Life worth living

This week, I received some sad news. The sister of a high school friend had died very suddenly. I hadn't seen this girl in years, but I'd recently reconnected with her on Facebook. She posted a lot, so I felt I had a sense of what was going on with her. She was the only FB friend I had who would randomly post on people's walls, just to say hello. She was looking forward to getting a new job. To log on, a week ago today, and learn that she was no longer with us was a terrible shock.

I attended the wake, and for some reason, didn't feel like going right home. So I drove out to the library nearby, which was probably not the best of ideas. If you're like me and don't go with a 'shopping list', what you come away with is definitely influenced by your mood.

But one thing I did grab is Fannie Flagg's newest, I Still Dream About You. I like Fannie Flagg. Her stuff is not terribly deep, but you usually come away feeling good. And if she can write a cheerful book whose plot is driven by the main character's plan to kill herself, I guess that's no small feat.

Maggie Fortinberry is an ex-Miss Alabama whose life didn't go as planned. Her simple dream had been to marry, live in one of the older mansions in Birmingham and raise children. Instead, she wound up in a long-term affair with a married man who died suddenly, then returned to Birmingham and became a real-estate agent. She's pushing 60, doing real estate with less and less success, squeezed by a ruthless competitor agent and still missing her mentor in the business. She develops a plan that she thinks is foolproof, but things keep interrupting her.

In the process, she realizes, of course, that her life does have value. There are people that care about her, even if none of them are her husband or her child. It is worth living to see tomorrow, after all. The book isn't laugh-out-loud funny, but parts will make you smile. It's also an extremely quick read. But after this week, it was nice to read something that was just life-affirming.

Between the Wars: The Remains of the Day

It's odd that I should read two books set in Engalnd between World Wars I and II back-to-back. It's an interesting period of history, because even looking back, World War II doesn't seem like a foregone conclusion. There were lots of points where it could have gone differently. Kazuo Ishiguro explores these in his terrific novel The Remains of the Day, and chooses a very interesting person as his narrator.

What must it be like to see your entire way of life crumble and change? That's the question facing his narrator, a butler in a large house. He was at the top of his field, and it was indeed considered a field as legitimate as plumbing or law or nursing. There was a lot to know, there was extensive training, there were trade publications and professional societies. Moreover, being a butler apparently wasn't something you did, it was something you were. Until you weren't.

The book is set in 1956, and the butler's employer for 30 years has been dead for about three, his home sold to an American who finds his formalities baffling. His new American employer invites him to take his car and go on vacation while he's away, and he decides to go visit Miss Kenton, the former housekeeper.

During his trip, he remembers many incidences, most of which were highlights of his career and bittersweet at the same time, for example, the night when his father died, which was the very night his employer hosted a large gathering of influential people from a variety of nations, with an eye to forming a coalition to change the conditions of the German surrender and stop punishing them so severely before there was real trouble.

Through these reminiscenses, we get the sense of how much he sacrificed for his career, how much it meant to him, and we feel for him that he lived long enough to see himself become obsolete. At the age of about 60 or so, he never married, had few personal joys, but all he can really say is that the silver was always polished. It started to make me feel sad and stressed out for him, but despite these serious themes, the book ends on a high note, a casual conversation from which the title comes.

It's actually a book of hope, it's very absorbing and well-written, there's humor in it along with the more serrious themes. I do believe Ishiguro is going to become a favorite of mine.

Brideshead Revisited: now for something completely different

Brideshead Revisited by Evelyn Waugh, was a completely random selection on my part. I have no idea what could have influenced it. I think I might have noticed a memoir about someone's relationship to that book and decided to read the real thing, but I'm not sure. I essentially had no idea what I was getting into. I knew nothing about Waugh other than that he was a man, was British, and lived sometime between 1850 and and 1960. In fact, at one point in my life, I'm pretty sure I thought this book was a sequel to something.

The way this book unfolded reminded me very much of how Carson McCullers' The Heart is a Lonely Hunter unfolded. In modern books, you typically get the backstory, the incident that drives the rest of the book, and a bit of character development right up front. Take, for example, Ron McLarty's The Memory of Running, a book no one would accuse of being terribly plot-driven. Yet, right away, you find out that the narrator is an overweight middle-aged man who is unmarried and works a shitty job in a factory. Both of his parents die in a car accident, then he receives a letter from a California coroner saying that the body of his sister, who disappeared decades earlier due to mental illness, had turned up in their morgue. He has a conversation with the paralyzed girl next door, who is still in love with him, then gets on his bkie and goes out, cross-country, after his sister.

All of that in about 40 pages. Whereas, with Brideshead Revisited, I didn't quite know where things were going until they got there.

The book has an aura of things lost about it, in fact, I'd say that's its central theme. It's a flashback told by Charles Ryder, an army commander in World War II who is moving his troops to a donated country home, only to find out that it's one he spent a great deal of time at on and off throughout his life. He remembers those times, first coming there with his friend Sebastian from Oxford. I think many people had a Sebastian of one sort or another in their lives at college, a friend who was intensely interesting, lots of fun, very smart, but there was some sort of darkness there, too.

As the story wears on, Charles gets to know the whole wealthy, eccentric family. Lady Marchmain, called Mummy by all of her children, who managed to turf her husband out yet make herself seem abandoned at the same time. Brideshead, Sebastian's religious older brother who spends much of his adult life collecting matchboxes. Julia, his sister, who discovers that the bad thing about making a good match is that you then have to live with the gentleman. Cordelia, also religious, who transforms from a young girl to a grim nurse caring for war wounded over the two-decade sprawl of the book. Sebastian himself, who still carries a teddy bear around, and descends into alcoholism.

The book does a reversal on you, as you think it's going to be about a long friendship between Sebastian and Charles, it shifts to the events following a chance meeting between Charles and Julia. Since one of the pleasures of this book for me was seeing everything unfold, I don't want to give away too much along the lines of plot. Although it wasn't exactly a happy book, it felt good to read, and I'd reccomend giving this one a chance.

Zombie invasion

A few years ago, zombies had A Moment. Remember that? Everyone was making 'braaaaaains' jokes, a few ironically shitty movies with zombies in it came out, stuff like that. They got eclipsed, of course, by ninjas or pirates or yetis or something.

Still, Max Brooks' World War Z is an excellent, if depressing read. It is an oral history of the war that humanity fought against zombies, a conceit taken all the way to the author's bio on the back cover.

But it's not really *about* zombies, something that the page who reccomended it tried to explain, and something I've spent the last week trying to explain to everyone else. It is one of those books that's like an inkblot. Different people will see in it what they want: it's about the fact that American society isn't sustainable, it's about the dangers of bureaucracy, it's about the fallacy of relying on tech-based military solutions for all problems, it's about the limits of science, it's about the nobility of the human spirit, it's about what happens when people revert to their basic instincts and the trappings of society are stripped away, it's about hard choices during war, it's about what it means to be a leader. And all of those people are right, and probably a few more.

World War Z will definitely make you think, that's for sure. (Ironic, because zombies can't. In the book, some people 'reanimate' inside of cars and wind up spending eternity there because they don't have the brainpower to figure out how to open the door and get out.) It may even make you go out and buy a low-tech item like a crowbar or heavy metal shovel that can be used as a weapon -- just in case.

Me, I've decided that I'm on to more cheerful fare. I got several books that day. I sure hope one of them is not bleak and apocalyptic.

This bookstore, and everyone in it, is disposable

By now, it's all over the Internet, all over the evening news, all over everywhere: Borders has filed for Chapter 11. Stores will close and people will be out of work. As a book-lover, I should have 'feelings' about this. I guess I do have some. I used to frequent Borders when I was younger. They have a terrific classical music section, or they did back then. The coffee bar in the store was a novelty back then, and sometimes I'd stop in just for a drink. Honestly, I always found their book section sort of lackluster and diffuse, good if you wanted something off the NYT Best-Seller list but not so hot if you're looking for something more off-beat or localized.

If the entire chain goes under, as it seems to be in danger of doing, that would be A Bad Thing for sure. Between them and Barnes and Noble, they virtually killed off indie bookstores in the country. Buying books will be reduced to the click of a mouse for many people. They'll miss the serendipity of the remainder table, of the interestingly-titled book that wound up on the shelf next to what they were going for, or the tantalizing history book they happened across when they accidentally wandered into that aisle. They'll miss the communal experience of having a place to go and feel less alone, the surge of validation when they ask at the counter for an author they were sure NO ONE ELSE had ever heard of, only to be told they were all sold out. If the bookstore was really good, the bookseller might even add, by the way, the store has a book discussion group on that genre, if you want to come.

Many commentors on stories about the fall of Borders have sunk to schadenfreude. It's certainly tempting: you opened your mega-store across from my favorite indie bookstore, they were out of business in a year, how's it feel, motherfuckers, how's it feel? The problem is that the people that stand to be hurt the most by this, as always, aren't corporate suits. They're little guys. Like Manny, Roz, Nicolette and Jackie from Last Night at the Lobster. Kids putting themselves through college, single moms, retirees forced back into the workforce, veterans who came home and couldn't get better jobs. And, increasingly, people who played by life's rules, attended college, and wound up with little more to show for it than a job at a failing bookstore.

The first round of closings will affect an estimated 19,500 people. I wish all of them a soft landing.

Attack of the Clones

Just finished reading Kazuo Ishiguro's Never let Me Go last night, and I guess I'm still forming an opinion, but it's definitely a novel that stays with you and makes you think.

I'd shied away from the novel because of the sappy title. I thought it was a cheesy love story, and imagined it was set against the backdrop of war or an oppressive culture. I got more interested when I found it out it was about clones.

For all of that, the book is very subtle. It's so subtle that it's actually hard to follow at first. Like any subculture, the clones have their own lingo, and when our narrator, Kathy, speaks of being a 'carer' and watching over people after 'donations', and how many of her donors have 'completed', it's a bit hard to follow at first. The book is a trip backwards into Kathy's childhood memories, and someone ultimately spells it out for her and her classmates: they are human clones, brought into the world to donate their organs. They'll be 'carers' at first for other clones, and then they themselves will give their organs until they no longer can. Most clones go through four surgeries, some 'complete' early if the surgery goes poorly, and they hint darkly at the fact that occasionally, a clone will go on for more surgeries as a sort of vegetable.

Kathy and her friends Ruth and Tommy were raised in an idyllic boarding-school atmosphere. They attended classes, they made tons and tons of artwork, they played sports like any other kids. Throughout the course of the book, she traces their relationship growing up, the instances where they first became dimly aware of their fate, and their attempts to fight it.

What I had trouble understanding throughout the book is why no one just ran. I came to think that it was simply because it was what they were raised to do. They may not like it, just as many American adults don't really like working a 9 to 5 job, but they do it because it's what they're supposed to do.

It's a very thought-provoking book. Some of the thoughts that come may be sort of uncomfortable. During the passages describing what they learned in school, I wondered what the point of it all was, when they were just going to die before 35 anyway. But then again, how many people is that true of in real life, anyway? I have several classmates from high school that are dead now. Think of all the people every day that die in stupid, senseless ways, and all the effort that was expended to educate them, train them and mold them into decent people. Never Let Me Go fulfills the promise of literature in a very literal way, then: to explain what it means to be human.

The Stench of Death II:another library visit

Well, the purge continue at my library. There has been a well-publicized
scandal involving thousands of books that have been discarded. Officials say that all that was thrown out were books that were badly damaged, hadn't circulated in years, or were outdated. Online comments on several of those articles from people who claim to work at the libraries say otherwise.

When you're there, you can feel it. 67,000 books recycled in the past year makes an impact. And the reorganization continues. When I walked in, I went straight to the fiction section and almost had a heart attack. They'd removed several rows of shelves to make way for a new kids' section. But there already is a kids' section. It has its own room off the main floor. I can't figure out what they intend to put in that room. And yet, the large cafe with the limited hours remains untouched.

All this made me even angrier as I looked around the library. A lot of the people there were poster children for why the place needed to exist. The most poignant to me was a couple who appeared to be in their fifties. They were clean, but looked sort of on the poorer side. They also sort of looked like they didn't normally patronize libraries. They sat together at a table with a backpack between them, full of water bottles and cheap snacks. She was reading a true crime book. He was staring straight ahead. I was there towards the end of the day, and they had the stupefied look about them that people get in waiting rooms everywhere. My theory, after passing them a few times, was that their heat was shut off at home and they came to the library to be warm for a few hours.

So, my trip was very depressing, and most of the materials I selected matched my mood:

Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro. I picked it because I imagined it'd be as bleak and apocalyptic and moving as the Hunger Games trilogy. So far, it's sort of diffuse. They're getting at something big here, and from the movie reviews, I have a vague memory of what.
American Pastoral by Phillip Roth. Living in Buffalo and recently watching "Cars" several times, urban decay intrigues me.
Ava's Man by Rick Bragg. Part of a trilogy on his family and growing up poor in the South.
Postcards by E. Annie Proulx. I haven't read this one yet. And I love her.
Novelties and souvenirs: collected short fiction by John Crowley. Haven't read any in a while, and I liked the title.
Paradise, New York by Eileen Pollack. Because there's rural decay, too.
The Last Talk with Lola Faye by Thomas Cook. I need to get on this one, it's a 7-day about a son's meeting with his father's mistress.
Too Rich: The Family Secrets of Doris Duke by Pony Duke. I went to her house and know that she led a sad life. More of a guilty pleasure I guess.
Buffalo Bill's America by Louis Warren. A work-influenced book. I recently did a story on a high school that was doing "Annie Get Your Gun" and wanted to know more of the real story.
Bean Blossom Dreams by Sallyann Murphey. About life on a farm or something. I guess a cheerful selection never hurt anyone.
Egypt: a short history by Robert Tignor. Influenced not by current events, but by World of Warcraft, and the fact that several of their new dungeons borrow heavily from Egyptian mythology.

So there you have it. I am trying to enjoy this library while I can. Each time I go feels like the end, though I know logically they'd close every other branch before they closed this one. But it's a shadow of its former self already, and the page I talked with has no idea when they're finishing.