dappled shade

East of Eden

I read a lot of entertaining books. I read quite a few good books. Very occasionally, I read a great book. John Steinbeck's East of Eden is a great book.

A good friend of mine lent this book to me while I was still in college. I read it quickly and was impressed by it, but I didn't go back to it until this year. I've had the same experience with other great books - it takes me a long time to re-read them.

I suppose that a book that speaks to being human is not a book to be read lightly. East of Eden is not entertainment in the way that the vast majority of books are - rather it, and other rare books like it, teach me about ways to view the world. And, of course, the ideas in East of Eden are complex and subtle.

East of Eden is a re-telling of the first books of the Old Testament. Some of the ideas I think I understand, but some I am not sure about.

The main thread of the story follows two generations of brothers as they re-enact the story of Cain and Abel. Steinbeck ends hopefully with the injunction that we may conquer sin if we wish to. This part of the story I understand quite well.

I understand Cathy's role in the book less well. Cathy lacks empathy and the ability to feel any affection toward other people. Steinbeck presents this as something she was born with and is unable to change (in fact, he compares it to a physical deformity). Cathy is ambitious, cold and completely without conscience. She commits several murders during the course of the story.

The problem for me with Cathy's story is that she could never have not sinned. Lacking any feeling for other people and having no conscience or moral sense, she would pursue what she wanted without regard for anyone else.

It is possible that Cathy is there to show what happens when people sin without remorse, and with no desire to conquer sin. If that is the case, then she was dealt a rotten hand. Those without any moral conscience do not end up well in this book. The problem is that Cathy's character undercuts Steinbeck's point that people can conquer sin.

This idea worries me. If I accept that to sin is to behave badly toward other people, then ultimately some people will sin without conscience or remorse. If they have no facility for a moral sense, is it fair to judge them harshly? I am not saying that people who do horrible things shouldn't be punished; sometimes the threat of a punishment will deter someone when the moral sense is lacking. What I am saying is that it would be worth understanding why people commit horrible acts, rather than simply judging them.

East of Eden is a great book, but I do not fully understand it. Maybe when I re-read it in 10 years time I will be wise enough to understand it then.

Eats, Shoots and Leaves: The Zero Toleration Approach to Punctuation

The worst thing about Eats, Shoots and Leaves by Lynne Truss is trying to tell the panda joke to people who haven't read the book. The best thing is her rallying cry:

"Sticklers unite! You have nothing to lose but your sense of proportion (and arguably you didn't have a lot of that to begin with)."

Personally, I'm not exactly a stickler for grammar; I know full well that the language changes constantly and that people who get too hung up about grammar are a pain in the tuckus. On the other hand, I have an uncanny ability to spot most (though certainly not all) grammar problems. In fact, it gets to be a bit embarrassing sometimes (at my last job, I had to strenuously resist becoming the unofficial editor of the company). And it's not even as if I particularly enjoy editing.

I have a suspicion that Eats, Shoots and Leaves is one of those books that a lot of people own (either because they bought it to look more intelligent, or people bought it for their friends as they wished their friends to be more intelligent), but that very few people have read. If you have a copy quietly moldering on your bookshelf, pick it up. I promise you, it is a quick and entertaining read, even if you could care less about the proper use of a semi-colon.

Truss does a great job of explaining simple grammar concepts (e.g. when to use an apostrophe) in a very funny way that sticks with you. Except for the extreme sticklers out there, most people can come away with some new knowledge about grammar after reading this book. (And if there are any extreme sticklers out there, I recommend The Use and Abuse of the English Language by Robert Graves and Alan Hodge; it will give all but the most dedicated and knowledgeable word smiths an inferiority complex.)

Buy this book on Amazon.

The Name of the Rose

The Name of the Rose, by Umberto Eco, has been described as a "book that moves with the pace of a thriller" - presumably by someone who never read it.

It does have the murder, politics, scandal, violence, and even sex of a thriller. But the pace? Not so much. The action is routinely interrupted by serious, learned discourses from one monk or another.

As with other books by Eco, The Name of the Rose often reads like a rigorous humanities course. In this case, keeping track of the popes, their intrigues, and the surrounding heresies is a bit of a challenge.

The odd thing about The Name of the Rose is that it is an unusually highly structured storyline, whose end falls into chaos. With this book structure, is Eco arguing that even though we see chaos around us, God is still an intelligent force that directs the actions of the world (in the same way that Eco, as the author, directs the plot of the book)? Or is he arguing that there is no pattern and no intelligence driving the world, in which case the chaos at the end is an inherently possible outcome?

The ideas in the book are very complicated which makes a conclusion difficult to come by (especially in a short weblog post), but I tend toward the second interpretation. However, as in the real world, it's impossible to prove either idea. On the one hand, it can be argued that in this book God wanted chaos and therefore the abbey was destroyed. On the other hand, it can be argued that there is no God and because there is no God, the abbey was destroyed. Or more succinctly, is God unknowable or unavailable?

While it is possible to read The Name of the Rose while not thinking about any philosophical implications, it is still not the typical light and fluffy thriller. It is an interesting book, though, and a good choice for a slightly challenging read with enough scandal to keep the plot moving.

Buy this book on Amazon.

The Big Sleep

The Big Sleep is intensely evocative of a time that never existed. In Raymond Chandler's book, Los Angeles is full of hustlers, racketeers, mobsters, angels and slightly tarnished good guys all bouncing off each other in a grimy tough-guy world.

Chandler favors short, direct descriptions that vividly describe the scene. His cynical portrayal of people and his intense descriptions of LA create an atmosphere that is both fictional and competely convincing. Chandler's writing drew me into the story despite its sometimes objectionable content. The author is homophobic, deeply uncomfortable with powerful women, and presents hyper-masculinity as the male ideal.

Balanced against the more objectionable content is the protagonist, Philip Marlowe. The author none-too-subtly makes the point that he does the right thing even though there's no money in it and precious little gratitude. He acts like an idealized knight from a medieval romance dropped into a dirty, dangerous modern world. This idea appeals to me because sometimes people seem to be out for all they can grab, in the real world as well as in Chandler's book.

While the narrative heavily implies that Marlowe is a modern-day knight, I don't think it quite works as a metaphor. Knights in romances didn't usually defend the weak out of a moral imperative; the games they played were typically elaborate courtship games. Marlowe, though, does stick up for the little guy, and doesn't get much for it.

He's too grubby and tarnished to be considered a hero in the Superman sense. The movie version of Superman is the classic modern day hero; he's squeaky clean and always does the right thing. But I find Superman sickeningly one dimensional and completely unconvincing. Chandler tried to create a hero that was part of the world he belonged to, warts and all.

I wouldn't recommend The Big Sleep for its social commentary. The kindest description would be that it's old fashioned. As a story, though, it's gripping and the author ultimately has some faith in people, even when they're in terrible situations.

A favorite line (and probably one of the most quoted): "My God, you big dark handsome brute! I ought to throw a Buick at you."

Buy this book on Amazon

I Capture the Castle

I fell head over heels in love with I Capture the Castle the first time I read it.

When I was a kid I used to fall in love with books all the time. I read and re-read A Little Princess (which is a painfully soppy book to read as an adult) and swallowed Down a Dark Hall in one day when I was 13.

Books have changed, though, or I have changed. Perhaps books written for adults can get away with being more intellectual and less entertaining (though the books I've read as an adult which are supposed to be just entertaining are generally fairly repulsive). Whatever the case, I don't really fall in love with books anymore.

I Capture the Castle is an exception, and, in truth, I'm not sure why. A large part of it is that it's so funny; it makes me laugh out loud. The heroine, Cassandra, is also very attractive and very believable.

Dodie Smith wrote this book in the '30s. I think what she wanted to do was to reference Jane Austen and the Brontes but have a modern setting that allows her characters to reject some of the assumptions and plot conclusions in the Austen/Bronte books. In one passage, the two sisters start to talk about whether it would be better to live in an Austen world with a bit of Bronte, or a Bronte world with a bit of Austen. Cassandra also refers to herself and her sister as "two Bronte-Austen girls, poor but spirited." In the end, though, Smith puts her own spin on things and doesn't follow the old, worn models.

This is a very clever book with a lot more going on in it than is apparent at a casual read. While I Capture the Castle is undoubtedly a bit dated, it is very entertaining and a book you can fall in love with.

Buy this book on Amazon

Marriage, a History

A friend lent me her copy of Marriage, a History with the advice "try not to throw it across the room."

In this non-fiction book, Stephanie Coontz reviews marriage with a strong emphasis on Western Europe and America, and does talk about the legal and social inequalities that have existed in marriage between men and women (presumably the bit that would cause me to throw the book across the room).

The crux of the book, though, is her claim that the institution has transformed radically, especially in the last 150 years or so. The very rough outline of the argument runs like this:

Coontz traces marriage to about 5000 years ago. At this time, a nuclear family simply did not have the resources to survive in the hunter-gatherer society that existed then. So people got married to acquire in-laws, i.e. human resources that would ensure survival and the survival of children.

Families gained more and more power over who married who when and both men and women were in effect married off to better ensure group survival.

The details of this changed over time, but ultimately it was the social networks and the economic benefits that mattered in marriage, not feelings of personal attachment.

(Incidentally, I discussed this book with my father and, trying to get a rise out me, he claimed that it was a completely reasonable set up. People got married for economic reasons and then the man had several mistresses. Equally straight faced, I agreed and said that the wife was probably glad to get the husband out of the house so long as it didn't impact her or her children's economic well-being.)

Coontz goes on to note that marriages started to become emotionally based about 150 years ago. She spends most of the second half of the book examining the last 100-odd years and what people's perceptions of a "good" marriage are, and how these perceptions impact the stability of the institution.

One of her most interesting ideas is that the modern perception of a "traditional" marriage (the male breadwinner and stay-at-home housewife) was actually a very short-lived phenomenon most strongly displayed in the 1950s (though the idea that this is the "ideal" arrangement had been around since the Victorian era).

When I started Marriage, a History, I found it a little disconcerting. Any book that rationally examines human social institutions and reveals their weaknesses and inconsistencies is always going to produce a feeling of unease. However, this feeling is a small price to pay for a better understanding of history and where society might head in the future.

Buy this book on Amazon.

Coraline

Neil Gaiman's Coraline is a wonderful, creepy little children's story which is clever enough to be read with pleasure even by adults. It's so clever and nuanced that some of it will be completely missed or misunderstood by children. (If you don't believe that this can happen, re-read a book you loved as a child; it will seem like a whole new story.)

As with all good children's books, Neil Gaiman lavishes long descriptions on food. (Though the best children's book for descriptions about food is undoubtedly The Hobbit. It's impossible to come away from that book without craving new butter on fresh, white bread.)

Even though it's a children's book, I find Coraline a difficult book to keep a firm grasp on. I don't mean that the plot is hard to follow; the outlines of the story are very straightforward. Rather Gaiman leaves parts of the story hazy and not quite filled in. The otherworldly creatures are never fully explained. I think it's part of what makes this story so creepy.

The ideas he brings up are also fairly sophisticated. The book explores a dark version of reality that is recognizable, but twisted. In one fantastic scene, Coraline acknowledges that in her own way her "other mother" (the dark, predatory version of her mother) loves her. This love takes the form of possession, and would result in Coraline's heart and soul being stolen away if she gives in to it.

For Neil Gaiman fans, this story is definitely worth a read, and clever enough to hold an adult's attention.

Buy this book on Amazon

Sir Gawain and the Green Knight

My first introduction to the King Arthur legends was a slim volume based on Malory. The editors had carefully removed everything inappropriate for children (i.e. all the interesting bits) and for years I believed the King Arthur legends were pompous and boring and that people who read them did so out of a kind of snobbery.

In college, I read Sir Gawain and the Green Knight for the first time, and the Arthurian legends took on a whole new life. Like many of the early tales, the story has obvious pagan roots, but a Christian moral has been laid over the original framework. The writing is strongly evocative and ranges from scenes of court life and courtly love to the cold and blasted wilderness.

During the course of the poem, Sir Gawain (the original hero of Arthur's court) is tempted almost beyond his strength (and certainly beyond the strength of any soul less heroic). The nature of evil in the poem is ambiguous, though.

I didn't spot the devil in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight; rather a supernatural being who was intent upon causing mischief propelled the story forward. (I have heard of a conception of the devil as an ally of God. God controls the devil and uses him as an instrument to test humanity. Therefore, even where there is apparent contradiction the two are actually working in harmony. Villains in this poem seem to be much like that; their purpose is to test the heroic soul rather than to be truly evil.)

The popular view of the Arthurian legends is knights on white horses beating each other up, saving damsels in distress, and above all fretting about their honor. Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, though, is much more sophisticated than this. Sir Gawain's perplexities about maintaining his honor are convincing, and the story is gripping. For the new or old reader of Arthurian legends, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight is certainly worthwhile.

For those who are curious, this poem is a translation. While the poet was contemporary with Chaucer (whose works can still be read in the original with a large glossary and a flexible attitude about sentence structure), the English in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight is foreign to the modern reader. The version I have was translated by Brian Stone in 1959 (and as with so many of my more interesting books, this copy was acquired in a Berkeley secondhand bookstore).

Buy this book from Amazon.

Purple Cow

One of the problems with a scientific education is that it makes books like Purple Cow intensely annoying.

Purple Cow is a non-fiction book which argues that to succeed in the current market, companies need to turn out extraordinary products. These extraordinary products will be adopted by small groups of enthusiasts who will then convince their friends to try them. The popularity of the products will spread, leading to large profits. In other words, the products market themselves

Seth Godin, who wrote Purple Cow, may be entirely right in his conclusions. It would certainly be a very interesting approach to take with a product, and one that sounds like a lot of fun.

What I object to, though, is the lack of proof combined with an authoritative tone. He does not say: "I have observed these events and so I believe this is the new trend." He says: "This is the trend."

The scientific training kicks in and my thought process runs like this: If he has proof that he is correct he should share that proof to back up his arguments. If he is making some well-informed guesses, he should not state his guesses as fact.

My automatic response to a blanket statement with no proof given is annoyed skepticism, and I ended up reading the whole book in a state of total irritation.

What did amuse me more than a little, though, was the accolades on the back of the book. Of the seven comments, five of them were written by fellow authors. I could just imagine their agreement to set up a mutual admiration society in which they published positive comments about each other — after all, it would be good marketing.

I'm sure this post has given the impression that I despise Purple Cow. That's not the case at all. It's an easy two-day read and the approach Godin suggests is incredibly interesting and, perhaps, very effective. If it is one of a library of marketing books, it's worth reading (especially if you can borrow it from a friend).

Wife to Mr Milton

Wife to Mr Milton is not a great book. Robert Graves apparently wrote the book to express his disgust with and disdain of John Milton - and to try to convince his readers to hold the same opinion.

Publishers also seem to think it's not a great book. I can guarantee that you will have a hard time finding a copy of Wife to Mr Milton (I stumbled across my 50-year-old copy by mistake in a Berkeley secondhand bookstore).

I am, though, on my third reading of this book. The reason I'm reading it yet again is because it has one of the most realistic and convincing heroines I have ever come across. Robert Graves has the rare talent of being able to write a character of the opposite sex convincingly (if you don't believe this is a rare talent, read a Victor Hugo or Jane Austen novel).

This book is a fictional reconstruction of Marie Powell's marriage to John Milton. Marie is wise, independent, passionate, petty and foolish by turns - but ultimately likable, and you can't help but feel sorry for her being encumbered by John Milton. It's written as an autobiography, based on a journal she kept from a year before her marriage until near her death while still a young woman.

One well-done scene is toward the beginning when, before her marriage, Marie falls sick and faints in the kitchen. Most of the household runs away because they are afraid that she has the plague. Her father hesitates in the doorway, torn between helping his daughter and protecting the rest of his family. If he catches the plague and dies then the rest of the family will end up in poverty. In the end, a servant helps Marie. Robert Graves neatly illustrates the conflict between compassion for the individual and the need to protect the family - and lays the groundwork for Marie being given away in marriage.

As with all of Robert Graves' books, there is a lot going on underneath the surface, which I must admit I only partially understand. Robert Graves' books usually have these undercurrents that fundamentally challenge traditional assumptions and the patriarchal society they're attached to.

If you want to read a great novel by Robert Graves, read I, Claudius. If you want to read a book which isn't great but that presents a completely convincing heroine and vividly portrays England before and during the Civil War, Wife to Mr Milton is a good choice.