🏆🏆🏆 – Page 21

It bears repeating

For a long time I thought that I would never re-read books. My refusal was part badge of honor and part common sense. After all, there are bazillions of books in the world, the vast majority of which I will never even know exist, let alone find the time to read, so why waste precious hours on novels I’ve already absorbed?

Then I got older, and books I had in my youth sworn allegiance to as lifetime favorites became little more than dull memories, or overarching sentiments (“yeah…I remember…liking it?”) It was with this in mind that I began slowly and occasionally picking up old favorites, particularly those I thought might seem different to me now that I’m old and wise and at least vaguely understand politics. I’ve read 1984 at least three times, Fahrenheit 451 two and, more recently had a second go at Jonathan Franzen’s The Corrections, which I was inspired to read again after all the (completely justified) hype surrounding Freedom.

A Separate Peace, the 1959 novel by John Knowles, seemed like the perfect candidate for a re-read. It’s one of those books most people know they’ve read, but from which most readers are separated by at least a decade, having been assigned the book in high school or even earlier. I am one of those people: I have vague memories of A Separate Peace from my formative middle-school years, when a novel about two prep school best friends probably resonated with me the same way the Babysitters Club did (I didn’t really babysit, but understood what it was like to spend a lot of time thinking about boys.) But other than some general recollections, I couldn’t tell you before this week what exactly A Separate Peace was about.

These Days, I’d Prefer to Be Deaf

It would have been difficult to time this week’s read any more perfectly. As the political debate season (and by season, I mean solid year of campaigning) heats up, I just so happened to dive into a book whose central conceit is a capital city in which 80% of the voters have cast blank ballots, throwing the electoral process into chaos and resulting in the government’s wholesale abdication of the city and investigation into what the politicians consider a large-scale conspiracy. Throw in a Michele Bachmann or two and it might as well be present-day.

I first discovered José Saramago a few years ago, when I read Blindness for a book club. Saramago fans will remember Blindness as the story of a city whose entire population goes blind, save one woman who uses her inexplicably retained sight to protect her husband and a group of strangers while they’re stuck in the insane asylum where they’ve been forcibly quarantined (they were sent there when the government still thought the epidemic could be controlled through isolation). Mark Ruffalo fans will remember Blindness as a 2008 movie with an all-star cast and a really disturbing rape scene. Me, I remember it both ways–as a dedicated reader of socio-political Armageddon-type novels, and as the girl who once followed Mark Ruffalo around a Tower Records for 20 minutes (discreetly…ish.) Continue reading “These Days, I’d Prefer to Be Deaf”

Another Endorsement for Sweden

A friend and I have a tradition: I read a book, I enjoy said book, I recommend said book to her, she expresses interest in borrowing/reading it, I say “Ohhh, but there’s some rape.”

You’d be surprised how often this comes up. I’d never given much thought to my propensity for rape scenes, but considering the number of times I’ve had to give this disclaimer to my friend (who is many months pregnant and therefore nauseated by literary or cinematic displays of extreme violence), I’m beginning to wonder if I have a problem.

Which brings me to Box 21. International mystery in the same vein as Girl with the Dragon Tattoo? Check. Strong female protagonist up against chauvinistic male authority figures? Check. Well-developed story with gripping narrative and enjoyable twists? Check. Violent rape? Ah yes, check.

I can’t remember why I originally bought Box 21, but as I left for the shore a few weeks ago it seemed a natural choice for beach reading (high-octane thriller, less than 400 pages, paperback). This was the kind of book I had no problem rolling out of bed at 8 a.m. to enjoy on the hotel balcony, while my lethargic vacation-mates dug their faces deeper into their pillows until it was tanning time. Continue reading “Another Endorsement for Sweden”

Courage, redemption, and pee

I did it! I departed New York City for an entire week to tan myself and eat fried Oreos at the Jersey shore, during which time I did not so much as pick up a newspaper, open a laptop or respond to any of the approximately zero tweets I received during my absence. Consequently, I have no idea what’s going on in the world right now, unless said goings-on include international debate over the rules of Flip Cup, and/or how deceptive it is to name fries covered in Old Bay “crab fries” and then market them to unsuspecting beach-goers.

In any case, while I did not necessarily keep abreast of current events, I did make good on my promise to spend at least 0.07% of vacation time reading. (In beach trips of yore, this percentage was much closer to, say, 75, but it’s surprisingly difficult to shun your friends (and/or a cold beer) in favor of a poolside lounge chair and a paperback. Mostly because they yell at you.)

So I’ve finished three books since I last wrote, which is a bit of a cheat since I decided last weekend that it made far more sense to to obsessively plan my beach-side dessert roster (Day 1: ice cream, Day 2: funnel cake, and so on) than write up a final book review before leaving. Whatever, now I just look super accomplished.

Arsenic and old lace

Well it’s the final week before I go on my first legit vacation of the year (as in the kind where you leave your city of residence) and God, when not busy crashing the economy and unleashing natural disasters, is seriously testing my patience. Work-wise, everything that could go wrong has, and technologically the Internet is hellbent on making itself only functional enough for me to stare longingly at various “page loading” screens and error messages while tallying up the hours I’m losing.

Well whatever God, go back to combing your beard and hanging out with Rick Perry, because I refuse to be thwarted. I will go to the beach next week, during which time I will not so much as open a laptop, because I’ll be too busy exposing my sensitive skin to its first rays of summer sunlight, and/or eating french fries and funnel cakes.

Fortunately, I’ve managed to limit my Code Red freakouts to office hours; at home, I’m soothed by the boisterous return of Jersey Shore and Bad Girls Club and on the train I’ve been gratefully lost in the world of We Have Always Lived in the Castle.

Now, you may not think it right off, but chances are high you’re familiar with Shirley Jackson. Despite having written numerous books, she’s easily most famous for one—The Haunting of Hill House, which has creeped the shit out of people for many years. Jackson is also known for The Lottery, one of the most celebrated short stories of all time (and also the basis for a kind of hilarious 1996 movie starring Keri Russell), which takes place in a town where (spoiler alert) an annual drawing of names leads to a climactic ritual stoning.