Winterval Reading

I'm more of a reader than a writer. So I tried to use the former to jostle myself into the latter. Here are the books which I read this break, in the order which they were completed, with remarks written in a style appropriate to the work considered:

Middlemarch
by George Eliot

Before reading the editor's preface (which act is frowned upon in polite St. John's society), I do not recall knowing that 'George Eliot' was a pseudonym for a female author. However, if I had not read said preface, I am quite confident that I would have readily inferred said gender from the fact that the book was just that good. Which is not to imply that readers of "Eliot's" time were stolid, unaware, or in any way not up to the task of reading Middlemarch (which task is not insignificant, many will insist to you) relative to me. No, my only gift is the clarity that distance from a previous time can lend one. Works less-regarded in the social context they examine can rise to bob on the shoulders of their more famous contemporaries as the ages turn, the way rocks of various sizes shook in a jar sort into strata like obedient schoolchildren. Middlemarch is one of those works, that captures in amber for perpetuity both a specific society and universal human folly. Next to the Eyres and Prides, Middlemarch is the less loud and precocious stepsister, whose silence on vaunted matters and volubility on common ones bespeaks an unpretentiousness not entirely unrelated to true wisdom. To know her better is to know better one's self, and all other selves.

Last Call
by Tim Powers

From a book by George Eliot to a book that starts with Georges Leon. Georges is a man not many have heard of, which is how he wants it. And why should we? His only claim to fame was being the first to realize what Bugsy Siegel was really building in the Nevada desert. It's amazing that more people didn't notice with him. Maybe holding the Flamingo Hotel's grand opening on Christmas, temporarily closing it on a friday soon after, then having a glorious re-opening on Easter was too obscure for the average guy. There may have been a few others who knew, though. It's not like Siegel hid it. That tan, and all that time spent working out, seeking physical perfection. The way dogs used to howl and the moon hung low and protective whenever Virginia Hill (hell, even the name!) walked into the room. But this is all a waste of space, because Georges is not the hero of the book. That honor goes to Mr. Powers, who doesn't just throw Arthurian/Frazerian/American myth into a blender, he stirs and shakes them expertly in a mixer, making a drink with a powerful kick and a smooth finish, plants it in front of you at the bar and says with a grin, "Stephen King, eat your blind fucking heart out."

Anansi Boys
by Neil Gaiman

Many people seem to have an unnatural love for Mr. Gaiman, and I am not one of them. But his book about Anansi's two sons charmed me easily. It is entertaining and therefore short, but merits more full consideration. It explains things plainly without saying them explicitly. It is fantastical without being too precious, and funny without being (too) British. It is a story about storytelling, inspired by tribal myths and American funny animal cartoons. Last Call creates a world of desperate people who figured out a way to assume archetypal roles and gain immense power, who have been fighting over it ever since. Anansi Boys spins a tale about a man who is sometimes a spider, and how his being a lazy wise-ass saved the world. Both are good, but one is fun.


Breaking the Spell
by Daniel Dennet

Some of you might have noticed a recent flurry of publications, studies and reports questioning the arms-length that we hold between the armed camps of "religion" and "science," unless your religious practices include some kind of information abstinence. If so, I hope that you will still be willing to read and consider this book, and my review of it, for the simple reason that the authors of both are interested in finding the evidence that demonstrates the advantages of your specific religious practices, advantages up to and including the truth of them. Richard Dawkins wants people to stop forcing themselves to take religion seriously, but Daniel Dennet wants people to stop forcing themselves to remain ignorant to religion. Laid out in this book is a plain and honest argument for allowing the careful study of the natural phenomena of religion: It's effects and causes. Everyone, if they feel either an obligation to believe true things or a belief that they already do, should read this book quickly, so we can all agree to find out all the things we don't know yet.

V.A.L.I.S.
by Philip K. Dick

Victory Newman read this book and found herself unable to think about religion in the way she used to call rational. She told me that she thought she knew now what we had always been so afraid of, what it was like to go crazy. I was understandably worried about her. I was worried that she might begin doubting reality, hallucinating elaborate theistic conspiracies, and attempting suicide, just like Philip K. Dick, the main character had, in this novel by Philip K. Dick. I was especially worried about the suicide part. Philip K. Dick was a talented writer, and even he committed suicide eventually, I think I heard, and I guess I have an unnatural respect for writers. I equated his ability to string words together coherently with being able to do the same with thoughts. But Victory isn't stupid. Intelligence doesn't save you from insanity, it just makes your insanity complicated. To your eyes, anyway. There's a simple emotional reason, an unhealing wound, like the Fisher King, except you can't see it, so instead of being in your side like his was, it's in your inside. Anyway, it really bothered me that Newman might kill herself, because she - I - was the same person as me. I used to tell her that, hoping that she would 'take it easy' (whatever that was supposed to mean!) for my sake. She laughed ruefully. In her own mind, she was cured, and on a quest. Suicide wasn't the danger, not understanding was, and it was a vivid enough danger that she stayed awake till four trying to finish the book in one sitting. But that didn't help. She's still trying to figure out what she's supposed to do next. Phillip was content (apparently) to wait, but I know she won't be. At the very least, she has to read the last two novels Dick wrote in his life (V.A.L.I.S. was the third), Divine Invasion and The Transmigration of Timothy Archer. I'm going to let her. You can't really go wrong with a guy who had the most prestigious award in science fiction literature named after him, and Victory said V.A.L.I.S. was no exception.

-Nick