Running is a big question mark that’s there each and every day. It asks you, ‘Are you going to be a wimp or are you going to be strong today?' - Peter Maher, Irish-Canadian Olympian
Showing posts with label The Brutal Journey. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Brutal Journey. Show all posts

Tuesday, May 22, 2007

The Written Word

I have been (trying) to read Doctor Zhivago. It isn't bad, it just isn't compelling :-/ I have resorted to the last ditch measure of checking the dvd out of the library. Maybe watching the film will help me engage and invest with the characters.

I did pick up a quick read from the library, Dog Years by Mark Doty. Emotionally heart wrenching but ultimately life-affirming. The writer takes us through the part of his life denoted and defined by his two retrievers - including the death of his companion, Wally, from HIV. Just to add extra pathos, at one point the author is living and teaching in Manhattan and writes about the beginning of the school year, heading off to the office on a bright, clear September morning, and the effect is as receiving a kick to the gut. You know what is going to happen, just as you know the outcome for Wally, his companion and for Beau and Arden, his dogs. I did get a kick out of one reviewer who states, " the Emily Dickinson criticism may make it too literary for the Marley & Me crowd."

I also picked up Barbara Ehrenreich's Bait and Switch. I loved Nickeled and Dimed, but B & S left me cold, detached, unsympathetic and ultimately, I left it unfinished. I just didn't care to read about life coaches, weeks spent on resumes (how hard can it be? If a pro can't read and offer critique in an hour or two, forget it!). Blah.

Juliet B. Schor's The Overspent American was much more satisfying. Her basic thesis is that we have become a nation of debtors and consumers but it hasn't increased our happiness. I found her writing about the 'whys' - why we feel the need to purchase what our neighbor's have, why our associate's success creates a void in us - to be very interesting. How much of our acquisitiveness is caused because of what others have? Why is status conferred based on material possessions? Makes me aware of how lucky I am that my friends and I have managed to avoid this game of 'keeping up with the Jones'. Trust me - they have heard the phrase, "Sorry it's not in this month's budget" plenty of times and they don't even blink an eye. There is a great deal of comfort in having a social circle that when they hear, "Nah, can't afford to go out this week" and their response is not an eye-rolling sigh, but, "Come on over then, I will make dinner".

Lastly, but not least, is our May book club discussion of our science fiction selection, Timeline by Michael Crichton. The general consensus was that this book was entertaining, serviceable, but not great literature (surprise, surprise). One thing that Crichton does (he is a very, very bright man) is infuse his stories with tons of facts, science and historical. That alone is enough to elevate this book a hair above the usual beach/plane reads. But make no mistake, as my husb commented during the meeting, this book reads like a screenplay. Character development is nil. People and events happen just to move the plot to the next adventure scene. I enjoyed it because #1 I love, adore time travel novels and #2 Medieval Europe fascinates me. Other time travel novels I would recommend are, Doomsday Book by Connie Willis, Kindred by Octavia Butler and the out of print The Mirror by Marlys Milhiser (although I think Jen didn't like or maybe finish this one, I loved it and have read it several times). I first read The Mirror, what, 15-18 years ago? I checked it out from our local library and then could never remember the title. I searched for it for years and then one day, at a garage sale, I picked up this book and thought, "hmmmm, this looks familiar". And it was The Mirror. It has to be my all-time triumphant, favorite garage sale find :-)

On my TBR (To Be Read) shelf: The Brutal Journey by Paul Schneider, recommended by Jen.