Tuesday, October 9, 2012
Concert Review: Regina Spektor Live at the State Theater
Last night, my friend Lisa and I walked from the Old Port (specifically, Five Guys) to the State Theater in Portland to see one of our favorite performers, Regina Spektor. Three months earlier, we had stood in line for Fiona Apple, and now we were back, with a few differences that included much lower temps and a line that had formed down High Street instead of Congress.
This was my second time seeing Regina, and Lisa's first. I was really excited for her, because I knew she was in for a dynamic performance. And, of course, I was excited to see her again, as she is one of my all time favorite singers.
I love people watching, and I was pleased to see that I didn't feel as old this time around as I did when my friend Matt B. and I saw her at the Orpheum in Boston back in 2009. At that time, I honestly felt like the bulk of the audience was in their 20s, and those of you who know me know that I am much older than that. This time, there were a lot of thirty and fortysomethings, and I was delighted to see several people who appeared to be in their 70s, including the couple seated next to me. There were also lots of girls wearing Regina Spektor shirts, one young woman who seemed to have done her hair like Regina, a few guys I would like to date, and just a generally diverse, enthusiastic crowd.
The opening act was wretched, easily one of the worst I have seen over the years of taking in many concerts. His stage name is Only Son, and during the intermission, my friend Steven (also in the audience) texted me that he is Regina's husband! I nearly wept. His lyrics were cringe-inducing, particularly a song about having a baby and wanting it to be a boy, and I was so bored during his whole set, clapping out of politeness, but thanking my lucky stars that I would soon be seeing a woman who would blow this dude clear out of the water on her worst day. But whom she had somehow chosen to marry.
When Regina and her band took the stage at 9:18, the crowd erupted into huge, passionate applause, which was sustained throughout the night. Portland crowds are always amazing, and you could tell that the State was filled with true blue Regina fans. This was also a polite crowd for the most part, although one lame contingent to our right started up some clapping during a song that did not call for it, and Regina looked at the audience skeptically and said "Really?," sort of calling them out but in a polite manner which just won me over even more.
Regina's latest album is What We Saw From The Cheap Seats, and so of course, I expected her to play the heck out of it, which she did. She performed ten of the album's eleven songs. Although I did not swoon over this album quite as much as her previous effort, 2009's amazing Far, I am now a bonafide fan, because each performance of What We Saw's songs was absolutely fantastic, and I cannot wait to explore this album more. And of course, lead single "All The Rowboats" has thrilled me since it was released back in February, and last night's performance was haunting and electrically charged. What a brilliant piece of music, in which she sings of rowboats in oil paintings which come to life after the museum closes. Throbbing, scary, energized: this song is where it's at.
Regina's music brings up a lot of emotions for me. My ex was a fan of hers before I ever was, and during the song "On The Radio," the tears were flowing down my sissy face. What a lovely, well-written song for the ages. I cried again during "Us," and I'm not afraid to admit it. Other highlights for me were "Blue Lips," from Far, which loses none of its dramatic intensity when performed live; the soaring and blissful "Better" from Begin To Hope; "Firewood" from the new CD, which is an exquisite ballad; and the piercing "Ballad of a Politician," also from the new CD, which just seems to sum up so much of life in this complicated century.
With every song, Regina's vocals soared. Her piano playing was remarkable, as was the way she turned her microphone into percussion. Unlike Tori Amos and Sarah McLachlan, she doesn't have a forthright, natural stage banter; she is far from combative, like the amazing Fiona Apple, who scolded the crowd; in fact, Regina seems genuinely shy! She was humbled and delighted by the crowd, and specifically said something about Maine being a great audience. Hopefully, this means that she'll be back.
I will end this review by saying that I was struck once again by what a talented lyricist this woman is. She crams so much of life into her songs. I'm thankful to have seen her in concert twice, and I will say that last night's performance at the State Theater in Portland, Maine, ranks as one of my favorite shows in a lifetime of great concerts.
Monday, October 8, 2012
A Perfect Novel: Offshore by Penelope Fitzgerald
There is something to be said for experimentation in literature. When authors play with form and technique in the right way, the results can be breathtaking, as evidenced by works as disparate as Thomas Pynchon's Gravity's Rainbow, the recent NW by Zadie Smith, and the bulk of the oeuvres of James Joyce and Virginia Woolf. From these authors' willingness to take chances, pleasure is bestowed upon the reader.
Similarly, there is something to be said for a good, old fashioned, linear novel. I have read several of these this year, most recently, Offshore by Penelope Fitzgerald. I don't want to group books unnecessarily, but in 2012, I have had the pleasure of reading a handful of brilliantly conceived, expertly executed novels by three powerhouse British female authors: Penelope Lively, Barbara Pym, and now, Penelope Fitzgerald. All I can say is: wow. The Booker Prize was bestowed upon Lively's Moon Tiger in 1987, and Fitzgerald's Offshore in 1979. Pym was nominated for Quartet in Autumn in 1977. In all three cases, the Booker judges knew what they were talking about.
In my readings of the history of the dying art form known as soap operas, I have learned that in their heyday, these shows won people over with nothing more complicated than what Stephen King has extolled time and again in his essays on fiction: good, solid storytelling. People have always enjoyed a good story: cleverly plotted, skillfully paced, with characters who resonate, or at least elicit a genuine response. There is something to be said for a novel that gets about its business right away, in a succinct, economical style. Certainly we don't want all novels to be like this, but there is a reason that certain books have held up over the years.
Penelope Fitzgerald is considered one of the greatest British writers of the 20th century. To be more specific, she was thrice nominated for the Booker, winning for Offshore. Her 1995 novel The Blue Flower, arguably considered her masterpiece, won the National Book Critics Circle Award. And on the Times' list of The 50 Greatest British Writers Since 1945, she ranked 23rd. Clearly, a writer of many accolades.
I came to Offshore with high expectations, having wanted to read it for about a decade. I was in a bit of a post-brilliance lull, not sure what I could read that would in any way measure up to Zadie Smith's NW. I tackled a slight but charming novel by Stephen McCauley, Insignificant Others, which bought me some time, but was hoping for something a little more this time around. Or maybe not. After all, in a year that has blessed me with so many great reads thus far, perhaps I would not happen upon another five star book for a while.
Yet, Offshore is one of the best novels I've ever read. The setting is the Thames River in London in 1962. A group of residents reside on riverboats, or barges, separated from the people on land and gauging much of their activity by the rise and fall of the river's tides. Richard and his unhappy wife Laura live on Lord Jim; Maurice, a male prostitute, resides on Maurice; Willis, a hapless older man, is the owner of the leaking Dreadnought; and Nedda and her two daughters, Martha and Tilda, call Grace home. There is also Woodie and his wife Janet, whose boat Rochester becomes a temporary boarding home when some of the other river dwellers undergo minor tragedies. Throw in a criminal named Harry, who is using Maurice to store stolen goods, and a pregnant rat-chasing cat named Stripey, and you have the recipe for a book that is an interesting (and natural) combination of comedy of manners, domestic drama, love story, and crime caper.
Fitzgerald throws us into the action with a languorous but important opening scene that involves a monthly meeting of the boat owners, in which they discuss important issues and basic boat business. Like a motley home owners association! The book unfolds at a nice pace. Offshore is by no means plot driven, but there is definite forward momentum and plenty of activity for all of the characters. There is never a dull moment, and Fitzgerald's characterizations are strong enough that you come to care for everyone, even the supporting players like Mr. and Mrs. Woodie. Although, again, the novel is more character than plot-driven, the various threads do come together in a well-choreographed manner at the denouement. I walked away from the book feeling fully satisfied, in spite of a final scene that leaves you hanging and raises questions about most of the characters' fates! In some strange way, this is comforting.
In closing, I will say that this is a short novel, clocking in at 141 pages, and one in which every single sentence seems to matter. There is no excess here, nothing that seem pointless or wasteful. Sprinkled throughout are perfectly crafted sentences, insightful dialogue, and moments of quiet beauty. Offshore is a book that simultaneously moves quickly, and yet lingers on life's little moments with a striking clarity. I would recommend it without reservation and go so far as to say it's that rare thing, a perfect novel.
Similarly, there is something to be said for a good, old fashioned, linear novel. I have read several of these this year, most recently, Offshore by Penelope Fitzgerald. I don't want to group books unnecessarily, but in 2012, I have had the pleasure of reading a handful of brilliantly conceived, expertly executed novels by three powerhouse British female authors: Penelope Lively, Barbara Pym, and now, Penelope Fitzgerald. All I can say is: wow. The Booker Prize was bestowed upon Lively's Moon Tiger in 1987, and Fitzgerald's Offshore in 1979. Pym was nominated for Quartet in Autumn in 1977. In all three cases, the Booker judges knew what they were talking about.
In my readings of the history of the dying art form known as soap operas, I have learned that in their heyday, these shows won people over with nothing more complicated than what Stephen King has extolled time and again in his essays on fiction: good, solid storytelling. People have always enjoyed a good story: cleverly plotted, skillfully paced, with characters who resonate, or at least elicit a genuine response. There is something to be said for a novel that gets about its business right away, in a succinct, economical style. Certainly we don't want all novels to be like this, but there is a reason that certain books have held up over the years.
Penelope Fitzgerald is considered one of the greatest British writers of the 20th century. To be more specific, she was thrice nominated for the Booker, winning for Offshore. Her 1995 novel The Blue Flower, arguably considered her masterpiece, won the National Book Critics Circle Award. And on the Times' list of The 50 Greatest British Writers Since 1945, she ranked 23rd. Clearly, a writer of many accolades.
I came to Offshore with high expectations, having wanted to read it for about a decade. I was in a bit of a post-brilliance lull, not sure what I could read that would in any way measure up to Zadie Smith's NW. I tackled a slight but charming novel by Stephen McCauley, Insignificant Others, which bought me some time, but was hoping for something a little more this time around. Or maybe not. After all, in a year that has blessed me with so many great reads thus far, perhaps I would not happen upon another five star book for a while.
Yet, Offshore is one of the best novels I've ever read. The setting is the Thames River in London in 1962. A group of residents reside on riverboats, or barges, separated from the people on land and gauging much of their activity by the rise and fall of the river's tides. Richard and his unhappy wife Laura live on Lord Jim; Maurice, a male prostitute, resides on Maurice; Willis, a hapless older man, is the owner of the leaking Dreadnought; and Nedda and her two daughters, Martha and Tilda, call Grace home. There is also Woodie and his wife Janet, whose boat Rochester becomes a temporary boarding home when some of the other river dwellers undergo minor tragedies. Throw in a criminal named Harry, who is using Maurice to store stolen goods, and a pregnant rat-chasing cat named Stripey, and you have the recipe for a book that is an interesting (and natural) combination of comedy of manners, domestic drama, love story, and crime caper.
Fitzgerald throws us into the action with a languorous but important opening scene that involves a monthly meeting of the boat owners, in which they discuss important issues and basic boat business. Like a motley home owners association! The book unfolds at a nice pace. Offshore is by no means plot driven, but there is definite forward momentum and plenty of activity for all of the characters. There is never a dull moment, and Fitzgerald's characterizations are strong enough that you come to care for everyone, even the supporting players like Mr. and Mrs. Woodie. Although, again, the novel is more character than plot-driven, the various threads do come together in a well-choreographed manner at the denouement. I walked away from the book feeling fully satisfied, in spite of a final scene that leaves you hanging and raises questions about most of the characters' fates! In some strange way, this is comforting.
In closing, I will say that this is a short novel, clocking in at 141 pages, and one in which every single sentence seems to matter. There is no excess here, nothing that seem pointless or wasteful. Sprinkled throughout are perfectly crafted sentences, insightful dialogue, and moments of quiet beauty. Offshore is a book that simultaneously moves quickly, and yet lingers on life's little moments with a striking clarity. I would recommend it without reservation and go so far as to say it's that rare thing, a perfect novel.
Monday, September 10, 2012
Surfacing: The Early Genius of Margaret Atwood
Surfacing. I've long heard about this early Margaret Atwood novel, a landmark in contemporary literary fiction; feminist fiction; Canadian nationalist fiction. As I began my exploration of this award-winning author's work seven years ago with The Handmaid's Tale, followed by Cat's Eye, and then an odd choice, the underrated Bodily Harm, I knew that eventually I would make my way to 1972's Surfacing, the title of which fellow Canadian Sarah McLachlan echoed on her 1997 album.
Every so often, a novel is so powerful, evocative, confusing, or possibly a combination of all three, that you finish it in a sort of daze, not wanting to move on, and oddly unable to truly process what you've read. Surfacing provided such an experience for me. Twenty-four hours later, I'm still thinking about the book; its indelible atmosphere hovered on the edges of my brain throughout the day. I know I shall not soon forget it.
There is so much jammed into Atwood's sophomore novel (the well-reviewed The Edible Woman had come out three years earlier) that a book review could only hope to skim the basics. Issues of national pride, the environment, feminism, sexual relationships, parent-child bonds, abortion, dreams and memory all take their pride of place in this tour de force. Somehow, perhaps because she's a genius, Atwood allows each issue to rise naturally from the storyline and characters, never seeming heavy handed to this reader.
Surfacing has its dreamlike moments, but it's not an abstract or puzzling novel, at least not as a whole. In fact, there is a fairly straightforward, captivating plot. The narrator, a nameless woman in her twenties, is searching for her father, who has disappeared from the island off of Quebec where she grew up. She has returned to this childhood home with her lover, Joe, and two friends, a married couple by the names of Anna
and David. The storyline follows the group's search through the island's forests and surrounding lakes, interspersed with activities like fishing, blueberry picking, and late night card games. Atwood's writing is detailed and observant, her singular style already showing itself in this early effort. Although original and unique as all of her novels are, one can see her honing her craft and can't help but think of how this style will appear again, magnified and expanded, in 1988's Cat's Eye.
Surfacing moves ahead at a determined pace, never dragging, and its major plot point is eventually resolved. There are subplots, including the narrator's mysterious past with a husband and child she abandoned, or at least that's what she tells us at first. Atwood's narrators often seem mysterious, slightly aloof and at times almost emotionless. This one is even more of a removed figure, given Atwood's decision not to name her, but she is never less than a very real composite of a living, breathing human being. There is a deep tragedy in her past, and as she searches for her missing father, she also searches within herself, ultimately finding more than she bargained for.
To me, Margaret Atwood's fiction has a sinister feel, sometimes overt, sometimes more subtle. Hints of danger lurk beneath the surface, sometimes figuratively, sometimes literally, as in the narrator's experience while diving deep into a lake to search for symbolic paintings on a long buried rock cliff. As the four friends explore the island, searching in vain for the narrator's father, you feel as though someone is watching them, possibly ready to strike at any moment. Scenes involving their canoes passing those of other tourists, the "fascist Yank pigs" (according to David, whose Canadian pride manifests itself in an arrogant, confrontational manner) are imbued with a quiet dread. When they come across a dead heron (I will not divulge the details), it's one of the most striking passages in the novel, and allows the narrator to share her views on animals and their value (or lack thereof) to the twentieth century world.
There is so much I could write about this novel. I don't want to give anything away. I came to this book expecting to like it very much, and I have walked away in awe. While very much of its time (not a bad thing), the novel deals with timeless themes and seems relevant in 2012. I hope to read it again in my lifetime. Some books leave permanent marks, and Surfacing is one of those books for me. Margaret Atwood has impressed me four times, and I can't wait to read the rest of her work. She is, as goes without saying, one of our most important living authors. I highly recommend this novel.
Every so often, a novel is so powerful, evocative, confusing, or possibly a combination of all three, that you finish it in a sort of daze, not wanting to move on, and oddly unable to truly process what you've read. Surfacing provided such an experience for me. Twenty-four hours later, I'm still thinking about the book; its indelible atmosphere hovered on the edges of my brain throughout the day. I know I shall not soon forget it.
There is so much jammed into Atwood's sophomore novel (the well-reviewed The Edible Woman had come out three years earlier) that a book review could only hope to skim the basics. Issues of national pride, the environment, feminism, sexual relationships, parent-child bonds, abortion, dreams and memory all take their pride of place in this tour de force. Somehow, perhaps because she's a genius, Atwood allows each issue to rise naturally from the storyline and characters, never seeming heavy handed to this reader.
Surfacing has its dreamlike moments, but it's not an abstract or puzzling novel, at least not as a whole. In fact, there is a fairly straightforward, captivating plot. The narrator, a nameless woman in her twenties, is searching for her father, who has disappeared from the island off of Quebec where she grew up. She has returned to this childhood home with her lover, Joe, and two friends, a married couple by the names of Anna
and David. The storyline follows the group's search through the island's forests and surrounding lakes, interspersed with activities like fishing, blueberry picking, and late night card games. Atwood's writing is detailed and observant, her singular style already showing itself in this early effort. Although original and unique as all of her novels are, one can see her honing her craft and can't help but think of how this style will appear again, magnified and expanded, in 1988's Cat's Eye.
Surfacing moves ahead at a determined pace, never dragging, and its major plot point is eventually resolved. There are subplots, including the narrator's mysterious past with a husband and child she abandoned, or at least that's what she tells us at first. Atwood's narrators often seem mysterious, slightly aloof and at times almost emotionless. This one is even more of a removed figure, given Atwood's decision not to name her, but she is never less than a very real composite of a living, breathing human being. There is a deep tragedy in her past, and as she searches for her missing father, she also searches within herself, ultimately finding more than she bargained for.
To me, Margaret Atwood's fiction has a sinister feel, sometimes overt, sometimes more subtle. Hints of danger lurk beneath the surface, sometimes figuratively, sometimes literally, as in the narrator's experience while diving deep into a lake to search for symbolic paintings on a long buried rock cliff. As the four friends explore the island, searching in vain for the narrator's father, you feel as though someone is watching them, possibly ready to strike at any moment. Scenes involving their canoes passing those of other tourists, the "fascist Yank pigs" (according to David, whose Canadian pride manifests itself in an arrogant, confrontational manner) are imbued with a quiet dread. When they come across a dead heron (I will not divulge the details), it's one of the most striking passages in the novel, and allows the narrator to share her views on animals and their value (or lack thereof) to the twentieth century world.
There is so much I could write about this novel. I don't want to give anything away. I came to this book expecting to like it very much, and I have walked away in awe. While very much of its time (not a bad thing), the novel deals with timeless themes and seems relevant in 2012. I hope to read it again in my lifetime. Some books leave permanent marks, and Surfacing is one of those books for me. Margaret Atwood has impressed me four times, and I can't wait to read the rest of her work. She is, as goes without saying, one of our most important living authors. I highly recommend this novel.
Monday, April 16, 2012
Singing Herself Free: Madonna's MDNA, Part 1
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Saturday, March 31, 2012
First Look: Regina Spektor's Amazing New Single, "All The Rowboats"
It's been almost three years since Regina Spektor's last album, Far, was released. Never fear: on May 29th, she drops her latest album, cleverly titled What We Saw From the Cheap Seats. The official video for the album's first single, "All the Rowboats," was released to Youtube this week, and the single is available for purchase on i-Tunes, for $1.29.
Far was my second favorite album of 2009, so I am anxious to see if the new material lives up to my lofty expectations. Based on this single, I have nothing to worry about. I am particularly happy to see that "All the Rowboats" is a somber affair, continuing the darker mood she explored in songs like "Blue Lips" and "Machine" on Far.
Now before I annoy any loyal Regina fans who do not like Tori Amos, let me clarify that I do not find them all that similar, and I think any attempts to lump them together because they both play piano and write their own songs are sexist, and pretty lame. If anything, I'd compare Regina more to Fiona Apple than Tori, but the fact is that she's a singular talent who is not really like anyone else that I listen to.
However, that being said, there is a definite Tori Amos vibe on this single (musically speaking), and that's entirely a good thing. One of the highlights of "All the Rowboats" is a very sinister burst of keyboards starting at approx 1:21 in, and those keyboards strongly echo Tori Amos at her late 90s peak (think Choirgirl era), with perhaps a touch of "Precious Things." I know there is a contingent of Spektorites who don't want their hot girl of the moment compared to some feminist forerunner, but the fact is, it's a valid comparison in this case, and one that does not take away from the originality of this song in any way, shape, or form.
"All the Rowboats" is an ominous piece of amazement; in fact, Consequence of Sound has already labeled this as "one of our favorite songs this year so far." That's terrific praise! Lyrically, she turns the rowboats in oil paintings hanging in a museum into living beings who are forever trying to escape from their pictures: totally Regina, and very original amidst the humdrum of much of today's music. Just consider these words: "First there's lights out, then there's lock up. Masterpieces serving maximum sentences. It's their own fault for being timeless: there's a price to pay, and a consequence."
Vocally, she sounds strong, but never oversings. Her tone matches the solemnity of the song. As far as the music, it's downright enveloping, from the previously mentioned Amos-like keyboards, to the unique and instantly recognizable Regina piano, and most surprisingly, sharp bursts of drums that add a sense of urgent fear to the proceedings.
Hats off to Regina, and here's hoping the entire album is as good as this first single!
Grade: A
Far was my second favorite album of 2009, so I am anxious to see if the new material lives up to my lofty expectations. Based on this single, I have nothing to worry about. I am particularly happy to see that "All the Rowboats" is a somber affair, continuing the darker mood she explored in songs like "Blue Lips" and "Machine" on Far.
Now before I annoy any loyal Regina fans who do not like Tori Amos, let me clarify that I do not find them all that similar, and I think any attempts to lump them together because they both play piano and write their own songs are sexist, and pretty lame. If anything, I'd compare Regina more to Fiona Apple than Tori, but the fact is that she's a singular talent who is not really like anyone else that I listen to.
However, that being said, there is a definite Tori Amos vibe on this single (musically speaking), and that's entirely a good thing. One of the highlights of "All the Rowboats" is a very sinister burst of keyboards starting at approx 1:21 in, and those keyboards strongly echo Tori Amos at her late 90s peak (think Choirgirl era), with perhaps a touch of "Precious Things." I know there is a contingent of Spektorites who don't want their hot girl of the moment compared to some feminist forerunner, but the fact is, it's a valid comparison in this case, and one that does not take away from the originality of this song in any way, shape, or form.
"All the Rowboats" is an ominous piece of amazement; in fact, Consequence of Sound has already labeled this as "one of our favorite songs this year so far." That's terrific praise! Lyrically, she turns the rowboats in oil paintings hanging in a museum into living beings who are forever trying to escape from their pictures: totally Regina, and very original amidst the humdrum of much of today's music. Just consider these words: "First there's lights out, then there's lock up. Masterpieces serving maximum sentences. It's their own fault for being timeless: there's a price to pay, and a consequence."
Vocally, she sounds strong, but never oversings. Her tone matches the solemnity of the song. As far as the music, it's downright enveloping, from the previously mentioned Amos-like keyboards, to the unique and instantly recognizable Regina piano, and most surprisingly, sharp bursts of drums that add a sense of urgent fear to the proceedings.
Hats off to Regina, and here's hoping the entire album is as good as this first single!
Grade: A
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
The First Annual Between The Pages Year-End Book Awards
When it comes to books, a year-end best of list is slightly more difficult (for me) than a similar list of music or films. For starters, I tend to read all over the map, not just current releases. This year, I finally got around to reading The Bell Jar! I also picked up She's Come Undone, which I had been meaning to read for a decade. Due to the nature of my job, I also read a lot of new stuff in order to recommend titles (and because my huge love is contemporary fiction). This makes it difficult to do a straight up Top 10 books for the year, because what would it consist of? Top 10 books of 2011, top 10 recent reads, top 10 of everything I read this year? I managed to do one last year, but this year, I am going to mix it up a little, and simply present my First Annual Book Awards. Enjoy.
My Greatest Discovery: Antonya Nelson. This category was a toss up between Nelson, who has been writing for years, and Victoria Patterson, who is only on her second book. Both of them were new discoveries for me, although I was vaguely familiar with Nelson's name. Over Memorial Day weekend, I read her novel Bound, which was a 2010 release. The story is engaging, the writing is first-rate, and most impressively to me was the way in which she made about twenty characters seem necessary in a relatively small book. You can check out my original post here: http://shane-malcolm.blogspot.com/2011/05/book-review-bound-by-antonya-nelson.html.
Best Biography/Autobiography/Memoir: August Gale by Barbara Walsh. I read several books in this category in 2011, but the most well-written was certainly Walsh's tribute to her enigmatic grandfather, Paddy. This book gets you more bang for your buck, because it's actually two tales in one. Walsh traces the story of the August gale that rocked Newfoundland in 1935 and its momentous effect on the fishermen (one in particular) with painstaking historical accuracy, while also chronicling the present day saga of she and her father hot on the trail of family secrets ... all in the name of love and redemption. Riveting from the first page.
The Well Worth the Wait Classic Award: The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath. Again, this could have gone to any number of books, but Plath takes the trophy simply because I've been hearing about The Bell Jar all my life. The story of Esther Greenwood, this could almost be viewed as the female Catcher In The Rye, although the dark tones and themes are much more overt here. The book spoke to me as I read it at age 34. If I'd encountered it earlier in life, I'm not sure how I would have reacted. Very real, very haunting, entirely timeless.
Most Disappointing Read: Clouds of Witness by Dorothy L. Sayers. I feel like this is a sacrilegious statement, but don't worry, I am definitely going to give this Grande Dame of mystery another chance. I had wanted to read her for years, since she's considered to be as good as (and in some cases better than) my beloved Agatha Christie. Alas, I may have chose the wrong title to start with. I certainly enjoyed Clouds of Witness, but it didn't live up to the hype. I didn't find myself blown away by her talent like I do at the end of each Christie book. I also found Lord Peter Whimsey to be quite annoying. Still, it was nothing short of impressive in terms of plotting and technical achievement.
Most Memorable Book: The Magus by John Fowles. No contest here. This is one of the most unforgettable books I've ever read, and unlike anything else out there. I cannot even speak properly about this novel yet, but here's the link to my previous blog http://shane-malcolm.blogspot.com/2011/10/magus-by-john-fowles-wild-ride-into.html
The "I Feel Like I'm Not Alone" Award: Rob Sheffield, and the late May Sarton. This year, I read Sheffield's heartwarming, genuine tribute to music Talking To Girls About Duran Duran. I have long loved this man, since his columns in "Rolling Stone" magazine, and this book was laugh inducing and tear-jerking at the same time. I also read May Sarton's 1973 memoir, Journal Of A Solitude, which chronicles one year of her life and her inward search as an introvert. Words cannot express how thankful I am to Sheffield and dear departed Sarton. I feel like they are kindred spirits of mine, and reading them, I'm less alone in the world.
Most Underrated Novel: By Nightfall by Michael Cunningham. This one sort of got lost in the shuffle when it was released in 2010. Sure, it garnered some good reviews, but it didn't have the buzz of Cunningham's earlier works like The Hours and A Home At the End of the World. I absolutely loved this book, which details the personal collapse of art gallery owner Peter Harris. His life is in shambles, although he doesn't exactly know this when the book begins. His marriage, seemingly solid, is crumbling. A visit from his brother in law, Mizzy, stirs up feelings and attractions that are far more devastating than they first appear. Because the entire book is told from Peter's viewpoint, there is a lot we miss, but you'll have fun filling in the blanks. As always, Cunningham's writing is top notch.
Greatest Use of Talent: Sarah Braunstein, The Sweet Relief Of Missing Children. Braunstein's novel is as dark as they come, and it's equally amazing. My book group was vociferous in its reaction to this novel, which involves an abduction, as well as several parents who make "wrong" choices. People were disturbed by the book, but wow, did we ever have a great discussion. And even those who were most put off by the novel rose up to praise the writer for her shimmering prose. When Braunstein spoke at the Bailey Library, she was engaging and won over the crowd. Only the most talented can win unanimous praise even when their books are so divisive. As for me, I liked the book enough to put it in my Top 3 for the year if this was a traditional Top 10.
Most Deserving of the Hype Award: Room by Emma Donoghue. Sometimes a book is so good that it's actually deserving of all the great press, five star reviews, and award nominations. Room is one such book. It's also one of only two books that every single person in my book group loved, and let me tell you, this is a group of diverse and serious readers! I recommended Room to my mother, and it promptly became one of her favorite books of all time. My brother read it, and he's not usually a fan of contemporary literary fiction. People talk about it on the street, in the shops, on the bus. Emma Donoghue took a dark and disturbing storyline and wove it into something larger than life. Ma and Jack will stay in your hearts forever. I will go out on a limb and say that books like this are why we read. Here is the link to my original post: http://shane-malcolm.blogspot.com/2011/04/no-room-for-improvement.html
And now, at last, we come to our final award. Out of dozens of books read this year, only one can take the equivalent of Oscar's Best Picture. If this were a live broadcast, I'd hope to have this presented by Ian McEwan or Anne Tyler. Ladies and gentlemen, this was my favorite.
Book of the Year 2011: Swim Back To Me by Ann Packer. That's right, a short story collection is taking this trophy right out from underneath all the novels I read this year. Packer knows how to write about human emotions, human connections, and human tragedy. She is a gift to the literary world, and I pretty much knew from the time I read this in April that it would be my book of the year. Lo and behold, I was correct. Here is a link to where I said more about this title: http://shane-malcolm.blogspot.com/2011/05/book-review-swim-back-to-me-by-ann.html.
My Greatest Discovery: Antonya Nelson. This category was a toss up between Nelson, who has been writing for years, and Victoria Patterson, who is only on her second book. Both of them were new discoveries for me, although I was vaguely familiar with Nelson's name. Over Memorial Day weekend, I read her novel Bound, which was a 2010 release. The story is engaging, the writing is first-rate, and most impressively to me was the way in which she made about twenty characters seem necessary in a relatively small book. You can check out my original post here: http://shane-malcolm.blogspot.com/2011/05/book-review-bound-by-antonya-nelson.html.
Best Biography/Autobiography/Memoir: August Gale by Barbara Walsh. I read several books in this category in 2011, but the most well-written was certainly Walsh's tribute to her enigmatic grandfather, Paddy. This book gets you more bang for your buck, because it's actually two tales in one. Walsh traces the story of the August gale that rocked Newfoundland in 1935 and its momentous effect on the fishermen (one in particular) with painstaking historical accuracy, while also chronicling the present day saga of she and her father hot on the trail of family secrets ... all in the name of love and redemption. Riveting from the first page.
The Well Worth the Wait Classic Award: The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath. Again, this could have gone to any number of books, but Plath takes the trophy simply because I've been hearing about The Bell Jar all my life. The story of Esther Greenwood, this could almost be viewed as the female Catcher In The Rye, although the dark tones and themes are much more overt here. The book spoke to me as I read it at age 34. If I'd encountered it earlier in life, I'm not sure how I would have reacted. Very real, very haunting, entirely timeless.
Most Disappointing Read: Clouds of Witness by Dorothy L. Sayers. I feel like this is a sacrilegious statement, but don't worry, I am definitely going to give this Grande Dame of mystery another chance. I had wanted to read her for years, since she's considered to be as good as (and in some cases better than) my beloved Agatha Christie. Alas, I may have chose the wrong title to start with. I certainly enjoyed Clouds of Witness, but it didn't live up to the hype. I didn't find myself blown away by her talent like I do at the end of each Christie book. I also found Lord Peter Whimsey to be quite annoying. Still, it was nothing short of impressive in terms of plotting and technical achievement.
Most Memorable Book: The Magus by John Fowles. No contest here. This is one of the most unforgettable books I've ever read, and unlike anything else out there. I cannot even speak properly about this novel yet, but here's the link to my previous blog http://shane-malcolm.blogspot.com/2011/10/magus-by-john-fowles-wild-ride-into.html
The "I Feel Like I'm Not Alone" Award: Rob Sheffield, and the late May Sarton. This year, I read Sheffield's heartwarming, genuine tribute to music Talking To Girls About Duran Duran. I have long loved this man, since his columns in "Rolling Stone" magazine, and this book was laugh inducing and tear-jerking at the same time. I also read May Sarton's 1973 memoir, Journal Of A Solitude, which chronicles one year of her life and her inward search as an introvert. Words cannot express how thankful I am to Sheffield and dear departed Sarton. I feel like they are kindred spirits of mine, and reading them, I'm less alone in the world.
Most Underrated Novel: By Nightfall by Michael Cunningham. This one sort of got lost in the shuffle when it was released in 2010. Sure, it garnered some good reviews, but it didn't have the buzz of Cunningham's earlier works like The Hours and A Home At the End of the World. I absolutely loved this book, which details the personal collapse of art gallery owner Peter Harris. His life is in shambles, although he doesn't exactly know this when the book begins. His marriage, seemingly solid, is crumbling. A visit from his brother in law, Mizzy, stirs up feelings and attractions that are far more devastating than they first appear. Because the entire book is told from Peter's viewpoint, there is a lot we miss, but you'll have fun filling in the blanks. As always, Cunningham's writing is top notch.
Greatest Use of Talent: Sarah Braunstein, The Sweet Relief Of Missing Children. Braunstein's novel is as dark as they come, and it's equally amazing. My book group was vociferous in its reaction to this novel, which involves an abduction, as well as several parents who make "wrong" choices. People were disturbed by the book, but wow, did we ever have a great discussion. And even those who were most put off by the novel rose up to praise the writer for her shimmering prose. When Braunstein spoke at the Bailey Library, she was engaging and won over the crowd. Only the most talented can win unanimous praise even when their books are so divisive. As for me, I liked the book enough to put it in my Top 3 for the year if this was a traditional Top 10.
Most Deserving of the Hype Award: Room by Emma Donoghue. Sometimes a book is so good that it's actually deserving of all the great press, five star reviews, and award nominations. Room is one such book. It's also one of only two books that every single person in my book group loved, and let me tell you, this is a group of diverse and serious readers! I recommended Room to my mother, and it promptly became one of her favorite books of all time. My brother read it, and he's not usually a fan of contemporary literary fiction. People talk about it on the street, in the shops, on the bus. Emma Donoghue took a dark and disturbing storyline and wove it into something larger than life. Ma and Jack will stay in your hearts forever. I will go out on a limb and say that books like this are why we read. Here is the link to my original post: http://shane-malcolm.blogspot.com/2011/04/no-room-for-improvement.html
And now, at last, we come to our final award. Out of dozens of books read this year, only one can take the equivalent of Oscar's Best Picture. If this were a live broadcast, I'd hope to have this presented by Ian McEwan or Anne Tyler. Ladies and gentlemen, this was my favorite.
Book of the Year 2011: Swim Back To Me by Ann Packer. That's right, a short story collection is taking this trophy right out from underneath all the novels I read this year. Packer knows how to write about human emotions, human connections, and human tragedy. She is a gift to the literary world, and I pretty much knew from the time I read this in April that it would be my book of the year. Lo and behold, I was correct. Here is a link to where I said more about this title: http://shane-malcolm.blogspot.com/2011/05/book-review-swim-back-to-me-by-ann.html.
Monday, October 24, 2011
The Magus by John Fowles: A Wild Ride Into the Mystic
I read The Magus by John Fowles over the summer. I read a few other books as well, but I can definitely say that The Magus defined my reading during the summer of 2011. I had long wanted to read the book, because of its revered status, but only this year did I bother to investigate the premise of the novel. Upon doing so, I moved the book closer to the top of my to-read list.
The Magus is not like anything I've read before. In some ways that can be said about each individual book that one reads, but truly, there is something that sets this giant tome in a class of its very own. First appearing in 1963, Fowles released a revised edition (with a tweaked ending) in 1977, and it's this version clocking in at 656 pages that I read.
The Magus is a mixture of genres and styles, encompassing mystery, psychological thriller, love story, philosophical treatise, and literary fiction. There's lots of other stuff in there, too. Above all, though, it's a heck of a good story, full of twists and turns and shocking revelations that keep you guessing until the very end and long after.
Nicholas Urfe is our protagonist (or antagonist, depending on your view). He's a 26 year old, smart, good looking, independent man whose parents died early, leaving him wayward and adrift. Very self-possessed, he is often lost in his thoughts and also quite judgmental of the 1950s London society in which he lives. Looking for adventure in the wake of a tumultuous romantic relationship, he accepts a post as language instructor in a school on the Greek island of Phraxos.
Although the adventure ostensibly begins when Nicholas arrives on Phraxos, close attention must be paid to the opening fifty pages of The Magus, which detail his relationship with a young Australian woman named Alison. These scenes are important, because they will tie in to the storyline at a later point. They are also notable for showcasing Fowles's strength at writing about romantic relationships between men and women, and for his strong character development. Although this part of the story flies by quickly almost as a prologue of sorts, it rings quite true in its portrayal of young love in first, glorious bloom.
Once Nick arrives in Greece, he discovers that he is just as bored as he was in London. He also realizes that his poetry is not very good, and even makes an unsuccessful attempt at suicide. Soon, however, he makes his way to the mysterious mansion of Maurice Conchis on the secluded part of Phraxos known as Bourani, and here is where his life takes a turn, if not for the better, certainly toward the more interesting. On Bourani, nothing is what it first appears, and Conchis seems nothing less than a magician or magus who manipulates Nicholas and sends him on a labyrinthine adventure that cannot begin to be described in this blog. You'll simply have to read The Magus for yourself. I will say only that a beautiful woman named Lily is a central figure in the games Conchis plays with Nicholas, and she emerges as a vivid but oh-so-puzzling character in her own right.
The bulk of the action in The Magus takes place on Bourani, and watching Nicholas navigate the maze set by Conchis is certainly a riveting reading experience. However, there are plenty of asides and various backdrops in this huge novel, including flashbacks to important periods in Conchis's life which he relates to Nicholas in great detail, and a sojourn to the mountains that Nicholas takes with Alison when he has reached an impasse of sorts on Bourani. These rustic mountain scenes are understatedly touching and lay a groundwork for the finale of the novel, which ultimately ends up being more of a love story than it first appears (arguably).
I thoroughly enjoyed The Magus. I liked the character development, the storyline, the questions of physical attraction vs. romantic love, the adventure, the mystery, the historical references, and Fowles's writing style. By the end of the novel, I was slightly annoyed (impatient), as I waited for everything to come together, and although I didn't really get the answers I wanted, I found the concluding pages of this book so striking that I forgave everything else. I would recommend the novel to almost everyone just for the sheer puzzlement of it, and the excitement of joining Nicholas as he weaves his way through the Magus's tangled web. Certainly this modern classic offers the reader one heck of a free ride!
The Magus is not like anything I've read before. In some ways that can be said about each individual book that one reads, but truly, there is something that sets this giant tome in a class of its very own. First appearing in 1963, Fowles released a revised edition (with a tweaked ending) in 1977, and it's this version clocking in at 656 pages that I read.
The Magus is a mixture of genres and styles, encompassing mystery, psychological thriller, love story, philosophical treatise, and literary fiction. There's lots of other stuff in there, too. Above all, though, it's a heck of a good story, full of twists and turns and shocking revelations that keep you guessing until the very end and long after.
Nicholas Urfe is our protagonist (or antagonist, depending on your view). He's a 26 year old, smart, good looking, independent man whose parents died early, leaving him wayward and adrift. Very self-possessed, he is often lost in his thoughts and also quite judgmental of the 1950s London society in which he lives. Looking for adventure in the wake of a tumultuous romantic relationship, he accepts a post as language instructor in a school on the Greek island of Phraxos.
Although the adventure ostensibly begins when Nicholas arrives on Phraxos, close attention must be paid to the opening fifty pages of The Magus, which detail his relationship with a young Australian woman named Alison. These scenes are important, because they will tie in to the storyline at a later point. They are also notable for showcasing Fowles's strength at writing about romantic relationships between men and women, and for his strong character development. Although this part of the story flies by quickly almost as a prologue of sorts, it rings quite true in its portrayal of young love in first, glorious bloom.
Once Nick arrives in Greece, he discovers that he is just as bored as he was in London. He also realizes that his poetry is not very good, and even makes an unsuccessful attempt at suicide. Soon, however, he makes his way to the mysterious mansion of Maurice Conchis on the secluded part of Phraxos known as Bourani, and here is where his life takes a turn, if not for the better, certainly toward the more interesting. On Bourani, nothing is what it first appears, and Conchis seems nothing less than a magician or magus who manipulates Nicholas and sends him on a labyrinthine adventure that cannot begin to be described in this blog. You'll simply have to read The Magus for yourself. I will say only that a beautiful woman named Lily is a central figure in the games Conchis plays with Nicholas, and she emerges as a vivid but oh-so-puzzling character in her own right.
The bulk of the action in The Magus takes place on Bourani, and watching Nicholas navigate the maze set by Conchis is certainly a riveting reading experience. However, there are plenty of asides and various backdrops in this huge novel, including flashbacks to important periods in Conchis's life which he relates to Nicholas in great detail, and a sojourn to the mountains that Nicholas takes with Alison when he has reached an impasse of sorts on Bourani. These rustic mountain scenes are understatedly touching and lay a groundwork for the finale of the novel, which ultimately ends up being more of a love story than it first appears (arguably).
I thoroughly enjoyed The Magus. I liked the character development, the storyline, the questions of physical attraction vs. romantic love, the adventure, the mystery, the historical references, and Fowles's writing style. By the end of the novel, I was slightly annoyed (impatient), as I waited for everything to come together, and although I didn't really get the answers I wanted, I found the concluding pages of this book so striking that I forgave everything else. I would recommend the novel to almost everyone just for the sheer puzzlement of it, and the excitement of joining Nicholas as he weaves his way through the Magus's tangled web. Certainly this modern classic offers the reader one heck of a free ride!
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