anything other than her personal opinion - a mix of bestselling authors, award-winners and familiar literary names. She doesn't shy away from the fact that this, furthermore, a very limited list. Similarly, my opinion is that a list like this doesn't say very much. It doesn't sit well with me. I'm not even certain why.

What do you guys think? Do you like David's list? Are there authors (male or female) who you think are, indeed, clearly powerful or obviously influential?

5. The Day Lasts More than a Thousand Years - Unexpected displacement

I first encountered Chingiz Aitmatov's The Day Lasts More than a Thousand Years thanks to a few great posts by the Amateur Reader. In it, I didn't even notice this sentence: "The Day Lasts More than a Hundred Years has, intermixed with Yedigei's story, a genuine science fiction plot, about alien contact." So basically, when I finally got around to reading this great book, the sci-fi story came as a complete surprise.

The camel get center stage on my edition

To call The Day Lasts More than a Thousand Years a sci-fi novel would be... wrong. It's not. It has a sci-fi story that, as the Amateur Reader explains much more eloquently than I ever could, serves as more of a metaphor than anything else. It's a book that could easily fall into that annoyingly titled "literary fiction" category - full of stories, vivid characters and strong writing. But it does, at the same time, carry within it, some curious sci-fi. Not particularly original, a little unrelated to the rest of the book and not quite enough of it, but it's there.

What is SAFL if not literature that incorporates science fiction or fantasy? Because that's precisely what The Day Lasts More than a Thousand Years does - it slips in this small sci-fi story without blinking an eye, without really letting it take over the story. And the rest of it? Wonderful. It's an interesting and different book, quite unlike just about every other book I've ever read. So deeply rooted in its setting (Kazakhstan), it completely displaced me. And isn't that what the greatest SAFL titles do?

Stupidity! Misogyny!

I wrote about various forms of sexism in literature and the literary world a few months back, thinking that would cover most of the potential and existing issues in literature. And then... then I read this.

[T]he winner of the Nobel prize for literature [V. S. Naipaul] has lashed out at female authors, saying there is no woman writer whom he considers his equal – and singling out Jane Austen for particular criticism. [...] He felt that women writers were "quite different". He said: "I read a piece of writing and within a paragraph or two I know whether it is by a woman or not. I think [it is] unequal to me." The author, who was born in Trinidad, said this was because of women's "sentimentality, the narrow view of the world". "And inevitably for a woman, she is not a complete master of a house, so that comes over in her writing too," he said.

He added: "My publisher, who was so good as a taster and editor, when she became a writer, lo and behold, it was all this feminine tosh. I don't mean this in any unkind way."

Oh! He doesn't mean in any unkind way. That's okay then.

Look. People are subject to their opinion. That's fine. But suggesting that every female writer is inherently different than every male writer is possibly the dumbest thing I've ever heard of. Even if Naipaul's comments stem from pure egotism (perhaps he also believes no male writer is his literary equal?), these comments are completely, completely effing stupid.

Take, for instance, the opinion that all women writers have some obvious sentimentality. Naipaul's assumption is that sentimentality is the default mode for women writers. It's an always apparent component to their writing, if I understood him correctly. Then he proceeds to imply that sentimentality is somehow inherently flawed - it provides a "narrow view of the world". How, exactly, does a sentimental approach provide any kind of view of the world at all? Is Naipaul suggesting that sentiments don't exist? That they shouldn't be included in literature? Or how about the "fact" that he can recognize a female author within a few sentences of her writing. On this count, I find myself struggling to understand what the [****] Naipaul is trying to say. Seriously. No. Flipping. Clue. (also: check out this Guardian response quiz)

Really, I have no idea what he's trying to say here. In fact, I'm loath to label this as an article about sexism because it's even more pathetic and ridiculous than that. Naipaul's comments are just stupid and if anyone can figure them out, good on them. Maybe you can explain it to me. All I've understood is that Naipaul has a giant ego and doesn't understand the concept of generalizations. Or the concept of avoiding making noise just for the sake of making noise.

A ridiculous, ridiculous website

Sites like this make me roll my eyes. And then laugh. A lot.

(hat tip, The Boston Bibliophile)

Familiar unknowns

This photo doesn't show just how large the book really is

As I neared the end of the very long The Invisible Bridge (or perhaps what should have been the end), I found myself struck by a certain reference found within its pages. One I couldn't remember seeing in fiction before.

On page 423, one of the characters first mentions the Struma tragedy and thus truly catapulting the book to my attention. The scene woke me up. Julie Orringer, in the midst of her Hungarian Holocaust novel slips in a piece of family history and not just by name. Recognizing that her readers will likely not know the name, she further explains the situation to the characters, tying it into their escape rhetoric. It's an interesting and effective method, in sync with much of the what the book aims to prove.

First Struma reference and explanation

Orringer's use of a virtually unknown Holocaust tragedy that escapes the bounds of the typical Holocaust cliché is what makes this a book worth even considering. Even beyond the Struma incident, Orringer's main characters face tragedies of a different sort than Auschwitz and they attempt escapes that don't involve desperate chases and runs through the woods. This is a Hungarian Holocaust novel and one of the only ones I've ever read.

Taking a familiar setting (the years leading up to the Holocaust and through to the end of the European war) and making it new is not an easy task. Orringer may not have written the next classic novel, but it's a pretty good take nonetheless (if way, way too inflated). The sparks of originality that slip into the narrative give the book a few fresh moments even as the story progresses in a familiar and predictable manner. That Orringer introduced me to a new story that I already knew... it's chilling and yet somewhat wonderful. I want authors to tell me different stories. I want authors to educate me. That readers of The Invisible Bridge now know about the Struma gives me some peace. Julie Orringer, I tip my hat.

Trying too hard to be the successful second

The back of Laurie Halse Anderson's Wintergirls touts it as "her most powerfully moving novel since Speak". Fans of young adult fiction will immediately recognize one of the cornerstones in the genre, a book that I often view as revolutionary in the context of young adult literature and an all-around excellent book.

To say that Anderson did not reach the same level of success with her later books as she did with Speak is an understatement. Not because she's an unsuccessful writer - not at all - but because in a lot of senses, her marketing team insists on attempting to equate her books to that first success. On Goodreads, Wintergirls is the second most popular of her novels, and I have to wonder why. Was it the aggressive marketing or is it true that Wintergirls has something about it that makes it reminiscent of Speak?

Both. Most of Anderson's prior books dealt with similar angst-ridden themes, each book looking at different subject matters and in a different way. Until Wintergirls. There Anderson chose a writing style remarkably similar to that in Speak, as well as a narrator whose struggles echoed in tone those of Speak's Melinda. The two girls tell two painful and, yes, even moving stories but they do so in far too similar ways.

It seems to me that the publishers have "marketed" themselves into a corner. By trying so hard to make Wintergirls into the next Speak, they have given it an almost-impossible challenge - to outdo an excellent book, a classic of its genre. By proposing this comparison, I'm almost expected to note the parallels, to the note the stylistic similarities. These don't make the book as good as Speak, though. It makes the book into a wannabe. It's trying too hard. A shame, too, because it's actually not that bad a book...

The Other Mother and other mothers

I want to link to this series of Mother's Day posts over at Books, Personally before it disappears into the obscurity of the archives. The most recent post is about Mrs. Coulter from The Golden Compass, one of my favorite books and is a thoughtful and different take on a character we tend to vilify. Previous posts include a lovely hat-tip to Mrs. Weasley and a look at Coraline's Other Mother. Wonderful posts, cool literary mothers.

I don't believe that I'd ever thought about mothers in literature until reading those posts. I'd be hard-pressed to think of an interesting mom not included in this list. Once named, I can nod along and agree wholeheartedly: Molly's a wonderful mother, Marisa is a weird character who you love-hate-hate throughout a great series and the Other Mother is the reason I couldn't wear a pair of black pants for a good six months because of the black buttons on the cargo pockets.

But are there more of these mothers? I look through lists of my favorite books and few (if any) memorable ones pop up. Mrs. Murry, perhaps, from A Wrinkle in Time - she was always a stable and curious character. Or even Cathy from East of Eden - a terrible mom (pure, delicious evil), but definitely memorable. Other than these flashes here and there, though, most of the mothers in my favorite books have either been nonexistent (dead/missing) or invisible (almost irrelevant to the story). That's a rather weird realization.

The widowhood memoir (scandal)

There has been a small amount of criticism and issue taken with author Joyce Carol Oates' recent memoir about widowhood, A Widow's Story (which, for the record, I have not read). Some reviewers, rather than focusing on the memoir itself, have turned a sharp gaze towards the fact that though Oates' memoir focuses on the sudden death of her husband and the grief that followed, she neglects to mention at any point that she married a little over a year after her husband's death.

This of course raises the question of full disclosure in a memoir. Does the author need to reveal what may seem (to them) as irrelevant to their story? Oates clearly did not see need to include mention of her remarriage - perhaps to her this was not part of the grief story. But it may also seem as though something is missing. Indeed, Oates has been quoted as saying that she should have added an appendix to the book, including her remarriage and that she hopes such an appendix will be added to later editions.

Commenter Kristin writes the following:

If someone can write a memoir at 22 years old, why can't Oates write a memoir about a particular time in her life? 

When you think about it, Kristin has made a pretty good point. Memoirs are not autobiographies. They don't have to include what you ate for breakfast every day. They don't have to provide a full summary of your life. Memoirs are, in fact, defined by their flexibility and the way they don't have to tell everything around the author's world. Oates decided to discuss the grief of widowhood, not the possible joy of remarriage. That's not what the book is about. That she remarried does not exactly cast the book into a new light. It's just a different story, one that may deserve its own focus (should Oates decides that's worth it).

In honor of Bacchus

This weekend, I happened upon my 1939 edition of The Oxford Book of English Verse. This is a poetry collection I purchased in eighth or ninth grade for that years poetry unit, enjoying the old-school styles and poems. As I now flipped through the small hardback book, I noticed that several slips of paper served as bookmarks, and also that I had dog-eared many of the pages. Surprised, I began to take more care in my perusal of the book, trying to spot which poems had struck my 13-year old fancy.

The following find particularly made me laugh. I suspect it did back then, too.

A Drinking-Song

Bacchus must now his power resign -

I am the only God of Wine!

It is not fit the wretch should be

In competition set with me,

Who can drink ten times more than he.

Make a new world, ye powers divine!

Stock'd with nothing else but Wine:

Let Wine its only product be,

Let Wine be earth, and air, and sea -

And let that Wine be all for me!

-Henry Carey

Ratings suck (or something like that)

I first started writing terrible Amazon reviews in 3rd grade, way back in 1999. Those were the days when all Amazon users would still just file away their opinions as "Customer reviews" and little distinction was made between children and adults. I grew on this system, learning to crudely translate my complex (well... to be honest, at first they were hardly complex. More like... childish...) opinions into 1-5 star ratings.

But it was only ever a crude figure. As the years went by, it became harder and harder to rate appropriately. Then sites like Goodreads and LibraryThing came around. These sites also built themselves on the 5-star rating (though LT also gave half stars, making it a 10-star rating, I guess...), each one providing a different scale than Amazon's.

This isn't the time for a rating inflation rant, but it is the time to slap these 5-star ratings away. I don't mean this as a dramatic statement against ratings, but the fact is that in today's online climate, there is no clear scale for a 5-star system. None. Every site offers its own recommendation for what each star rating could mean, leaving little room for complexities. LT's 10-star system is revolutionary in comparison. It allows for depth.

When I think of books, I don't think in numbers. I don't think in stars. I think in characters, in writing, in originality... I think about whether the book was enjoyable or tasking, whether it was rewarding or pointless, whether it entertained or educated. Two books can both get the same official 4-star rating when my reactions to them were completely different. My expectations from them are miles apart. How can any numerical system fully encompass this?

Again, I don't believe that there's something wrong with star ratings. When reading a review, it's convenient and easy to have a simple number summarize the reviewer's thoughts. That's not really a good thing, though. It is - for good and for bad - a simplification of the review. A numerical representation of complex emotions and thoughts. I like using star ratings, I like using sites that allow me to summarize my thoughts like that. What I don't like is the imbalances. I don't like 5-stars, I like 10. I don't like one site telling me that 3-stars is good while the other tells me that it's okay. I don't like the descriptions jumping from good straight to excellent. How does that make sense?

So let us raise our voices high! Let the 5-star system be forsaken, let us welcome a new age of complex reviews, a new age of a wide range of opinions and of organized, accepted descriptions for star ratings. Who's with me?

Six months...

...since I last purchased a book. Until yesterday, when I finally caved in and bought two books at half price. Will the floodgates open?

Since I last purchased a new book, I've learned a few things about how to take the stress out of my reading. For instance, my appreciation for the books already resting on my shelves grew, as did my understanding of the wondrous spontaneity of a library find. I relaxed a lot more in terms of what books I read, partly because I didn't feel the crushing weight of new and old purchases bearing down on me, but also because I found myself reading a lot of good and diverse books.

For instance, since the start of 2011 (one month after the new regime began), 40% of the books I've read have been translated, representing 9 languages other than English. I've read three non-fiction titles (in all of 2010 I read only two titles... and one falls into the last month, when I'd already stopped purchasing new books), several science fiction and fantasy books (truth be told, A Song of Ice and Fire make up a good portion of the English titles...), and a number of books that have languished on my shelves for years.

Now that I've broken the spell, will I run out to buy more and more and more? No. I'm a lot more attentive to the books I see on sale and a lot more hesitant before snapping up a new title. Of the two books I purchased, one is a relative bestseller while the other is so obscure that the bookseller looked at me a little weirdly as I paid (the book was a random find I'd never heard of before... let's hope it's good...). I don't feel as driving an urge to have the newest books right away. I know that they'll still be around in a few months and maybe by that point I'll realize that I don't actually want to read it. Then I can refocus my attention on the other great books I have on my shelves.

But I'm not going to be as strict about the ban anymore. While my ultimate goal is to reduce the number of books in the stacks, I'm going to continue buying new books and reading them. I just might do it a little smarter from now on.

Amazon review of the week

In a surprising twist, this week's highlighted review is not a wholly negative one, nor is it a simple, amusing one-liner. It's a long, even rambling review of Diana Wynne Jones' The Chronicles of Chrestomanci, Volume 1 (which I am considering reading as a stepping stone to DWJ's writing). One paragraph in particular caught my eye:

i'd rather have harry potter, where there are good people who are kind and loyal, and teh selfish people are clearly what they are, and Harry is smart enough to see who is who. I don't know why Diana Wynne Jones thinks its fun to have a hero who can't tell good from selfish, or even good from evil, and who does quite wicked things himself out of innocence. and her good people are often so cold hearted and self involved, they mistreat our lonely little hero almost as badly as the wicked people. again, it's kind of creepyl 

Ever since I was young, one of my favorite things in literature was the anti-hero. Villains. Who doesn't love a good, complex character? This is my first encounter of someone wanting more black-white, wanting less complexity of characters and good-vs.-evil. It's hard for me to write this without judging the reviewer harshly. For a reader to prefer clear-cut fantasy is legitimate, even if it's not at all what draws me. It surprises me, though, that there's a school of thought that prefers for the approach (in fantasy or otherwise) to be simpler and to forsake the complexities of the real world in favor of obviously drawn black-white situations and characters.

Good people do bad things. Bad people do good things. The world will never fall into two simple, clear categories. Yes, sometimes the dismissal of bad as done by the "good guys" is very problematic (my issues with the Millennium series, among others...) but to simplify humanity's characteristics to such an extreme degree... I find it hard to believe that any reader would truly prefer this.

As I have not read the book, I can't say if it's simplistic in the opposite direction or if the reviewer is attempting to describe a different phenomenon that I simply can't understand yet, but my impression of other less-than-satisfactory reviews indicate that readers didn't like the ambiguity of DWJ's characters (and that not all are immediately likable). Are some readers mistaking their other issues with the book as a problem with the gray areas, or is a black and white world really that much better of them?

A poetry story

A lovely 'Even Hoshen' edition

Czesław Miłosz and I "met" in late spring of 2006. The days were warm and sunny, the atmosphere carefree and happy. The school year was coming to a close. Our end-of-the-year English unit was poetry, as was our summarizing final project and exam (more details here). I was impressed enough with Miłosz writing to give him the front-centre spot in the project, and enough to remember his name. And yet.
 
And yet it took me an additional five years to read further Miłosz poems, this time in another language. When an article in the Ha'aretz Book Review (partial English representation here) mentioned a newly published translation of a collection of Miłosz poems, I immediately took note. During the National Book Week, I visited the booth of this publisher (small, independent and almost entirely unknown... sadly). I picked up the book was struck by the beauty of the edition. This was not a simple publication. I could discuss the publishers at length (at a later time), but suffice to say that the edition is positively lovely - heavy paper, a distinct blue font, and specially drawn images scattered throughout the book. A book for a true bibliophile. And Miłosz lover.

I did not immediately dive into It (as the collection is called in this edition). I took my time, occasionally reading a poem here and there. One evening, I sat down to read a few poems before bed. One left a particularly strong impression. "Meaning":

When I die, I will see the lining of the world.
The other side, beyond bird, mountain, sunset.
The true meaning, ready to be decoded.
What never added up will add up,
What was incomprehensible will be comprehended.

And if there is no lining to the world?
If a thrush on a branch is not a sign,
But just a thrush on the branch? If night and day
Make no sense following each other?
And on this earth there is nothing except this earth?
 
Even if that is so, there will remain
A word wakened by lips that perish,
A tireless messenger who runs and runs
Through interstellar fields, through the revolving galaxies,
And calls out, protests, screams.

(translation Robert Hass)

It's a poem that can impact a reader in two languages (or possibly more). This is why I return to Miłosz, why I do like some poetry. I'm not a huge poetry reader, but poems like this - poems that move a reader enough to read them again and again and again without the words growing old - are the reason I will continue to seek out new poets. And return to the talented ones.

Stop me if you've heard this one before

Literary Pet Peeve 1: When I find myself reading/reading about the same book I've read a thousand times before. Particularly when it isn't even riding a bandwagon.

Note: I did not seek out any of these titles. The first two I read (sadly - I wish I could take those hours back...), the second two I came across in my daily book travels.

• Exhibit A: Saving Zoe, Alyson Noel; Plot: Little sister Echo is the normal kid, big sister Zoe is the exotic, popular, beautiful one. Zoe is murdered - Echo starts following in big sis' footsteps, including involvement with boyfriend. She uncovers secrets. Drama ensues.

• Exhibit B: Goldengrove, Francine Prose; Plot: Little sister Nico is a normal kid, big sister Margaret is the exotic, popular, talented, beautiful one. Margaret drowns - Nico starts following in big sis' footsteps, including involvement with boyfriend. Drama ensues.

• Exhibit C: The Sky is Everywhere, Jandy Nelson; Plot (as summarized by Goodreads): Seventeen-year-old Lennie Walker, bookworm and band geek, plays second clarinet and spends her time tucked safely and happily in the shadow of her fiery older sister, Bailey. But when Bailey dies abruptly, Lennie is catapulted to center stage of her own life—and, despite her nonexistent history with boys, suddenly finds herself struggling to balance two. Toby was Bailey's boyfriend; his grief mirrors Lennie's own. [...]

• Exhibit D: Between Here and Forever, Elizabeth Scott; Plot (as summarized by Goodreads): Abby accepted that she can’t measure up to her beautiful, magnetic sister Tess a long time ago, and knows exactly what she is: Second best. Invisible. Until the accident. Now Tess is in a coma, and Abby’s life is on hold. It may have been hard living with Tess, but it's nothing compared to living without her. She's got a plan to bring Tess back though, involving the gorgeous and mysterious Eli, but then Abby learns something about Tess, something that was always there, but that she’d never seen. Abby is about to find out that truth isn't always what you think it is, and that life holds more than she ever thought it could...

Exhibits A, B and C are almost identical to each other, down to the bizarre name choices for the sisters' names. I mean, seriously, with the exception of Margaret, none of these names are common for girls (Zoe is marginally acceptable but still fairly unbelievable). Get real. Furthermore, the plots of all four closely follow the same formula: meek little sister steps into the glamorous older sister's shoes following death/horrible accident.

For some odd reason, this storyline seems to be incredibly popular among writers. Please let me know if you come across any other examples so that I may shun those titles for completing spitting in the face of originality. Thank you.

Organization, "bookshelves" and Goodreads

Organizing the mess?

I don't use Goodreads all that often or all that well. I signed up years ago but never really took advantage of the site for anything more than a way to keep track of what books I read. Usually I don't even add details like dates - the when always seems to define itself in my mind - and limit my shelves to the standard offered ones.

I'm uneducated about much regarding my Goodreads page. On the one hand, I recognize that a lot of book bloggers use this tool, both on the social level but also for categorization. Book social networking sites provide readers with different takes on book categorization. (it should be noted I focus on Goodreads as it is the most popular of the free sites, even if it lacks the categorization wonder and depth of LibraryThing, which requires payment)

What are the correct uses for Goodreads? Friending internet strangers because you liked a review they wrote? Connecting with fellow book bloggers? Tagging the books you've read in an organized manner however you want? Or simply maintaining a list of books read with the rare review and the occasional personal comment (eBook, date read, etc.)? At this point, I've added over 600 books to my Goodreads account, including books I read as a child, series I've forced myself to complete and even the occasional textbook I've studied from.

Their recommendations

Yet in my account, these all fall in the same category: "read". I have added no books to my TBR shelf (for fear of discovering that number does, in fact, exceed 100... by a lot, perhaps...) and as I typically start and finish books over the course of a day without updating Goodreads, only a title here and there could qualify for the "currently-reading" shelf. I have no shelves based on genres, no shelves based on ratings, no shelves based on year (or to be more accurate, era)... nothing.

I suppose part of it is a lack of appeal for definitions and fixed facts. Ratings are flexible - I can amend them if needed (and do so frequently when my opinion of a book changes over time). Reviews are multi-faceted - they express the thinking behind the reader. But shelves? Genres are so flexible and ever-changing... how can I just come up with a bunch of genres that ought to make sense to other readers within such tight confines?

A few months ago, I sorted my Calibre eBook library. One of the most difficult tasks was tagging the books. In this case,these are books I haven't read. Their titles reveal little. I have trouble remembering their authors and their titles. One of the ways I organized the books was by genre. Another was century. A third still was region. For the most part, regional and genre bookshelves were given silly and eccentric titles (not something that works as well on Goodreads).

Doing something like this for my Goodreads library just doesn't click. I can't really see it happening. But if that's the case, is there something else I should be doing with Goodreads? Am I truly misusing the site, ignoring its primary uses? Is this even possible? It leads me to wonder how most readers use their book social networking site of choice. Do they, like me, maintain anonymity and avoid any personal disclosures? Or do most prefer to take advantage of the tools and choices offered to them, writing numerous reviews and sharing titles?

Netanya

Astronomy in Netanya

You know those books that seem to be missing a point? Any kind of point at all? That's the kind of book that Netanya [נתניה - 2010] is (last mentioned here). This is an at-times fascinating, occasionally amusing, always casually written, short "memoir" that completely lacks a point. But I mean: completely.

Dror Burstein seems like the kind of guy I'd want to have a conversation with. And not the internet kind either. He's a writer who managed to write a memoir-esque book with almost no personal intervention. Whether or not this worked particularly effectively is a whole other matter. We'll get to that in a moment. His blog, meanwhile, seems a lot like Netanya. Or the other way around. Netanya vaguely resembles three or four extremely long blog posts. Put together, they make for a short, rather strange little book.

Netanya isn't really a memoir. Nor is it an autobiography. I wouldn't even say that it's 100% nonfiction either. It's one long monologue, thoughts beamed directly to the reader, sometimes evening coming off as fictionalized. Burstein barely even features in this book. He's around, sure, but he's like this quiet side character watching and quoting a lot. He has little to add.

Facts and photos

There are two main themes in Netanya: Burstein's family history (mostly his grandfather) and Earth's history. Both stories are interesting. Neither really work within the context of the book. The astronomy/science story - which was far more interesting to me - seemed to get lost in the number of quotes and references to specific scientists. At times I felt like Burstein was simply copying and pasting chunks of these books that so influenced him. I'm not saying it isn't effective and interesting, but in such a short book, is it particularly impressive? No.

The family story, meanwhile, is less coherent in my mind, but more influential in that it has the emotional impact on the reader. But because it lacked structure and coherence, the story scattered. And then there's the entirely legit question: what's the point? What is Burstein trying to tell his readers? He isn't a hugely popular author - Netanya was published fairly calmly and I came across it somewhat by mistake - and this doesn't have a "great" and "huge" message that seemingly "justifies" the looseness. It's got wonderful writing. It's got two interesting, random stories. It's got some great moments. But as a book? Not the greatest.

I will certain read Burstein's novels. His writing, the way he successfully kept me reading despite Netanya's flaws is enough to convince me that he's a writer worth noting.

The Armenian genocide, out of context

The Forty Days of Musa Dagh has been sitting on my bookshelves for six years. I finally started reading it last week. Now, after devouring the first of three sections (er... books), I'm going to set the book aside for a short time. It should be noted that this book is brilliant so far.

The Forty Days of Musa Dagh is one of those rare books that makes me want to highlight passages, quote them, analyze them and dissect them to their tiniest commas and dashes. It's a dense book, no doubt, heavy with expectation and meaning. It's also only the second book I've ever read (or encountered) about the Armenian genocide, the first having been a kids book from seven years ago (an Amazon recommendation thus brought The Forty Days of Musa Dagh to my attention).

Reading about the Armenian genocide in today's world is a fairly difficult task. Like Peter Sourian, writer of the introduction in my edition of the book, I repeatedly find myself making connections to the Holocaust. The more famous one, that is. The one that is heavily represented in literature. It's actually rather hard not to make such connections. Allow me the indulgence of quoting some lengthy passages.

For many people it is depressing even to move house. A lost fragment of life always remains. To move to another town, settle in a foreign country is for everyone a major decision. But, to be suddenly driven forth, within twenty-four house, from one's home, one's work, the reward of years of steady industry. To become the helpless prey of hate. To be sent defenceless out on to Asiatic highroads, with several thousand miles of dust, stones and morass before one. To know that one will never again find a decently human habitation, never again sit down to a proper table. Yet all this is nothing. To be more shackled than any convict. To be counted as outside the law, a vagabond, whom anyone has the right to kill unpunished. To be confined within a crawling herd of sick people, a moving concentration camp, in which no one is so much as allowed to ease his body without permission. - p. 93-94

According to Wikipedia, Franz Werfel's novel has always been interpreted as referencing Jews and anti-Semitism. Werfel himself faced much anti-Semitic behavior in his life and twice had to flee the Nazis - the first time from Austria and later from France. The Forty Days of Musa Dagh was written in 1933, "prefiguring the atrocities of World War II" (as the back of the book refers to it). It's an eerily accurate and apt description.

Germany, luckily, has few or no, internal enemies. But let's suppose that, in other circumstances, she found herself with traitors in her midst - Alsace-Lorrainers, shall we say, or Poles, or Social Democrats, or Jews - and in far greater numbers than at present. Would you, Herr Lepsius, not endorse any and every means of freeing your country, which is fighting for its life against a whole world of enemies without, from those within?... Would you consider it so cruel if, for the sake of victory, all dangerous elements in the population were simply to be herded together and sent packing into distant, uninhabited territory? - p. 135-136

This second quote is taken from a conversation between the German priest Dr. Lepsius and the Turkish leader Enver Pasha. The conversation is full of comments that make the noble Lepsius (as well as the reader) want to rip his hair out. 

I agree that among Armenians one finds an alarming proportion of intelligence. Are you really so much in favor of that kind of intelligence, Herr Lepsius? I'm not. We Turks may not be very intelligent in that way, but we're a great and heroic people, called to establish and govern a world empire. Therefore we intend to surmount all obstacles. - p. 138-139

There's also a fair amount of anti-Semitism in the conversation (as is evidenced above). At one point, Enver Pasha says of the American ambassador (who has eye-witnessed atrocities): "Mr. Morgenthau [...] is a Jew. And Jews are always fanatically on the side of minorities." - p. 134

But what's remarkable is the way the similarities are drawn by the reader, not by Werfel himself. Werfel, at the time of writing The Forty Days of Musa Dagh could not have imagined what horrors Jews would face in Europe only a few years later. Some parallels are apparent - the fact is that by the 1930s, anti-Semitism was rampant in Austria. Werfel inserts the same fears, paranoias, stereotypes and false beliefs in as the views of the Turks against Armenians. The Turks are seen as jealous of the wealth and power of some Armenians. Of their positions in fields like medicine and accounting.

Then the connections that I draw: the same absolute fear of a people deemed to be outsiders. The same desire to entirely destroy a race that is viewed as a "traitor", working from within to bring down an empire (and even more specifically, the new regime that represents a far more ancient empire). The methodological manner of completely destroying a group of people. True annihilation. Genocide.

I'm certain I will have more to say after I read the second two "books" that comprise of The Forty Days of Musa Dagh. So far, it's been fascinating. Not only does it tell of a wonderful (also difficult) story (resistance is always interesting), it has taught me a lot and given me much to think about. I'll take some time to mull it over before diving back in, but I'm certainly looking forward to completing this book. I'm glad I'm finally giving it a chance.

Things that are also ruining literature: me

When I read articles like this Huffington Post take on the NYT Book Review (via A Momentary Taste of Being), I'm at once fascinated, in agreement and completely annoyed and frustrated. The article rambles a bit, but Anis Shivani focuses a sharp glare in the direction of what he views to be: "an incestuous system of backslapping and mutual admiration, rather than any independent judgment of the quality of books under review." Ouch.

Shivani throws out examples easily and angrily - why was Franzen so praised? What is this publication that so likes A Visit From the Goon Squad and Room? Most of the article is composed of example-tosses like this and it's hard not to feel like Shivani is jealous of the powerful, influential review. Some of his hits fall flat - if the NYT Book Review feel like focusing on fiction (and a dash of popular non-fic here and there) as opposed to poetry... that's allowed. It may not be a popular choice in Shivani's mind, but it suits the majority of readers and if the NYT staff realized that discussing poetry doesn't draw in readers, so be it. It may suck, but this is how it goes.

Shivani also disparages the popularity of the books that the NYT choose to review, what he calls "safe consensus books". This is possibly his strongest point. He also discusses political takes and reviewer bias (irrelevant for the sake of this post). And then there's Shivani's annoyance with hype.

Commercial interests conveniently merge with political bias to create a propagated landscape of erosion and waste, hiding the real vibrancy of books in America. The books that end up in the Times's Top 100 or Top 10 every year are simply the ones with the most advertising muscle and public relations hype behind them. This year, as always, these lists were utterly predictable[.]

Here Shivani is at once completely right and also completely wrong. On the one hand, he has a point - the NYT Book Review looks a lot like a publishing magazine or Amazon's bestselling list or the galleys I might be offered by publishers. On the other hand, he's wrong - this is not at all exclusive to the NYT. We're all guilty. Allow me to explain.

Much as I tell myself that I'm a reader of varied tastes and have broadened by horizons, that's absolute nonsense. If I look over the books I've read, most of them fall into the "standard" category - popular book-of-the-moment finds. Now, I don't assume that all readers are like me. In fact, I presume most of you guys have your niches and the books you want to read, but are probably better than me when it comes to reading different books. Or not. That's okay too.
The thing is, even if we don't all read the books-of-the-moment because they're super popular, we're aware of them. Most of us - readers, reviewers and bloggers - can't pretend that we haven't heard of most of the books that Shivani mentions in his article. Many of us have probably read a few, here and there. Some because they received an ARC, others because they read a great review and others still because they kept seeing the name and wanted to form an opinion of their own. As upsetting as it may be (why do no small presses make it big?), it's the normal way of things. Good advertising -> leads to lots of reviews -> leads to lots of sales -> leads to bestseller status -> leads to more sales. Read: the way publishing works.

Shivani isn't wrong to question and challenge this. I entirely agree that the over-exposure of a select few books as opposed to complete radio silence regarding most is frustrating. I agree even more that the link between massive hype/publicity and well-publicized gushing reviews is rather disgusting. But to throw all the blame on the NYT Book Review is as stupidly generalized and wrong as it is to say "the book is dead". Dramatic statements like his sound like whiny finger-pointing when a large portion of the blame lies on most of us - the consumers who put up with it and even benefit from it, gaining a reasonable amount of quality literature even as it's mixed with the bad. Before crying foul, we should take a long, hard look at ourselves.