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

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

A Visit From the Goon Squad by Jennifer Egan

"Time's a goon, right? You gonna let that goon push you around?"

Since it won the Pulizter, A Visit from the Goon Squad has been discussed and reviewed quite a bit around the blogosphere. Instead of recapping the 13 chapters (all of which could stand alone) and their non-linear structure, I want to talk about why I think this book is so special. Jennifer Egan has created a unique masterpiece that is unlike anything I've read in quite some time.

Egan has connected a multitude of memorable characters over a span of 50 years in a storyline that explores time and memory, the self-destruction and disappointments that inevitably ensue as we age and the redemption and second chances that we take, if we're lucky. These themes may seem hackneyed, but the narrative structure in which she writes them are altogether unique. It's a beautifully complicated novel, but not confusing in the least.

A Visit From the Goon Squad uses the idea of music and the music industry to convey these themes. Egan connects the relationship of music and life, highlighting their connection of time, to suggest life's tumultuous instances, the disorder and the starts and stops, the "pauses" and restarts, all work to create our reality, whether its the one we've planned for or not. Egan suggests its the disorder that ends up organizing our lives.

The pause makes you think the song will end. And then the song isn't really over, so you're relieved. But then the song does actually end, because every song ends, obviously, and That. Time. The. End. Is. For. Real.

Again, this device may seem trite, but she executes it in a way that is completely inimitable. The entire novel is so delicately weaved, connecting ideas that, to me, are incredibly relevant; the overall effect is quite refreshing. If this is how the future of fiction reads, I couldn't be more excited.

Publisher: Anchor Books, 2010

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

Interperter of Maladies by Jhumpa Lahiri

Lahiri has a serious gift for telling a story with elegance and wisdom. Interpreter of Maladies is a collection of nine short stories, each with a focus on Indian culture and what it means to be a foreigner. Normally I'm not a big fan of short story collections, but after I read The Namesake I wanted to explore more of Lahiri's works. I was not disappointed. Each story details the immigrant experience in a unique way. Among my favorites were "A Temporary Matter," "Interpreter of Maladies,""Sexy," "Mrs. Sen's" and "The Treatment of Bibi Haldar".

While each story can stand alone and depicts different view of the Indian American, they also work well in a collection as they are strongly connected in themes and motifs. Lahiri examines the subject of an immigrants identity in terms of it's mutability and disconnectedness; can an immigrant maintain his or her cultural identity while also adapting to their new, foreign lives? And if so, to what extent does this involve resistance to their new life, and at what cost? Is the formation of multiple identities, or even broken identities, worth the struggle?

While astronauts, heros forever, spent mere hours on the moon, I have remained in this new world for nearly thirty years. I know that my acheivement is quite ordinary. I am not the only man to seek his fortune far from home and I am certainly not the first. Still, there are times I am bewildered by each mile I have traveled, each meal I have eaten, each person I have known, each room in which I have slept. As ordinary as it all appears, there are times when it is beyond my imagination.

The stories in Lahiri's collection are both eye-opening and heartbreaking. I'd recommended this book to anyone interested in gaining a greater understanding of today's immigrant experience. Interpreter of Maladies won the Pulitzer Prize for fiction in 2000.

Publisher: Mariner Books, 1999

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

The Age of Innocence: Book Two

The Age of Innocence read-along is hosted by Beth at Bookworm Meets Bookworm. Today we are posting our thoughts on Book Two and the entire novel overall. You can read my thoughts on Book One here.

Oh Edith Wharton - she is truly fantastic. Prior to The Age of Innocence, I had only read Ethan Frome, which I liked very much. Wharton has now established herself to be a master in relating a tortured love story. But it really is much more than that. I think one of the things that makes The Age of Innocence so powerful is Wharton's ability to impose the character's emotions onto the reader. Book One concluded with the announcement that Archer's wedding had been pushed forward. We still weren't sure what would happen with Ellen and I wondered whether or not Archer would go through with the wedding. Book Two opens on Archer's wedding day. Wharton throws her readers into the event - highlighting the haste and slight confusion Archer himself undergoes. Wharton also does this to the reader in the end when we jump forward many years to learn about May's death, the birth of Archer's children and his son's engagement to Fanny Beaufort. There is a disconnection between Archer's life as we left it and the one that we now learn about.

Nothing could more clearly give the measure of the distance that the world had traveled. People nowadays were too busy - busy with reforms and "movements," with fads and fetishes and frivolities - to bother much about their neighbors. And of what account was anybody's past, in the huge kaleidoscope where all the social atoms spun around on the same plane?

In my post on Book One I mentioned that this book is almost a work of observational anthropology, critiquing our inherent societal values and rejection of the unusual. These ideas are true throughout Book Two as well. Wharton further examines Old New York society in Book two by considering its gender relations. In Book One we are lead to believe May falls short of average intelligence, but in Book Two we see her "blue eyes wet with victory" when Archer knows he must stay with her and let Ellen go. I think Wharton is highlighting the underrated astuteness of the girl who plays dumb, and the true potential they hold to get exactly what they want. Wharton also touches on the double standards of an affair and then examines them backward, insisting that a woman is prone to changing her mind and acting impetuously, and it's the man who should be at fault for adulterous actions. I found Wharton's examination of gender relations in Book Two both interesting and witty.

When reading books I am usually hesitant to believe two characters in a novel are truly in love. The author really has to show me this emotion and make it unique - in The Age of Innocence, I never doubted Archer's love for Ellen. Wharton really pulled at my heart strings when Archer picks up Ellen at the train station and states,

Do you know - I hardly remembered you?
Hardly remembered me?
I mean: how shall I explain? I - it's always so. Each time you happen to me all over again.

Now, a discussion of the ending (spoiler alert). I think Wharton really does this entire novel justice when Archer walks away from Ellen without even saying hello years later. I don't think this novel was ever just a love story, which is what it would have been had Archer and Ellen ended up together. I think this is a story about a life of regret. I think this is a novel that articulates the importance of timing in life and the mutability of of our everyday world. It's about doing what's best for those you care about and stifling selfish motivations. It highlights the repercussions of the choices we make and the inability to go back and do things differently. I think it's about understanding societal constraints and despite a yearning for something more, facing the inability to break free of those constraints. All in all, the ending as it was made me think about the book as a whole more than I would have had Ellen and Archer lived happily ever after. Well played, Edith Wharton. Well played.

The Age of Innocence won the 1921 Pulitzer Prize in fiction.

Publisher: Macmillan, 1920

The Age of Innocence: Book One

The Age of Innocence Read-along is hosted by Beth at Bookworm Meets Bookworm. Today we are posting our thoughts on Book One.

The Age of Innocence earned Edith Wharton the Pulitzer Prize in 1921. Set in "Old New York," we meet Newland Archer, who represents the ultimate figure in New York society. He is recently engaged to May Welland, a marriage that will unite two of New York's oldest families. Enter Countess Ellen Olenska, May's unconventional cousin who has just returned from Europe after a failed marriage.

From the beginning of the novel Wharton evokes the feeling of high-society New York through imagery and language. The opening scene takes us to an opera, an event attended by good society; a place where one can be seen in high fashion, displaying astute manners - while also keeping a close eye on their company, keeping up with the latest social news and gossiping about others when prompted. The opera has the benefit of being "small and inconvenient," thus keeping out the "new people whom New York was beginning to dread and yet be drawn to".

Countess Olenska is one of these characters who is dreaded. She and her cousin May could not be more different. While May is eager to please with her understanding of New York society and it's social expectations, Countess Olenska is more vivacious, understanding New York to be a place where one is taken on vacation "when one has been a good little girl and done all one's lessons". Of course the passionate and unusual (if not sometimes offensive) qualities of Olenska begin to enamor Archer, intriguing him more so than his traditional and meek fiance. Soon he beings to question his engagement.

He saw his marriage becoming what most other marriages about him were: a dull association of material and social interests held together by ignorance on the one side and hypocrisy on the other.

The idea of freedom from society is a prevalent theme in book one. Early on, when defending the Countess, Archer states, "Woman ought to be free - as free as [men] are". He then goes on to feel increasingly oppressed - oppressed by societal expectations and its ridged, unimaginative mores.

And he felt himself oppressed by this creation of factitious purity, so cunningly manufactured by a conspiracy of mothers and aunts and grandmothers and long-dead ancestresses, because it was supposed to be what he wanted, what he had a right to, in order that he might exercise his lordly pleasure in smashing it like an image made of snow.

It isn't until Archer is able to free himself from the city and it's social constrains that he allows himself to fully admit his feeling toward Olenska. It's not suprising that Olenska mimics these this feeling of constraint and yearning toward freedom. After returning to New York her Grandmother wanted Olenska to live with her, to which Olenska explains she had to live on her own - she "had to be free".

Thoughts:

So far I am really enjoying this novel - more so than I thought I would. It's almost a work of observational anthropology, critiquing our inherent societal values and rejection of the unusual. It's like society itself is a main character, because it's that prevalent throughout book one. It has a constant weight and pull on each character and their actions.

Of course I am hoping Archer ends of up the Countess in the end, but he's dug himself into somewhat of a hole. After he convinces the Countess not to divorce and sue her husband (a case in which he would have headed), he realizes he is in love with her, but isn't able to marry her as long as she listens to his advice and doesn't divorce.

Also, I like the bits that describe Archer as an avid reader - getting excited about a new box of books and preferring the "prospect of a quite Sunday at home with his spoils". Later, when he can't get his mind of the Countess after his return from Highbank, he tries to read and while he "turned the pages with the sensuous joy of a book-lover, he did not know what he was reading". I think this is a feeling that all readers can relate, and I enjoy these "bookish" descriptions Wharton includes.

I've also got to say that of May and the Countess - I really relate to the Countess. I'm quite outgoing - sometimes, but rarely, to the point of obnoxious - but have never regretted this quality of mine. I think it's better to be oneself than try to squeeze into a mold that doesn't quite fit. Some of my all-time favorite literary characters have been carefree women who forge their own path regardless of what people think and Countess Olenska is certainly one of these characters. I don't think that she doesn't recognize her "misbehavior" in the sense that it goes against scoietal norms - I think it's that she doesn't care. She would rather stay true to herself and seek freedom from these constrains.

I'm really looking forward to book two. I'm hoping Archer can man-up!

The Namesake by Jhumpa Lahiri

I finished this book last week on my flight to California. Then I left it with a friend to read. I'm usually pretty good about writing reviews within 24 hours of finishing the novel, but since I was on my way to a 5-day bender weekend in the South Bay, this wasn't the case. I also don't have the novel in front of me and I am working on lack of sleep from my red-eye back home last night so be warned, this review will be lacking.

So, here is what I can tell you: I loved this book. Adored it. It is all at once captivating, heartwarming and depressing. The Namesake examines the immigration experience of a Bengali family with a focus on the second generation. It speaks to the psychological disjucture and cultural displacement that is associated with belonging to two very different cultures.

For being a foreigner, Ashima is beginning to realize, is a sort of lifelong pregnancy—a perpetual wait, a constant burden, a continuous feeling out of sorts. It is an ongoing reponsibility, a parenthesis in what had once been ordinary life, only to discover that that previous life has vanished, replaced by something more complicated and demanding. Like pregnancy, being a foreigner, Ashima believes, is something that elicits the same curiosity from strangers, the same combination of pity and respect.

From the very start of The Namesake Lahiri's prose sucked me in. It is unusually dispassionate - but the tone doesn't work to disassociate the reader. Rather, I felt even more captivated - at times forgetting I was even reading.

Lahiri won the Pulitzer Prize in 2000 for her short story collection The Interpreter of Maladies, which is a book I am going to track down asap. I really can't recommend The Namesake enough. It's a fascinating story that opened my eyes to the struggles of immigration and they cultural conflicts it imposes.

Publisher: Houghton Mifflin, 2003

Edith Wharton's The Age of Innocence Read-Along

Beth over at Bookworm Meets Bookworm is hosting The Age of Innocence Read-Along and I just signed up! The Age of Innocence won the Pulitzer Prize in 1921. Until now I've only read Wharton's Ethan Frome and I'm excited to tackle another one of her titles.

The read-along will be split into two parts - Book One and Book Two - and will take place from February 2nd to March 2nd. There will be a post for each section:

If you are interested in participating (and I think you should!) you can sign up at Bookworm Meets Bookworm.

The Bridge of San Luis Rey by Thorton Wilder

Thornton Wilder is the only author to have ever won a Pulitzer Prize in both fiction and drama. The Bride of San Luis Rey is one of his works that earned him a Pulitzer in 1928. The premise of this philosophical novel is straightforward; a footbridge in Peru breaks and takes five people down with it. A monk who witnessed the tragedy asks himself why those five people and begins to uncover the lives of each of the deceased in hopes of revealing if the catastrophe was an act of fate or a coincidence. In other words, The Bridge of San Luis Rey seeks to answer why some people live and others die? Is there a meaning in lives that an individual has no control over?

Wilder conveys a simple yet powerful theme throughout the novel, namely that the act of love is the bridge that joins life and death and this act completes those lives in death. While these ideas make the book a worthwhile read, the getting there was tedious. The novel starts out quite slow and Wilder's prose felt stiff and dense. The second half of the novel picked up after I began to understand where Wilder was going and the connective thread he was creating to link these five characters to one another.

But soon we shall all die and all memory of those five will have left the earth, and we ourselves should be loved for awhile and then forgotten. But the love will have been enough; all those impulses of love return to the love that made them.

As far as classics go, this is a great one, but it doesn't make my top ten. There seemed to be something missing. I can appreciate the deepness of emotion this novel conveys, which is probably what gained it's merit and popularity, but aside from that there isn't much to gush about.

Publisher: Harper Perennial, 1927