As I look over the Modern Library's list of the 100 Best Novels of the 20th Century, I realize I currently own about 20 of these books. Obviously, that means I have roughly 80 books to procure by other means. As much as I would love to own all of these books, being out of work makes that a somewhat unreasonable wish. Therefore, I will be turning to my local library as my main source of literature.
I mention this because as a former library clerk, I know just how tough our libraries have it right now. Libraries are facing their toughest challenges yet, and can really use our help.
Please do whatever you can to help keep these great community institutions open! Volunteer your time, donate your used books, buy a few used books, attend a free program, check out materials regularly, and/or make a small cash donation. It ALL helps!
Friday, October 30, 2009
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Ulysses: Book I, Episodes 1-3
A Recap of Book I:
Where exactly does one begin when discussing a novel as ripe for examination and discussion as James Joyce’s Ulysses? After all, entire books have been written devoted to analyzing Joyce’s allusions, his religious references and personal beliefs on the subject, his use of symbolism, and the ways in which the novel corresponds to Homer’s The Odyssey. As Joyce himself once said, Ulysses is filled with “so many enigmas and puzzles that it will keep the professors busy for centuries.” But this is not a critical, scholarly sort of blog. It is merely intended to be a record of my observations on and my reactions to these novels, a chronicle of my life as a serious reader. However, in the interest of keeping us all on the same page–no pun intended–I will begin with a brief summary of Book I. (NOTE: If anyone wishes to get right to my observations, feel free to skip the following three paragraphs.)
In these first few episodes we are introduced to Buck Mulligan and Stephen Dedalus, co-inhabitants of a seaside tower which they rent from the “secretary of state for war” for “twelve quid,” though it seems it is Dedalus who pays most or all of the rent. (As a side note, we will see Dedalus a little later on, and in more depth, as the protagonist of Joyce’s A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, novel number three on our distinguished reading list.) The two young men make an odd pair as they seem diametrically opposed in nearly every way. Mulligan is a boisterous medical student whose verbosity often gets the better of him. For example, he repeatedly makes an ass of himself by making crass asides regarding the death of Dedalus’ mother. Dedalus, on the other hand, appears quiet and introspective. He is a teacher and aspiring poet who considers himself an intellectual. He believes the “cracked lookingglass of a servant” is the symbol of Irish art and he has proven “by algebra that Shakespeare’s ghost is Hamlet’s grandfather,” notions he hopes will somehow earn him money one day.
After a breakfast of bread and tea, Dedalus, Mulligan, and Haines, a friend of Mulligan’s who has been invited to stay at the tower indefinitely, leave home to go on about their affairs. Mulligan and Haines are off to pursue a day of leisure (at Dedalus’ expense, of course), while Dedalus, who we soon learn is a man of many debts, is headed directly to his teaching job. After giving a rather dull lecture on the victories of Pyrrhus of Epirus, Dedalus then meets with the school’s headmaster, the anti-Semitic Mr. Deasy. Deasy gives Dedalus his pay, hands him two letters he wishes to be published in the local newspaper, and rails vehemently against the Jews.
Finally, Book I concludes with an episode featuring Joyce’s characteristic stream of consciousness narrative technique. In this episode Dedalus makes his way to a local beach and, by way of a lengthy internal monologue, ruminates upon many things including poetry, his family, his studies in Paris, and the death of his mother, all while watching a dog playfully romp about the beach with its masters in tow.
Notes and Observations:
If one is to equate the great novels of the world with children on a playground, Ulysses might be seen as the school bully, a physically superior hulk of a boy capable of beating down any challenger. However, the novel does have its redeeming qualities–most notably its language.
Written by a novelist with the heart of a poet, Joyce’s words are at once experimental and evocative. With an extensive vocabulary at his disposal, Joyce peppers his masterpiece with fanciful words such as “couchant,” “ineluctable,” “hyperborean,” and “postprandial.” Oftentimes, Joyce is unafraid to challenge the conventions of English by creating blended words like “muskperfumed,” “scrotumtightening,” “loudlatinlaughing,” and “milkoozing.” He also gives birth to unorthodox action words such as “vulturing” and “almosting.”
That is not to say Ulysses is merely one big laboratory in which Joyce, the mad scientist of the literary realm, cobbles together his abominations. Among the mutated adjectives and gerunds one finds examples of poetry woven into the fabric of the prose. Consider the lyrical sentence, “His fustian shirt, sanguineflowered, trembles its Spanish tassels at his secrets.” Or the alliterative phrases “wavewhite wedded words” and “the twining stresses, two by two.” But Joyce is careful to balance his artistry with a sense of playfulness, utilizing phrases such as “jejune Jesuit,” “poxy bowsy,” and “druidy druids.” Examples such as these highlight Joyce’s command of the English language, making him truly one of the greatest writers in all of literature.
So far, I do not understand, or even recognize, the allusions and references Joyce is throwing at me, but I am certainly struck by the novel’s inventive language and playful nature. I am learning that appreciating Joyce’s words is the first step toward understanding them. Perhaps the secret to reading Ulysses for the first time is simply that–to read it. Don’t try to make sense of it, just read it. If I am patient and studious, Ulysses will reveal its secrets to me, and discovering something new with each reading is what makes great literature great.
Where exactly does one begin when discussing a novel as ripe for examination and discussion as James Joyce’s Ulysses? After all, entire books have been written devoted to analyzing Joyce’s allusions, his religious references and personal beliefs on the subject, his use of symbolism, and the ways in which the novel corresponds to Homer’s The Odyssey. As Joyce himself once said, Ulysses is filled with “so many enigmas and puzzles that it will keep the professors busy for centuries.” But this is not a critical, scholarly sort of blog. It is merely intended to be a record of my observations on and my reactions to these novels, a chronicle of my life as a serious reader. However, in the interest of keeping us all on the same page–no pun intended–I will begin with a brief summary of Book I. (NOTE: If anyone wishes to get right to my observations, feel free to skip the following three paragraphs.)
In these first few episodes we are introduced to Buck Mulligan and Stephen Dedalus, co-inhabitants of a seaside tower which they rent from the “secretary of state for war” for “twelve quid,” though it seems it is Dedalus who pays most or all of the rent. (As a side note, we will see Dedalus a little later on, and in more depth, as the protagonist of Joyce’s A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, novel number three on our distinguished reading list.) The two young men make an odd pair as they seem diametrically opposed in nearly every way. Mulligan is a boisterous medical student whose verbosity often gets the better of him. For example, he repeatedly makes an ass of himself by making crass asides regarding the death of Dedalus’ mother. Dedalus, on the other hand, appears quiet and introspective. He is a teacher and aspiring poet who considers himself an intellectual. He believes the “cracked lookingglass of a servant” is the symbol of Irish art and he has proven “by algebra that Shakespeare’s ghost is Hamlet’s grandfather,” notions he hopes will somehow earn him money one day.
After a breakfast of bread and tea, Dedalus, Mulligan, and Haines, a friend of Mulligan’s who has been invited to stay at the tower indefinitely, leave home to go on about their affairs. Mulligan and Haines are off to pursue a day of leisure (at Dedalus’ expense, of course), while Dedalus, who we soon learn is a man of many debts, is headed directly to his teaching job. After giving a rather dull lecture on the victories of Pyrrhus of Epirus, Dedalus then meets with the school’s headmaster, the anti-Semitic Mr. Deasy. Deasy gives Dedalus his pay, hands him two letters he wishes to be published in the local newspaper, and rails vehemently against the Jews.
Finally, Book I concludes with an episode featuring Joyce’s characteristic stream of consciousness narrative technique. In this episode Dedalus makes his way to a local beach and, by way of a lengthy internal monologue, ruminates upon many things including poetry, his family, his studies in Paris, and the death of his mother, all while watching a dog playfully romp about the beach with its masters in tow.
Notes and Observations:
If one is to equate the great novels of the world with children on a playground, Ulysses might be seen as the school bully, a physically superior hulk of a boy capable of beating down any challenger. However, the novel does have its redeeming qualities–most notably its language.
Written by a novelist with the heart of a poet, Joyce’s words are at once experimental and evocative. With an extensive vocabulary at his disposal, Joyce peppers his masterpiece with fanciful words such as “couchant,” “ineluctable,” “hyperborean,” and “postprandial.” Oftentimes, Joyce is unafraid to challenge the conventions of English by creating blended words like “muskperfumed,” “scrotumtightening,” “loudlatinlaughing,” and “milkoozing.” He also gives birth to unorthodox action words such as “vulturing” and “almosting.”
That is not to say Ulysses is merely one big laboratory in which Joyce, the mad scientist of the literary realm, cobbles together his abominations. Among the mutated adjectives and gerunds one finds examples of poetry woven into the fabric of the prose. Consider the lyrical sentence, “His fustian shirt, sanguineflowered, trembles its Spanish tassels at his secrets.” Or the alliterative phrases “wavewhite wedded words” and “the twining stresses, two by two.” But Joyce is careful to balance his artistry with a sense of playfulness, utilizing phrases such as “jejune Jesuit,” “poxy bowsy,” and “druidy druids.” Examples such as these highlight Joyce’s command of the English language, making him truly one of the greatest writers in all of literature.
So far, I do not understand, or even recognize, the allusions and references Joyce is throwing at me, but I am certainly struck by the novel’s inventive language and playful nature. I am learning that appreciating Joyce’s words is the first step toward understanding them. Perhaps the secret to reading Ulysses for the first time is simply that–to read it. Don’t try to make sense of it, just read it. If I am patient and studious, Ulysses will reveal its secrets to me, and discovering something new with each reading is what makes great literature great.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
"And in this corner..."
As I write this, Ulysses, the first book on the Modern Library’s list of the 100 best novels of the 20th Century, is sitting beside me on the desktop, unopened. The book’s unassuming gray cover taunts me; it dares me to match wits with its intellect, and to unravel its many enigmas. But I am not quite ready to face the challenges that lie within. I am still sizing up my opponent, still forming my strategy. I am an unranked contender circling the ring with the undisputed heavyweight champ. Very soon I will either punch or be punched. I will crack the book’s cover and try to immerse myself in a day in the life of Leopold Bloom as he kicks around his native Dublin. By novel’s end I may not understand all of what I have just read, but at least I will gain the satisfaction of having finished one of the most challenging books in all of literature. (I decided to spare you from another boxing metaphor, something like “having lasted twelve rounds.”)
The novel is intimidating right from the start. The first page of text is emblazoned with a large “S.” For dramatic effect, I have measured this formidable consonant. It occupies a rectangle of space nearly seven inches tall and almost four inches wide. It towers high above the few remaining letters and takes up a good three-quarters of the page. The “s” stands for “stately,” as in “Stately, plump Buck Mulligan came from the stairhead, bearing a bowl of lather on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed.” However, for me that imposing initial letter signifies more ominous “s-words.” Words like “stigma,” “stall,” “stop,” and even “slacker.”
You see, I have made more unsuccessful attempts at reading Ulysses than any other book I have ever encountered. On many occasions, I have picked up the novel determined to read it (if not understand it) only to have my enthusiasm peter out before the end of the first episode. But one can hardly hold this against me. Joyce’s magnum opus is chock full of allusions which many editions do not bother to annotate. It has been noted that Joyce makes reference to seemingly all of Western history up to 1914, the year he began writing the novel in earnest. Furthermore, Joyce also utilizes a technique known as stream of consciousness which, at least to the first-time reader, convolutes the narrative at times. To complicate things even further, Joyce throws in an abundance of puns and parodies, and even a sudden shift in prose style–at one point, the novel resembles a screenplay.
I know what you may be thinking. Why choose to read Ulysses first if it is so difficult? It’s true, there are a number of different ways in which the list can be completed. For instance, I could save Ulysses for last and read the “easier” books first. However, I find the prospect of beginning this project with a challenge quite appealing. To me, it makes sense. Think of Ulysses as the school bully. If you beat up the toughest kid in school, chances are he will give you no further trouble. Okay, perhaps that is not a helpful analogy. The fact is Ulysses sits atop this list (and it occupies top spots on many other “best of” lists) for good reason. Regardless of its ranking, this is one of the greatest pieces of literature ever written. One of the marks of great literature is that it challenges its readers, and in all of literature there is no greater challenge than Ulysses.
So it’s me versus Ulysses. Inevitably, I will take a few punches on the chin, but I’m confident I will land a few good punches of my own. Regardless of the outcome of this bout, I will be well prepared for the rematch.
“And in this corner...”
The novel is intimidating right from the start. The first page of text is emblazoned with a large “S.” For dramatic effect, I have measured this formidable consonant. It occupies a rectangle of space nearly seven inches tall and almost four inches wide. It towers high above the few remaining letters and takes up a good three-quarters of the page. The “s” stands for “stately,” as in “Stately, plump Buck Mulligan came from the stairhead, bearing a bowl of lather on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed.” However, for me that imposing initial letter signifies more ominous “s-words.” Words like “stigma,” “stall,” “stop,” and even “slacker.”
You see, I have made more unsuccessful attempts at reading Ulysses than any other book I have ever encountered. On many occasions, I have picked up the novel determined to read it (if not understand it) only to have my enthusiasm peter out before the end of the first episode. But one can hardly hold this against me. Joyce’s magnum opus is chock full of allusions which many editions do not bother to annotate. It has been noted that Joyce makes reference to seemingly all of Western history up to 1914, the year he began writing the novel in earnest. Furthermore, Joyce also utilizes a technique known as stream of consciousness which, at least to the first-time reader, convolutes the narrative at times. To complicate things even further, Joyce throws in an abundance of puns and parodies, and even a sudden shift in prose style–at one point, the novel resembles a screenplay.
I know what you may be thinking. Why choose to read Ulysses first if it is so difficult? It’s true, there are a number of different ways in which the list can be completed. For instance, I could save Ulysses for last and read the “easier” books first. However, I find the prospect of beginning this project with a challenge quite appealing. To me, it makes sense. Think of Ulysses as the school bully. If you beat up the toughest kid in school, chances are he will give you no further trouble. Okay, perhaps that is not a helpful analogy. The fact is Ulysses sits atop this list (and it occupies top spots on many other “best of” lists) for good reason. Regardless of its ranking, this is one of the greatest pieces of literature ever written. One of the marks of great literature is that it challenges its readers, and in all of literature there is no greater challenge than Ulysses.
So it’s me versus Ulysses. Inevitably, I will take a few punches on the chin, but I’m confident I will land a few good punches of my own. Regardless of the outcome of this bout, I will be well prepared for the rematch.
“And in this corner...”
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
The Modern Library 100 Best Novels Project
Why this project?
On August 1, 2009, I found myself among the unemployed. Due to severe budget cuts, I lost my job at the public library–a job I truly loved and miss a great deal. Instead of becoming depressed, I decided I would make the most of my predicament. In between applications and job interviews, I would become a better, more avid reader. I would read those books I should have read in college but didn’t; I would finally make a dent in my personal collection. In addition to reading, I was determined to spend more time practicing my writing. I soon realized I could combine the two aspirations into one interesting project.
Inspiration for this reading and writing project came from two major sources. The first was A.J. Jacobs’ book The Know-It-All: One Man’s Humble Quest To Become The Smartest Person In The World. Published in 2004, The Know-It-All chronicles Jacobs’ experiences reading the entire Encyclopedia Britannica. My second source of inspiration came from Nick Hornby, one of my favorite authors. An avid reader and book buyer, Hornby wrote a series of articles for McSweeney’s “Believer” magazine in which he recounted the books he bought and read that month. These articles were later compiled into three books: The Polysyllabic Spree, Housekeeping vs. the Dirt, and Shakespeare Wrote For Money.
It was shortly after reading these books that I stumbled upon the Modern Library’s list of the 100 Best Novels of the 20th century. Reading over the list, I knew I had found my project.
Why the Modern Library’s list?
In 1999, The Modern Library compiled its list of the 100 Best Novels of the 20th century. The titles were selected by a distinguished board including Maya Angelou, Gore Vidal, A.S. Byatt, and Joyce Carol Oates to name a few. In addition to the Board’s List, a Reader’s List was also compiled based on votes submitted by readers.
Several other “100 Greatest” lists exist, including those compiled by Time and Newsweek. In contrast to the Modern Library series, these lists go further back in time and represent more genres, including poetry and the graphic novel.
I chose to read the Modern Library’s Board’s List for a number of reasons. First, I felt it to be more authoritative, more literary. Sure, The Watchmen (one Time magazine’s 100 all-time novels, by the way) is an important graphic novel, but to remove it from its genre and place it on a list that does not include a work as important as Ulysses just doesn’t jibe well with me. Second, I prefer fiction to non-fiction. For those who may be interested, the Modern Library also compiled a non-fiction 100 Best list, as well. Third, I prefer modern literature. The prospect of having to read Pride and Prejudice and/or Jane Eyre (books I loathed reading as a student) was less than appealing to me.
A Couple of Final Notes...
I am not the first (nor will I be last, I’m sure) to undertake such a project. A quick Google search will show that there are indeed others out there reading these same novels and blogging about their experience. I am setting out on this journey not to steal anyone’s thunder, but rather to explore those corners of the world of literature that are currently uncharted to me. If any of my fellow travelers happen to read this blog, I welcome and encourage your comments.
As for the order in which I intend to read these novels, I have decided to read them in numerical order starting with Ulysses at #1 and working my way down to The Magnificent Ambersons at #100. The list is top-heavy with rather weighty books, both in length and in content. Being out of work should allow me the time to get off to a good start on this project. Once I am working again I should be able to fit the remaining books into my spare time quite nicely.
On August 1, 2009, I found myself among the unemployed. Due to severe budget cuts, I lost my job at the public library–a job I truly loved and miss a great deal. Instead of becoming depressed, I decided I would make the most of my predicament. In between applications and job interviews, I would become a better, more avid reader. I would read those books I should have read in college but didn’t; I would finally make a dent in my personal collection. In addition to reading, I was determined to spend more time practicing my writing. I soon realized I could combine the two aspirations into one interesting project.
Inspiration for this reading and writing project came from two major sources. The first was A.J. Jacobs’ book The Know-It-All: One Man’s Humble Quest To Become The Smartest Person In The World. Published in 2004, The Know-It-All chronicles Jacobs’ experiences reading the entire Encyclopedia Britannica. My second source of inspiration came from Nick Hornby, one of my favorite authors. An avid reader and book buyer, Hornby wrote a series of articles for McSweeney’s “Believer” magazine in which he recounted the books he bought and read that month. These articles were later compiled into three books: The Polysyllabic Spree, Housekeeping vs. the Dirt, and Shakespeare Wrote For Money.
It was shortly after reading these books that I stumbled upon the Modern Library’s list of the 100 Best Novels of the 20th century. Reading over the list, I knew I had found my project.
Why the Modern Library’s list?
In 1999, The Modern Library compiled its list of the 100 Best Novels of the 20th century. The titles were selected by a distinguished board including Maya Angelou, Gore Vidal, A.S. Byatt, and Joyce Carol Oates to name a few. In addition to the Board’s List, a Reader’s List was also compiled based on votes submitted by readers.
Several other “100 Greatest” lists exist, including those compiled by Time and Newsweek. In contrast to the Modern Library series, these lists go further back in time and represent more genres, including poetry and the graphic novel.
I chose to read the Modern Library’s Board’s List for a number of reasons. First, I felt it to be more authoritative, more literary. Sure, The Watchmen (one Time magazine’s 100 all-time novels, by the way) is an important graphic novel, but to remove it from its genre and place it on a list that does not include a work as important as Ulysses just doesn’t jibe well with me. Second, I prefer fiction to non-fiction. For those who may be interested, the Modern Library also compiled a non-fiction 100 Best list, as well. Third, I prefer modern literature. The prospect of having to read Pride and Prejudice and/or Jane Eyre (books I loathed reading as a student) was less than appealing to me.
A Couple of Final Notes...
I am not the first (nor will I be last, I’m sure) to undertake such a project. A quick Google search will show that there are indeed others out there reading these same novels and blogging about their experience. I am setting out on this journey not to steal anyone’s thunder, but rather to explore those corners of the world of literature that are currently uncharted to me. If any of my fellow travelers happen to read this blog, I welcome and encourage your comments.
As for the order in which I intend to read these novels, I have decided to read them in numerical order starting with Ulysses at #1 and working my way down to The Magnificent Ambersons at #100. The list is top-heavy with rather weighty books, both in length and in content. Being out of work should allow me the time to get off to a good start on this project. Once I am working again I should be able to fit the remaining books into my spare time quite nicely.
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