East of Eden by John Steinbeck

Humans are caught—in their lives, in their thoughts, in their hungers and ambitions, in their avarice and cruelty, and in their kindness and generosity too—in a net of good and evil. ...We have only one story. All novels, all poetry, are built on the never-ending contest in ourselves of good and evil. And it occurs to me that evil must constantly re-spawn, while good, while virtue is venerable as nothing else in the world is.

I haven't read Steinbeck since high school when I was depressed for a week upon the completion Of Mice and Men. I'm happy to say that a revisit to Steinbeck's work was all I hoped it would be; moving, intriguing, and just plain enjoyable. I've had East of Eden on my shelf unread for at least a year and a half, mostly due to the sheer weight of the novel. Steinbeck called East of Eden his magnum opus, stating that everything he ever wrote was "practice" for this book.

The novel itself is a retelling of the story of Cain and Able and as a whole emphasizes the idea of free will, that each person has control over his or her destiny. It doesn't matter where you come from or your bloodline, you have the ability to choose to lead a good and respectful life. Of course we can't all be vitreous all the time; we shift and change identities over time, as do Steinbeck's characters. Although this is a retelling of a popular Biblical story, Steinbeck puts his own spin on it, encouraging the reader to sympathize with Cain (Cal). He emphasizes the struggle of the self caught "in a net of good and evil" and examines the human desire to be loved. In one of the most memorable scenes in the novel, Lee, Samual and Adam analyze a passage from Cain and Able's story when they are working to name the Trask twins.

For if 'Thou mayest'—it is also true that 'Thou mayest not.' That makes a man great and that gives him stature with the gods, for in his weakness and his filth and his murder of his brother he has still the great choice. He can choose his course and fight it through and win.

However, it seems Steinbeck also challenges this idea through the character of Cathy, whom was said to be "born a monster." Talk about a crazy, manipulative woman, Cathy is a character who represents pure evil. We do see glimpses of the human Cathy, but she seems to be driven by a dark force greater than her own free will. She's cruel, she has a heart made out of steel, and she's altogether fascinating. Cathy's character encourages the reader to question whether monsters are born or created over time. Upon a little research while reading the novel I discovered (or rather confirmed what Clinton told me) that Cathy was modeled after Steinbeck's second wife, Gwyn Conger, a woman who turned into a heavy drinker five years into their marriage; she slept until noon, shamelessly flirted with other men and left Steinbeck after his best friend died. Furthermore, she kept him from seeing his sons for years afterward. Steinbeck wrote East of Eden as a message to his boys, hoping that as they grew older they'd read it and gain valuable life lessons.

Needless to say, I was not at all disappointed with East of Eden; Steinbeck's prose is straightforward and his setting rich. The novel spans three generations of two families and although it's a thick book, it is not at all hard to follow and reads a lot quicker than I thought it would. I have to admit that while I'm familiar with the story of Cain and Able, I've never read it first hand so there are probably a good amount of religious symbolism and allusions that went over my head. Even still, I really enjoyed this novel. It delights and engages from start to finish.

Publisher: Penguin Books, 1952

Ham on Rye by Charles Bukowski

What a weary time those years were - when you had the desire and the need to live, but not the ability.

This book was on a staff recommendation shelf at Half Price Books awhile back and after reading the synopsis I decided to buy it. I went into it without any expectations, which I've come to learn is the best way to go into reading any novel, really. Ham on Rye is a semi-autobiographical novel of Bukowski's own life, which makes the book all the more fascinating. We follow Henry Chianski, Bukowski's alter-ego, grow from a child into a young man during the Great Depression. It's a coming-of-age novel, but it's quite different from most other novels I've read in that genre. Bukowski's prose is straighforward but powerful, the diction is crude but intriguing. I have to say Henry Chianski is a character I won't soon forget. The majority of his childhood is filled with uncertainty and loneliness and even though he is a prick most of the time, I still wanted him to succeed in life.

This book is not for the fainthearted, as it's soaked with profanities, dirtiness, and violence; masturbation, impromptu trysts in the backseat of abandoned cars, and drunken brawls. About halfway through my reading of Ham on Rye, I actually stopped and thought to myself, there is no way teenage boys think about sex and women's anatomy that much. The subject permeates a good portion of the novel. But it's about more than that; it's about the awkwardness that is adolescence and growing up in a time when there was little opportunity and making the most out of it.

We were the way we were, and we didn't want to be anything else. We call came from Depression families and most of us were ill-fed, yet we had grown up to be huge and strong. Most of us, I think, got little love from our families, and we didn't ask for love or kindness from anybody. We were a joke but people were careful not to laugh in front of us. It was as if we had grown up too soon and we were bored with being children.

In addition, I felt that Bukowski's outlook on life, or at least the outlook he related through Chianski, is somewhat Vonnegut-esque. As Vonnegut stated, "We are here on Earth to fart around, and don't let anybody tell you different," Bukowski writes, "The whole earth was nothing but mouths and assholes swallowing and shitting, and fucking."It's all just a deconstruction of the wonderful beings we believe ourselves to be and a reminder that at the end of the day, we are all human, stinking, sweating, germy people just trying to make it through.

I ended up liking this book a lot, which was actually a bit of a surprise to me. I wasn't surprised in the way that I feel like I'm too good for the book and all this crudeness is just absurd (I actually rather intrigued by it). Instead, I was surprised in the sense that a novel that included such low morals and a lack of a plot could communicate such universal issues that felt so relevant to me. That is what surprised me. But I think we can all relate to coming-of-age stories, not matter how great or how little.

Though the novel isn't super short, it's actually a quick read. Highly recommended.

Publisher: Rebel, Inc, 1982

Alias Grace: Read-Along, Part 2

My apologies for not getting this post up on time. I've been crazy busy with a new job and a bunch of late-May birthday activities (my mother, Ryan, and Ryan's mother - have I mentioned both of our mother's names are Annette? Spooky.) that I was able to finish the book on time, but didn't have a chance to post my final thoughts. Better late than never, right?

Warning: final thoughts contain spoilers.

Anyhow, back to Alias Grace. Man, is this book a mind-f*ck, and I'm saying that in the best possible way. The novel follows Grace Marks, a 16-year-old Canadian servant girl who is convicted of the murder of her employer and his mistress. It takes place in the mid 1800's and lays out Grace's past and the controversy surrounding her trail; many believed her to be innocent while others vehemently encouraged her incarceration. Grace herself claims to have no memory of the night these murders took place. The story is told in a double narrative with chapters alternating from Grace's story, to the point of view of Dr. Simon Jordon, the doctor who is interviewing her in hopes of bringing her memories of the crime to the surface. The story itself is a patchwork, combining a variety of actual interview snipits and Atwood's own take on the story. The murders themselves were sensationalized to the point that Grace Marks became one of the most well-known criminals in 19th century Canada. We aren't ever given a definitive answer as to what truly happened, but rather allowed to decide for ourselves as Atwood outlines the details, both fictional and factual, for us.

One reoccurring theme that struck me from the beginning of the novel and remained prominent throughout was the idea that nothing is what it seems. I found this theme especially prominent when Grace described her dreams, or we were taken into a dream sequence of hers. Things she saw or touched quickly transformed into something artificial. Grace describes a detailed dream in the second half of the novel, to which she ends with this:

But as my sight cleared, I saw that they were not birds at all. They had a human form, and they were the angels whose white robes were washed in blood, as it says at the end of the Bible; and they were sitting in silent judgment upon Mr. Kinnear's house, and on all within it. And then I saw that they had no heads.

Many of my favorite novels are those that don't outwardly explain what exactly happens, but instead let the reader decide. With that said, I felt that I had a hard time fully getting into this novel, as the narration was very distanced and the tone quite bitter. I can see why many readers mark this novel for a reread; there are so many details to digest and so many pieces to the novel, some that fit and others that don't. I think I could extract a lot more from this novel through a reread.

In addition, the story as a whole was more subtle than I expected. There was a great deal that told about Grace's everyday life as a servant and the lead up to the murders themselves comprised two-thirds of the book. Considering the novel dealt with topics of murder, possession, and infidelity, as a whole it felt rather subdued. I'm not saying this was a bad thing per se, just very unexpected.

There was a part of me that wanted the events to feel more heated, more immediate. Because there was so much sensationalism surrounding the actual murder, I thought Atwood might employ that energy and feeling into the novel itself. Instead, as I mentioned above, there was a lot of focus on the day-to-day of Grace's chores and her servant life. While I did enjoy those bits, I felt like I was waiting for something more. When I finally did get into it, I was intrigued, but also somewhat let down. I wish there would have been more excitement leading up to the climax, or at least more of a focus on Grace's possession. Without it, I felt that the book could have been more condensed. However, with that said, the quiet craziness is the theme that Atwood does well. I've come to expect a lack of definition in her denouements and a plethora of complications in her straightforwardness.

All in all, this isn't my favorite Atwood (Cat's Eye still holds that spot) but I did enjoy the reading experience, nonetheless. Atwood did a fantastic job capturing the feeling of the period, and I'd like to see her write more historically based fiction. I'm also so happy I participated in the read-along, as this book was a fantastic choice for discussion among other bloggers.

Publisher: Bloomsbury, 1996

The Optimist's Daughter by Eudora Welty

Firelight and warmth - that is what her memory gave her. 

I'm still disappointed with the Pulitzer board for not naming a 2012 fiction winner, but instead of complaining too much (well, at least not here) I decided to pick up a past Pulitzer winner that I own but haven't yet read. It was between The Optimist's Daughter (1973), The Shipping News (1994), and The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao (2008). Since I had The Optimist's Daughter lined up for the classics challenge as well, I went with that. I can't say I enjoyed it as much as I'd hoped, but you can't win them all.

The Optimist's Daughter follows Laurel McKelva Hand, a young woman who lives in Chicago and travels south to be by the side of her father who is having a routine eye operation. After he dies unexpectedly, Laurel returns to small town Mississippi, where she grew up, to bury her father. (She is named after the Mississippi state flower.) The majority of the short novel explores Laurel's childhood memories and her trips "up home". As certain memories resurface, Laurel comes to a better understanding of her adult self and just how lucky she is to have the cherished memories of a simpler time filled with love and care.  

As a whole, the book is slow moving but eloquently written. It explores the healing abilities of community, the power of memory, and the dignity of moving on.  However, I'm sad to say, I mostly found the novel on the dull side. I'm not one to complain about books in which "nothing ever happens"; I typically tend to really enjoy those kind of books. But this one just didn't do it. It felt too soft and too sweet for my taste. But, I'm not going to write Welty off completely, because the overall ideas behind the book are powerful and her writing is beautiful. Perhaps if I reread it a few years down the road I may enjoy it more. 

With that said, what I did appreciate was the deep sense of place Welty evoked, taking me to the deep south with pecan trees and big old houses with unkempt porches. I also liked that the novel explored the difference between arriving somewhere and simply finding yourself there. There were also a handful of truly lovely passages that detailed certain moments of happiness Laurel experienced as a child. For instance, when it was time to go to bed, Laurel's parents would read aloud to one another from a separate room. Laurel loved the sound of her parents reading and favored their books, so she tried to stay up as long as she could to hear them read:

She was sent to sleep under a velvety cloak of words, richly patterned and stitched with gold, straight out of a fairy tale, while they went reading on into her dreams. 

There are moments of beauty throughout the novel, and as I mentioned above the ideas conveyed are powerful, but my actual reading experience was bland. It wasn't until the very end when it all came together that I began to appreciate the novel. I'm sure I'm in the minority on this one and I really wanted to like it more. I'm not saying it isn't worth the read, because it is. But for me, it was just a little too vanilla. 

Publisher: Vintage, 1972

Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel Gracia Marquez

Love in the Time of Cholera was my first Marquez novel. Prior to it I've read one of his short stories, "Eyes of the Blue Dog," and one novella, Memories of My Melancholy Whores. I enjoyed both and decided to jump into one of his novels. I chose this one based on the recommendation from Book Riot's Reading Pathways, which I talked about last week. I'm not going to lie, this novel is no cake walk. I really had to focus on every page. The plot is tedious and the story meandering. But honestly, the novel is definitely worth the effort. This love story follows Florentino Ariza and Fermina Daza from their youth into their old age. After quickly falling in love as teenagers, Florentino and Fermina take two very seperate paths; she weds a doctor at the age of twenty-one, he goes on to have 622 affairs, in attempts to heal his broken heart. Fifty-one years, nine months and four days after they had seen each other last, Florentino finds her again to express his never ending love to her. (Not a spoiler I promise - this happens in the first fifty pages.)

To him she seemed so beautiful, so seductive, so different from ordinary people, that he could not understand why no one was as disturbed as he by the clicking of her heels on the paving stones, why no one else's heart was wild with the breeze stirred by the sighs of her veils, why everyone did not go mad with the movements of her braid, the flight of her hands, the gold of her laughter. He had not missed a single one of her gestures, not one of the indications of her character, but he did not dare approach her for fear of destroying the spell.

There is so much to examine throughout this novel. It explores a myriad of human emotions. It's a novel about love, loss, sex, passion, hope, and obsession. Although the chapters go on forever, there is careful attention to detail that I really enjoyed. This isn't your mushy-gushy love story, not even close. Though there are a large handful of steamy sex descriptions. When I say steamy I am talking hot, you guys, sizzling hot. But they aren't overdone, nor are they crude. Sex is depicted as a natural human desire, almost a necessity of life. It's just as beautiful as it is gratifying. Of course cholera is used as a metaphor for love throughout; the idea of love as a sickness and it's ability to distroy your body, inside and out, changing you forever. But it's more than just a love story between Fermina and Florentino. It's about the imperfectness of human nature, the complicated nature of human emotions, and the emotion of love itself.

As I mentioned earlier, this novel takes patience. Near the last third of the novel I found myself craving a resolution, some kind of end to this story of unrequited love. It seemed to go on and on and on. Then I realized maybe this is the beauty of the novel. Just like Florentino Ariza I wanted something to happen. Like Florentino, my patience began to wain. Once I thought about the idea that the emotions I experienced while reading this book mirrored the same emotions of the characters within the book, I realized the magnificence of it. It also turns out that through this tedium I really got a chance to get to know the characters and the places as they quietly unfolded.

I know that Marquez is known for his magical realism, but there were only a few instances in this novel where I noticed it. There was a scene involving a parrot in the beginning (one of my favorite scenes in the whole novel), and a scene on a boat near the end, but asides from that there weren't other instances that really stood out. Or maybe Marquez is so good at weaving the magical with the real, that I didn't even think twice about it. I believe magical realism is more prevalent in One Hundred Years of Solitude, which will be my next Marquez.

Publisher: Penguin Books, 1985

Native Son by Richard Wright

"He felt that there was something missing, some road which, if he had once found it, would have led him to a sure and quiet knowledge."

Native Son is one of those classics that I was always curious about but never had to read in school. This made it a first-time read for me and I was blown away. The back of this book states this novel is "an unsparing reflection on the poverty and feelings of hopelessness experienced by people in inner cities across the country and what is means to be black in America." That description is spot it. This book turned out to be one of the most powerful novels I have ever read.

Native Son follows Bigger Thomas, a young black man who has grown up in poverty in inner-city Chicago during the 1930's. Bigger is charged with the rape and murder of a white woman and we follow his story of remorse and guilt, fear and anger. The novel is split into three parts: Fear, Flight and Fate. Among other themes, Wright explores racial inequality, the meaning of freedom, racial divide in America, and the uncontrollable fate of inner-city black people after they were guaranteed "freedom". Bigger has felt as though he has been held down his whole life, restricted from the opportunities that were given to white people. His fear of white people eventually manifests itself as an uncontrollable anger, pushing him to ignore what is right and wrong.

He would have gladly admitted his guilt if he had thought that in doing so he could have also given in the same breath a sense of the deep, choking hate that had been his life, a hate that he had not wanted to have, but could not help having. How could he do that? The impulsion to try and tell was as deep as had been the urge to kill.

Not only is this an explicit and heart-wrenching account of the perils of the black man in 1930's America (and in some cases, they story is also relevant today), but it is truly a page-turner. Despite the brutal and affecting details, I was completely engrossed in this book. My heart went out to Bigger and the ways in which he was discriminated in a judicial system that was against him from the start. I can only imagine the controversy this book stirred up when it was first released in 1940. If you pick it up, it just might change the way you look at those less fortunate than you. Highly recommended.

I read this for the classics challenge, fulfilling a 20th century classic.

Publisher: Herper Perennial, 1940

them by Joyce Carol Oates

"But, honey, aren't you one of them yourself?"

I read my first work by Joyce Carol Oates earlier this year and really enjoyed it. I started with Black Water, which is a novella that tells a fictionalized account of the Chappaquiddick incident, when a young girl was found inside of a sunken car driven by Senator Edward Kennedy. After reading Black Water I knew I wanted to read more JCO and I knew I wanted something larger. Enter them; winner of the 1970 National Book Award, nominee for the Pulitzer Prize, and book three of the Wonderland Quartet series.

In the introduction of the novel Oates describes that them is "a work of history in fictional form" and goes on to tell of a set of letters she received from an old student of hers when she taught at the University of Detroit. The girl expressed her restlessness in life and and overall feelings of resentment. Her "various problems and complexities overwhelmed" Oates and it was these letters that prompted Oates to write them. Parts of the letters appear half-way through the narrative. (I should mention the title is purposefully labeled with a lower-case "t," and details a specific "them".)

them follows two generations of the Wendall family and explores the forces that keep them in poverty and struggling to achieve happiness. The novel spans forty years, takes place in inner-city Detroit and ends during the race riots of 1967. Among other things, them explores the struggles of working class America, generational poverty, and obsessions of love, money and violence. If we focus on Maureen, the novel is a sort of bildungsroman, as we watch her grow from a small child into a woman. But the novel is more than Maureen's story. It is the story of a desperate family who desires a better life and struggles to understand those who are different from themselves.

I dream of a world where you can go in and out of bodies, changing your soul, everything changing and no fixed forever, becoming men and women, daughters, children again, even old people, feeling how it is to be them and then not hating them, out on the street. I don't want to hate.

This is a tough one to review because anything I say about this book will not do it justice. It's like trying to review Middlemarch; where do you start? Like one of my very favorite authors, Margaret Atwood, the works Joyce Carol Oates permeate with feminist themes and explore larger social issues that are still relevant in modern America. With a focus of the female characters Loretta Wendall and her daughter Maureen, Oates highlights the plight of working class women:

Oh, we women know things you don't know, you teachers, you readers and writers of books, we are the ones who wait around libraries when it's time to leave, or sit drinking coffee alone in the kitchen; we make crazy plans for marriage but have no man, we dream of stealing men, we are the ones who look slowly around when we get off a bus and can't even find what we are looking for, can't quite remember how we got there, we are always wondering what will come next, what terrible thing will come next. We are the ones who leaf through magazines with colored pictures and spend long heavy hours sunk in our bodies, thinking, remembering, dreaming, waiting for something to come to us and give a shape to so much pain.

The novel is beautifully written. Joyce Carol Oates certainly has a way with words; her prose it both eloquent and confident. The characters she imagines are sharp and memorable. I should say it's a bit of a downer; moments of happiness are few and far between. But don't let that deter you. It is absolutely worth the read.

Publisher: Modern Library Classics, 1969

Surfacing by Margaret Atwood

I'll admit that while Surfacing was slow going and a tad mundane by Atwood standards, this is one of those books that I appreciated more after I finished it and gave it some thought. Surfacing is Atwood's second novel, a mystery and physiological thriller of sorts, one that examines the paranoia, displacement and weaknesses that result from isolation and fear. Our unnamed narrator ventures back to her birthplace, a remote island near Quebec, with her boyfriend and a married couple to search for her missing father whom everyone believes to be dead. What ensues is a story of one woman's regression into a fragmented self and her struggle to uncover her true identity.

Descriptions of rural Canada and it's industrialization and commercialization parallel the decline of our unnamed narrator's sanity in a way that makes the setting seem like a character in itself. Per usual Atwood, the book is occupied with feminist themes; how our bodies and our gender confine us and create boundaries. Surfacing also explores how our past continually permeates our present and how our memory of the past can dilute and corrupt over time, allowing our subconscious to create alternate memories and emotions.

I have to be more careful about my memories. I have to be sure they’re my own and not the memories of other people telling me what I felt, how I acted, what I said: if the events are wrong the feelings I remember about them will be wrong too, I’ll start inventing them

I'm making it a personal goal to read all of Atwood's published fiction, and this marks my seventh (of thirteen). I'm not rushing myself, because I don't want it to be over. If you are interested in reading Atwood, I wouldn't suggest starting with this one. I'd recommend Cat's Eye, The Handmaids Tale or Oryx and Crake over Surfacing. The thing that bothered me most about the book is that even there was a lot going on, the majority of the time I was reading it I felt like nothing ever happened. Again, this is one of those instances when I enjoyed the book more after thinking about it than I did when I was actually reading it.

Publisher: Anchor, 1972

Maus I: A Survivor's Tale by Art Speigelman

I'm sure you've heard of it. Maus is the story of a Jewish survivor, Vladek, in Hitler's Poland as told by Vladek's son, Art, a cartoonist. The complete Maus won the Pulitzer Prize Special Award in 1992. The structure of the novel weaves together two storylines: that of the modern day life that Vladek and Art experience and that of Jews living in WWII Nazi regime. This narrative framework is remarkable, as it places the reader inside of a unique story line; we learn of the narrator's father's tale of survival as he recounts it to his son, who takes notes for the book he is writing. The product is a heartbreaking and captivating graphic memoir in which the Jews are portrayed as mice, and the Nazis as cats.

I read this book in one sitting, which isn't a feat considering it's a 160 page graphic novel. Regardless, I didn't want to put it down and I'm upset I didn't just go ahead and buy Maus II along with the first. Those tricky publishers should have released them as one novel in the first place. But I digress, what makes this such a memorable novel that it's not only about WWII, it's also about history itself; how it's told, how it's remembered and how it effects generations to come. It also examines the complicated nature of families and the uniqueness of father/son relationships; the generational differences that ultimately cause tension and the difficulties of understanding one another.

Maus has been critiqued for portraying such a horrific and monstrous period in history in a unsympathetic medium, therefore downplaying the enormity of the Nazi regeme. However, I would argue that instead of belittling the subject matter, it actually portrays it in a haunting manner, expressing ideas and emotions that sometimes only pictures and illustrations can evoke.

Since Maus I ends quite abruptly, I plan on reading Maus II very soon.

Publisher: Pantheon Books, 1986

The Collector by John Fowels

"He's not human; he's an empty space disguised as a human."

I picked this one up for the RIP challenge and it turned out to be just what I was looking for - disturbing, sinister and haunting; a book that I won't soon forget. The Collector explores the darkest of human behavior and obsessive love in a unique and compelling psychological thriller.

Ferdinand Cleff, a long-time butterfly collector and curator, is a reclusive clerk who comes into a large sum of money. After paying off relatives as a way to push them out of his life, he buys a secluded home two hours outside of London. After securing the home and fending off curious neighbors, Cleff seeks to collect his ultimate prey, a young, blonde art student who he has been watching and obsessing over for years.

There were even times I thought I would forget her. But forgetting's not something you do, it happens to you. Only it didn't happen to me.

I struggled to put this book down. Fowles structures the novel in a way that grabbed me from the start. The first half of the book is told from Cleff's point of view and when I thought I would find out what would happen to his prisoner, the second half of the novel continues from Miranda's own point of view, starting with the evening she was abducted. (Yes Ferdinand and Miranda; an allusion to The Tempest.) Fowles managed to give these characters two distinct and unique voices. One of my favorite things about this novel is how Fowles made both Cleff and Miranda so unlikable that by the end, I had hoped they would just kill each other. I was always invested in the story, but as it unfolded I decided the dual characters were perfect for each other in their own messed up way. Cleff is a severely disturbed super creep and Miranda is so narcissistic and self-involved I can't help but think she deserves her misery. Each character deceives the other repeatedly, ultimately feeding their own agony.

It's despair at the lack of feeling, of love, of reason in the world. It's despair that anyone can even contemplate the idea of dropping a bomb or ordering that it should be dropped. It's despair that so few of us care. It's despair that there's so much brutality and callousness in the world. It's despair that perfectly normal young men can be made vicious and evil because they've won a lot of money. And then do what you've done to me.

As far as psychological thrillers go, the ending did not disappoint. It wasn't over-the-top gruesome, but I was disturbed and intrigued all at once. I'd recommend this to anyone looking for a novel that examines love, human nature and obsession at it's darkest.

This is John Fowles first novel.

Publisher: Back Bay Books, 1963

The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath

Even though The Bell Jar deals with subjects that I typically find unsettling, I really enjoyed this novel. On the surface it explores a girl's decent into insanity and the harsh treatments she underwent in an attempt to bring her back to normalcy. The Bell Jar critiques the expectations placed on young women in 1950's and early 1960's America. It also highlights the social and political unrest that was prevalent throughout the decade.

So I began to think maybe it was true that when you were married and had children it was like being brainwashed, and afterward you went about as numb as a slave in a totalitarian state.

The reason The Bell Jar works is because Plath subtly introduces the onset of Ester's mental breakdown and then presents it in a way that makes it seem logical. We aren't watching a girl's decent into insanity from the outside, but rather following her through it. Maybe Plath is able to achieve this point of view since for her, this is not a fictionalized account of a girl going mad, but rather a semi-autobiographical take on her own insanity. (Plath committed suicide one month after The Bell Jar was published in the UK.)

Ester is one of the most honest, self-deprecating narrators I've read in a long time. There are many passages one could quote from this book, but I prefer to take it in as a whole; The Bell Jar examines the influence gender roles and their expectations have on one's identity, and the downward spiral that can ensue when those expectations contradict one another.

Publisher: Faber Firsts, 1963

Middlesex by Jeffery Eugenides

I hadn't gotten old enough yet to realize that living sends a person not into the future but back into the past, to childhood and before birth, finally, to commune with the dead... In this life we grow backwards.

When I picked up this book I was expecting to read a narrative about a hermaphrodite. On the surface that is what I got, however it turned out to be much more than that. Middlesex is Eugenides' magnum opus, a grand narrative that weaves the story of three generations of Greek-Americans into an unforgeable piece of literature. The synopsis of this novel claims it is a "reinvention of the American epic" and I think that is an accurate description. The work as a whole felt organic and pieced together many working parts so perfectly that I was left in awe.

The novel is preoccupied with the idea splits and divides; within our identity, our desires, our families, our culture and our place in the world. Our narrator, Calliope (or Callie, and later Cal) is a personification of this divide and inhabits the vulnerable threshold of these boarders. Among other things, he is divided between mind and body, between reason and passion. As the title implies, Middlesex raises questions about gender identity and removes the preconceived notions that these gender distinctions are black and white. It examines the difference between gender and sex, and the extent to which these identities are socially molded verses genetically inherited. In what capacity do our genes dictate our destiny?

Parents are supposed to pass down physical traits to their children, but it's my belief that all sorts of other things get passed down to: motifs, scenarios, even fates.

Eugenides also highlights the theme of escape and the anonymity of recreation it allows. He explores this idea on many levels, from escaping one's homeland to escaping one's body and finally, escaping life (in death) and its implications:

Out in these streets people were embroiled in a thousand matters, money problems, love problems, school problems. People were falling in love, getting married, going to drug rehab, learning how to ice-skate, getting bifocals, studying for exams, trying on clothes, getting their hair cut, and getting born. And in some houses people were getting old and sick and were dying, leaving others to grieve. It was happening all the time, unnoticed, and it was the thing that really mattered.What really mattered in life, what give it weight, was death.

This is truly an amazing book. If you haven't already read it, I highly recommended you do so. I should also mention this would be a great choice for a book club, as I feel there is much to discuss. Middlesex won the Pulitzer Prize in 2003.

Publisher: Picador, 2002

Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut

Everything is all right, and everybody has to do exactly what he does.

I've always been a fan of Kurt Vonnegut's short stories, but this is my first full-length novel of his that I have read. Slaughterhouse-Five is a semi-autobiographical account of Kurt Vonnegut's experience in WWII told through the eyes of Billy Pilgrim. It combines the bombing of Dresden with Billy's capacity to be "unstuck" in time, time-traveling to Tralfamadore and living among aliens.

Vonnegut explores time and memory, and the human desire to explain the world around us and understand what we don't know. He writes about the human condition brilliantly, highlighting the twinkles of bliss and humor that shine through the darker occasions. He explores the human passion for life and the experience of living. But the book isn't hopeful, as we are left without any resolution or moral. Rather, Vonnegut exposes the follies and the misjudgments that humans experience as we try to cope with life, which to him, is insignificant.

If what Billy Pilgrim learned from the Tralfamadorians is true, that we will all live forever, no matter how dead we may sometimes seem to be, I am not overjoyed. Still--if I am going to spend eternity visiting this moment and that, I'm grateful that so many of those moments are nice.

The book is fractured and written in a muted language, which adds to the non-romanticized, indefinable view of war. While it very clearly satirizes war and exposes it's absurdities, it also speaks to it's inevitability. Slaughterhouse-Five raises existential questions without slapping you in the face with them. We aren't left with answers, but Vonnegut surmises through an exploration of fate and free-will that we can chose our own path, however trivial it may be.

All time is all time. It does not lend itself to warnings or explanations. It simply is. Take it moment by moment, and you will find that we are all... bugs in amber.

 Publisher: Dial Press, 1969

Falling Man by Don DeLillo

He stood and felt something so lonely he could touch it with his hands.

Don DeLillo is one of my favorite postmodern writers. He portrays modern-day America in a way that makes me question our priorities and culture. He plays with themes of consumerism, mass media, interconnectedness and the human ability to create meaningful relationships. Falling Man explores post-9/11 New York. The title refers to the image of a man who fell from the twin towers (an image that is also used in Jonathan Safran Foer's Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close). In DeLillo's novel we see a performance artist who mimics this pose as he dangles from a harness around areas throughout Manhattan. Of course the image of the falling man gives those who see it a feeling of unspeakable dread:

There were people shouting up at him, outraged at the spectacle, the puppetry of human desperation, a body's last fleet breath and what it held. It held the gaze of the world, she thought. There was an awful openness of it, something we'd not seen, the single falling figure that trails a collective dread, body come down among us all.

As this image repeatedly inserts itself into the lives of New Yorkers, the novel follows two narratives; one of a family who is trying to rebuild their lives after the attack and one of a 9/11 terrorist who prepares for the attacks. The post-traumatic recovery of this family is almost as heartbreaking as a glimpse into the life of a terrorist. The family struggles to make sense of their new world just as they struggle to understand one another.

But then she might be wrong about what was ordinary. Maybe nothing was. Maybe there was a deep fold in the grain of things, the way things pass through the mind, the way time swings in the mind, which is the only place it meaningfully exists.

DeLillo's poignant novel implies that we will continuously have to recover from the attacks as they will haunt us forever. Just as the falling man's image will continue to resurface, so will the memory of the atacks. However, rather than focus on the attacks themselves, DeLillo explores how they changed America and the daily lives of Americans. He draws significant comparisons to the "before" world that we knew to the "after". Just as 9/11 itself was chaotic, so were the lives of many American's after that day and for years to come. People struggled to understand the event and then struggled to understand themselves.

I don't know this American anymore. I don't recognize it. There's an empty space where America used to be.

DeLillo builds many layers into this story which makes it seem disjointed and fragmented. I think this structure serves to reinforce the emotions and understanding of the attacks and it's aftermath: haunting, confusing and utterly heartbreaking.

Publisher: Scribner, 2007

The Old Man and the Sea by Ernest Hemingway

The Old Man and the Sea was Hemingway's last book published in his lifetime. It is much different than his earlier works and details an old fisherman's three-day battle against a giant marlin. Hemingway's simple language and plot make this novella accessible. On the surface it's almost too simple, but after considering its ideas for a bit, themes of man vs. nature, humanity and compassion, allegories about the animals that live in the sea, and biblical imagery make this novel more complex.

After the old man hooks the giant marlin that is larger than his boat, it's a great struggle to bring the fish close enough to harpoon. The feat suggests the ability of man to overcome hardship and suffering in order to triumph. Hemingway also emphasizes the moral implications of killing or destroying nature, and whether or not the idea of the survival of the fittest holds it's weight:

You did not kill the fish only to keep alive and to sell for food, he thought. You killed him for pride and because you are a fisherman. You loved him when he was alive and you loved him after. If you love him, it is not a sin to kill him. Or is it more?

This isn't my favorite Hemingway, but I can appreciate the importance of the novel. Hemingway might be the only writer who can hold my interest through a chapter-less book about fishing.

The Old Man and the Sea won the Pulitzer Prize for fiction in 1952. Hemingway won the Nobel Prize in literature in 1954.

Publisher: Scribner, 1951

Black Water by Joyce Carol Oates

Wow. Joyce Carol Oates knows how to write a novella. I enjoyed every page of Black Water and didn't want it to end - partly because it was so good and partly because Oates reveals the inevitable in the first chapter - our protagonist Kelley is involved in a horrible accident and will die. After meeting a handsome senator at a 4th of July party, Kelley leaves with him to go to his hotel, only to end up at the bottom of a river. The book then teeters between her past and her present - outlining where she came from and what brought her to where she is now. The accident mirrors that of the Chappaquiddick incident - when a young girl was found dead inside of a sunken car driven by Senator Edward Kennedy. In Black Water, Joyce Carol Oates gives Mary Jo Kopechne a voice that utterly heartbreaking and impossible to forget.

Black Water is a powerful book - revealing the human truths of a 26-year-old idealistic young woman and a powerful, untrustworthy older man. The entire novella permeates with a sense of urgency - mostly because it is told in prolepsis - making it (for me) unputdownable.

How crucial for us to rehearse the future, in words. Never to doubt that you will live to utter them.

Black Water was nominated for the 1993 Pulitzer Prize. It highlights themes of fate, vulnerability and the mutability of life. This book is both fascinating and terrifying. I am eager to discover more titles from Joyce Carol Oates.

Black Water was a finalist for the Pulitzer Prize in fiction in 1993.

Publisher: Penguin, 1992

Everything Is Illuminated by Jonathan Safran Foer

Everything Is Illuminated is Jonathan Safran Foer's first novel. Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close (Safran's second novel) was my favorite read of 2010 and of Foer's two works, I've got to say I enjoyed his later work more than his first. However, that's not to say Everything Is Illuminated should be missed. Like EL&IC, this is a truly powerful story that I won't soon forget.

Foer has a knack for creating unique and memorable characters. In Everything is Illuminated we meet Alex, a Ukrainian who struggles to speak English (he tells us "my second tongue is not so premium"), yet acts as a translator for the character named Jonathan Safran Foer - a young American Jew in search of a woman, Augustine, who may have saved his grandfather from the Nazis. Alex offers a lot of comic relief, as his spoken English sounds more like a misplaced thesaurus than the colloquially spoken English Americans often hear.

Foer combines a few different stories into this one book - that of Alex and Jonathan, as narrated by Alex and his broken English, and their search for Augustine and also the story Jonathan the character is writing. Then there are a series of reflective letters between Alex and Jonathan throughout. The novel as a whole evoked many different emotions, particularity the story the character Jonathan Safran Foer is writing that centers around Brod. It's both beautiful and heartbreaking, detailing the life of a girl who struggles to find happiness:

She felt a total displacement, like a spinning globe brought to a sudden halt by the light touch of a finger. How did she end up here, like this? How could there have been so much - so many moments, so many people and things, so many razors and pillows, timepieces and subtle coffins - without her being aware? How did her life live itself without her?

Everything is Illuminated explores themes of identity and memory, and how our relationship with the past affects our everyday present. It challenges preconceived notions of what it means to be intelligent and also offers a bold vision of the Holocaust. It questions what love really means and asks how we know when it's real:

If there is no love in the world, we will make a new world, and we will give it walls, and we will furnish it with soft, red interiors, from the inside out, and give it a knocker that resonates like a diamond falling to a jeweler's felt so that we should never hear it. Love me, because love doesn't exist, and I have tried everything that does.

This book is anything but ordinary. As I mentioned earlier, it is a complex work of post-modern fiction, but well worth the effort. If you are looking for a book that will move you and encourage you to think about ideas in a new way, this is it.

Publisher: First Perennial, 2002

It is language alone...

"Bear in mind, language is man's way of communicating with his fellow man and it is language alone that separates him from the lower animals."

-Maya Angelou, I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings

The New York Trilogy by Paul Auster

I read my first Auster only a few weeks ago and decided he was fantastic; I love when a writer can combine a captivating page-turner with beautiful writing and truths I can relate to. My second of his novels- The New York Trilogy - did not disappoint. Once again I was delighted and disturbed with the world Auster offered me - a combination that appeals to me.

Stories happen only to those who are able to tell them, someone once said. In the same way, perhaps, experiences present themselves only to those who are able to have them.

From what I understand, The New York Trilogy is Paul Auster's signature work. As the title suggests, the book is a set of three, loosely-interconnected novels that each take place in New York City: City of Glass, Ghosts, and The Locked Room. Each tome is similar in theme - each of the story's main characters act as detectives searching for understanding.The set of novels offers a non-linear structure that adds to the dimension of intrigue and quite frankly, it works. With the exception of the second tome, I found myself wanting more and had difficulty putting it down. Auster manages to explore the idea of identity, change, language and life experiences in an authentic way.

In the end, each life is no more than the sum of contingent facts, a chronicle of chance intersections, of flukes, of random events that divulge nothing but their own lack of purpose.

This is a book that is best read slowly, to take it in as it was meant to be taken in. Sentence, paragraphs and stories interweave and connect to reveal a very post-modern novel that is full of existentialism and the metaphysical. After reading two Paul Auster novels I can understand why readers complain that he reuses ideas in older books to writer new ones. There were many similarities between The New York Trilogy and The Book of Illusions, namely in character and content. I still think Auster is great, but I am going to give myself a break before I read more of him. I don't want to overdo it and decide my captivating author has become banal.

Publisher: Faber First, 1987

Their Eyes Were Watching God - Zora Neale Hurston

Prior to reading this novel I had never read any Zora Neale Hurston, but heard great things. I chose Their Eyes Were Watching God because I felt like this is one of those books I should read before I die, an American classic. Also, it's a banned book and since this week is Banned Books Week, it's my way of celebrating. This novel tells the story of Janie, a light-skinned African American woman living in the south during the early 1900's. Hurston details Janie's struggles against patriarchy and her continuous search for happiness over 30 years and uses two distinct voices to relate the story; that of the lyric narrator and the voices of the characters, who all speak in a thick southern dialect combined with the black vernacular.

Throughout the novel these opposing voices create a distinct divide, which is probably meant to mirror Janie's divide as a woman in a mans world and, as a result of her fair skin, her difficulty to fit in with either race that surrounds her. It also speaks to the importance of language and represents Janie's struggle to find her own voice. While I understand why Hurston employed two distinct voices throughout the novel, I didn't like it. I feel in love with the poetic narration and then was thrown into dialect that required my full attention:

"Daisy, you know mah heart and all de ranges uh mah mind. And you know if Ah wuz ridin' up in uh earoplane way up in de sky and Ah looked down and seen you walkin' and knowed you'd have tuh walk ten miles tuh git home, Ah'd step backward offa dat earoplane just tuh walk home wid you."

Maybe I'm just being a baby but I would rather read Standard Written English. With that in mind, the voice of the narrator was simply beautiful, gracefully thick with metaphors and figurative language:

Ships at a distance have every man's wish on board. For some they come in with the tide. For others they sail forever on the horizon, never out of sight, never landing until the Watcher turns his eyes away in resignation, his dreams mocked to death by Time. That is the life of men.

Structure and language aside, the overall story Hurston tells is insightful and still relevant today. She explores gender roles and examines race in terms of its cultural construction and how ideas of race are spread. Or course it's a coming of age story, but its more than that. Hurston stresses the power of believing in yourself and discovering your own truths. Janie triumphs over the limitations of patriarchy, race and poverty by never losing sight of who she was and what she wanted. This isn't in my top ten of American classics, but it is a satisfying read.

In a related note, the movie might be worth a watch:

Publisher: Harper Perennial, 1937