"The Dream Life of Sukhanov" by Olga Grushin

Following on the heels of last week's sampling of Kafka, here's a novel whose moorings to reality have been jolted askew. It accompanies a privileged Russian art critic, sometime darling of the government, as he recalls odd memories and experiences strange dreams which begin a bizarre intrusion upon his life until what is real, what is recollection, and what is nightmare are inseparably tangled.

Beyond the enticing strangeness of the story, I was quite impressed by Grushin's unusually descriptive writing. It was beautifully expressive but never trite. Whereas someone might see it as unnecessarily flashy, I reveled in the unique choices of words which resulted in passages that might be favorably compared to a vivid painting.

It seemed to me that Grushin knew just where to draw the line in relating her rich images. If she'd written the entire book with that same intensity, the result would have seemed overblown, diluting the impact of each scene and sapping much of the strength from the novel. Instead, Grushin's adept depictions heightened the dream-like quality of the story, causing time to slow as the reader was drawn in to peer at a minute detail; at the next moment, with a step back and a broader focus, time snaps back into shape.

I was a little bit disappointed that, other than its surreal and illusive nature, the cover art was not more directly related to the story. I'd been looking forward to hearing about the specific dream it depicts, and discovering the significance of the missing rung on the ladder. However, much weirdness in the book is left unexplained, so even if an incomplete ladder had been mentioned, I still might not know the meaning behind it.

"The Age of Innocence" by Edith Wharton

The Age of Innocence and I got off to a most inauspicious beginning. After several light and easy reads, I thought I was fully recovered from Anna Karenina and ready to tackle some more Real Literature (though I must admit I rejoiced when Wharton's book arrived and I saw it was not even 300 pages).

Well, I'll tell you, I have this odd disease that renders me incapable of leaving any part of a book unread, and my copy of this book has a 21-page introduction that is so very, very dull. I thought I would never get to the book itself.

At least the introduction was not completely horrible. I actually learned a few things from it. Without it I would never have known about Edith Wharton's involvement in the Great War, providing "help and support for civilians and soldiers alike," mainly in Paris. I likewise would have had no idea that the setting for The Age of Innocence (New York just after America's Civil War, though that conflict is never mentioned in the book that I recall) mirrored the era which Wharton lived through after World War I.

Once I got through the introduction, the story itself was like a breath of fresh air. I really enjoyed it. I'd never read anything by Edith Wharton before, but I found her writing very similar to that of Henry James, which I've always loved (well, except for The Ambassadors, although I can't remember why). Both writers deal with the Victorian era and delve into what lies beneath its superficial propriety.

I loved reading what might well be called the subtext of these characters' lives. One good example was an entire unspoken monologue from May Archer to her husband Newland. With a seemingly innocuous statement and a significant look, she conveyed a much deeper meaning which was grasped by Archer with perfect clarity. This tendency was recognized years later by their son Dallas, who said, "You never told each other anything. You just sat and watched each other, and guessed at what was going on underneath . . . I back your generation for knowing more about each other's private thoughts than we ever have time to find out about our own."

Several times the reader is privy to the thoughts that Archer might have spoken aloud had he not been such a product of his environment and its mores. I think my favorite was when May asked him to close the window so he didn't "catch his death," and he thinks, "But I've caught it already. I am dead--I've been dead for months and months." What was left unsaid spoke volumes. I wonder if May was as astute in deciphering Archer's thoughts as he was with hers? She certainly knew more than she ever let on.

The entire book was rife with Victorian repression, which particularly resonates with me as it reminds me of precisely what it was like growing up with parents like mine. (I'm not really kidding very much when I say that.) Almost every character is rigidly constrained by the approval of society, keeping up appearances even if it meant withering and dying inside. Right up until the very end! Which, interestingly enough, stirred in me such a strange sense of déjà vu. I know I haven't read the book before, but I'm almost certain that somewhere, somehow, I'd already read the last two or three pages.

We'll be discussing this book tonight at Book Club. Even more fun, I got a copy of the 1993 movie with Daniel Day-Lewis as Newland Archer and Michelle Pfeiffer as Ellen Olenska. I've never seen the movie before, but I could picture Olenska looking and acting just like Pfeiffer throughout the entire book. 

One final thought: I learned from this book that you should never slice cucumbers with a steel knife, but what I can't figure out is why. And, does this rule apply to stainless steel (which, in the form as we know it today, wasn't produced until the 20th century)?

Some Short Stories by Franz Kafka

I'd never read anything by Kafka before, although I've always intended to at some point. I spent the past week in a frenzy of downloading free Kindle books and then realized that my glut of new e-books didn't include any of Kafka's works. (A quick search revealed the reason why: none of them were free, which makes a big difference to a cheapskate like me.)

I decided I could spare some change and ordered a collection of Kafka's works (not complete, but it looked like a good sampler). It included five very short stories.

Before the Law. Apparently this is part of Kafka's novel The Trial (which I haven't read yet, though it's a part of the collection I ordered). It is a parable about a "man from the country who asks to gain entry into the law." He spends his entire life pleading with the gatekeeper, but to no avail.

I can recognize the themes of frustration and futility in this story, but beyond that I only have questions. First of all, I have no idea what it might mean to "gain entry into the law." Does he want a job as a judge? Is he seeking forgiveness? Does he want to make a deal with the feds so they'll look the other way while he sells moonshine at the speakeasy? Second of all, why the heck did he have his very own gate assigned to him if there was no possible way for him to go through it? Or is the whole point that he should not have waited for permission? It seems that was the only thing he didn't try.

The Hunter Gracchus. A dead hunter (who is also alive "to a certain extent") travels through all the countries of the earth in his death ship which has lost its way. I guess the moral of the story is that there's a big difference between only mostly dead and all dead, and it may be best if you don't go through this hunter's clothes to look for loose change. (OK, that last bit has nothing to do with the story, but I couldn't resist.) Anyway, once again it's a story of endless frustration.

Up in the Gallery. A very brief (two paragraph) story about a frail consumptive circus rider, and the absurd way things might be in contrast with the not much less absurd way things are. What stood out most to me about this story was that each paragraph was one very, very long sentence, so that the entire story is made up of two sentences.

An Imperial Message. This is an introductory parable to the short story entitled "The Great Wall of China" (which is not included in the collection I purchased). A peasant dreams of a message sent to him by a dying emperor which, even if its very existence weren't improbable, is undeliverable due to logistics. Another exercise in futility.

Jackals and Arabs. I'm not trying to insult anyone here, but I wondered if the talking jackals in this story represented the Jewish people. "It seems to be a very old conflict--it's probably in the blood and so perhaps will only end with blood . . . you should end the quarrel which divides the world in two."

Time Transfixed, 1938
by René Magritte

Judging by this brief foray, Kafka's writing reminds me of paintings like this one. It's technically superior, but it leaves me with the feeling that there is something about it that I don't understand. The individual elements may make perfect sense, but their juxtaposition causes me to question why. Though the superficial view is deceptively simple, I am just sure there are hidden layers of underlying meaning that I am not grasping.

If you are suffering from Kafkaphobia, try a few of his short stories. They may not make any more sense to you than they did to me, but they are not difficult to read and you will get a taste of his style without investing much time. They may be enough to dispel your fear and lead you to read one of his novels. And if you do understand them, you can explain them to me!

Words of the Day

I've only read a third of The Age of Innocence, and our book club meeting is Friday night. I'm not too worried (yet), but in the meantime I've found a wealth of words to look up.

1. Dilettante. "He had dawdled over his cigar because he was at heart a dilettante, and thinking over a pleasure to come often gave him a subtler satisfaction than its realisation." Maybe a "dilettante" is something like a minor hedonist. Webster says: An admirer or lover of the arts; a person having a superficial interest in an art or a branch of knowledge; a dabbler; an amateur. Word Nazi says: No points for you!

2. Vicegerent. "Few things seemed to Newland Archer more awful than an offense against 'Taste,' that far-off divinity of whom 'Form' was the mere visible representative and vicegerent." Vicegerent? I can't help but wonder if that's a misspelling for "vice-regent." Webster says: Vicegerent actually is a real word. It's an administrative deputy of a king or magistrate, whereas a "vice-regent" is a regent's deputy. So close . . . and yet so far away.

3. Fatuities. "The stockings were one of Beaufort's few fatuities" (referring to the silk stockings his footmen wore). I'm sure this is related to the word "fatuous," but I'm not sure what that means either. Though I'm pretty sure it has nothing to do with the word "fat." Webster says: something foolish or stupid. (Fatuous means complacently or inanely foolish; silly; simple.) Zero for three.

4. Apotheosis. "She disappeared in a kind of sulphurous apotheosis, and when a few years later Medora again came back to New York, subdued, impoverished, mourning a third husband, and in quest of a still smaller house, people wondered that her rich niece had not been able to do something for her." Maybe an "apotheosis" is a mystery. Or a cloud. Webster says: elevation to divine status; deification; the perfect example; quintessence. I should have guessed from the root "theos" that it might have something to do with God. Oh well.

5. Sedulously. "In this view they were sedulously abetted by their mothers, aunts and other elderly female relatives, who all shared Mrs. Archer's belief that when 'such things happened' it was undoubtedly foolish of the man, but somehow always criminal of the woman." I can't decide if it means "firmly" or "secretively." Webster says: accomplishing with careful perseverance; diligent in application or pursuit; busily. SO if I had guessed "assiduously" I might have earned one measly little point. But alas, it was not to be.

I have reached a new low, with zero points for this edition of Words of the Day. I hope you did better than I did! I would make myself feel better with the idea that at least I'm learning the words, but I have a confession to make. I came across one of my previous Words of the Day in this book. "He had been somewhat languidly drifting with events for the last fortnight, and letting May's fair looks and radiant nature obliterate the rather importunate pressure of the Mingott claims." The depressing thing? I had to look it up again. In case you need a refresher too, "importunate" means troublesomely urgent.

Reading in Retrospect: "Dragon Rider" by Cornelia Funke

My sister first introduced me to Cornelia Funke's books a number of years ago. Meine Schwester wohnt in Deutschland, and Funke is like a German J.K. Rowling, if perhaps the junior version. I think Sis first told me about The Thief Lord, which I devoured with relish before quickly working my way through several of Funke's other books.

It's been several years since I read Dragon Rider, but luckily I marked down a few notes about it at the time. The story took me a little while to get into, although I’m not sure why, because it turned out to be a very enjoyable book. Perhaps not quite as good as Inkheart (which is by far my favorite Funke book), but every bit as good as The Thief Lord--and maybe just a little bit better because, rather than beginning realistically but suddenly and strangely becoming an obvious fantasy halfway through, Dragon Rider was fantastic in its entirety.

This is the story of Firedrake, a silver dragon, and his furry Brownie companion named Sorrel. Firedrake and Sorrel have embarked on a journey to find the Rim of Heaven, a protected valley of legend where any number of dragons could live undisturbed. Their reason for this quest, and for leaving their happy and comfortable home among other dragons (in Scotland?), is that humans are encroaching on their caves, and discovery--with the inevitable destruction that would follow--is imminent. Once Firedrake has found the Rim of Heaven, he plans to return for the other dragons and lead them to it.

Not far into their journey, Firedrake and Sorrel acquire a small orphaned human named Ben when they stop to purchase a map from Gilbert Graytail, the white rat. Unfortunately (cue menacing music), the trio attracts the attention of a wicked golden pseudo-dragon named Nettlebrand, a creature created by an alchemist for the purpose of destroying dragons.

Not surprisingly, my two older kids have taken to Funke's stories just as much as I have. My son read Dragon Rider for a school project last spring once his interest was spurred by the movie How to Train Your Dragon. Not long afterwards, my daughter also read it when she was on her Cornelia Funke kick.

Dragon Rider is a good fun kids’ book. Have you read anything by Cornelia Funke? Which is your favorite?

Words of the Day

It's as if Anna Karenina is reaching out from beyond the grave. I still have two more words from that book on my List of Words to Look Up.

1. Pellicle. Of course I wrote down that this word was on page 563, and of course I have already swapped my copy of Anna Karenina, so now I can't tell you what sentence it was used in. With no context, I can't even venture a good guess. But I can venture a bad one: a small pelican. Webster says: a thin skin or film. Zero points. Of course.

2. Nihilist. How did I make it out of college without a firm understanding of nihilism? Apparently Levin considers Oblonsky a nihilist, which causes Oblonsky to say that's like the pot calling the kettle black (though not in those words) since Levin has let nine years pass without "taking the sacrament." So I'm guessing a nihilist isn't overly religious. Webster says: a nihilist views traditional values and beliefs as unfounded, and existence as senseless and useless. Nihilism is a doctrine that denies any objective ground of truth, especially moral truth. In 19th century Russia (ding!) nihilism was the program of a political party advocating revolutionary reform and using terrorism and assassination. Half a point for heading in the right direction but not quite grasping the scope.

3. Tenebrous. Oh, how I wish I knew where I found this word. All I know is that it referred to the way Pete's head creaked before it cracked (aren't you curious now too?) and I assumed it meant ominous. Webster says: Shut off from the light; dark, murky; hard to understand; obscure; causing gloom. Yeah, I can see how it might cause some gloom for Pete if his skull creaked until it cracked. But my guess was wrong. Which has caused me some gloom. No points.

4. Implacable. Orphan word. My old guess was that it meant "hard," but wouldn't it mean "unable to be placated," or "unsatisfied?" Webster says: not placable; not capable of being appeased, significantly changed, or mitigated. Finally I get a whole point!

5. Fulsome. Another orphan word. My guess was curvaceous. Webster says a lot: characterized by abundance; copious; offensive to the senses or to moral or aesthetic sensibility; disgusting; excessively complimentary or flattering; lavish; obsequious; exceeding the bounds of good taste; overdone; being completely developed; full, well-rounded. I'd started to worry, but there it is in the end. Another point!

Two and a half out of five. It's a little bit ridiculous how much fun this is for me, especially considering the fact that I'm not very good at it.

Once again I have a bonus phrase for you. I didn't note the entire sentence, but early in What I Was there was a reference to a "mackerel sky." This seemed a unique juxtaposition of words, although I wasn't quite sure what it could mean (pale and silvery, like a fish belly? Mottled greenish grey, like a mackerel's back?) so I looked it up. I was surprised to find that it refers to an actual meteorological phenomenon: a sky covered with rows of altocumulus or cirrocumulus clouds resembling the patterns on a mackerel's back.

"The Outsiders" by S.E. Hinton

Here's a book from my "I can't believe I've never read this before" list. (Well, I don't really have such a list, but I ought to. I have lists for everything else. Why not one more?)

I'm sure I'm the only one who's been living under a rock for the past few decades, but just in case I've had some company, this is the story of fourteen-year-old Ponyboy Curtis, the youngest of a gang of "greasers" living in Oklahoma in the 1960s. Their central conflict is with the "Socs," a group of rich kids with too much time and money on their hands.

The greasers have some pretty serious issues to deal with in their lives, but none of those issuses were added for shock value (I'm thinking of the movie Thirteen when I say this). Instead, we're given an honest and realistic portrayal of life as a kid from the wrong side of the tracks. Granted, that portrayal may be slanted to get the reader to sympathize with the greasers, but it works.

What most impresses me about this book is that the author was fifteen years old when she started writing it. When I was that age, I couldn't see much farther than my plans for the coming weekend. And not only was Hinton young, but she managed a believable male voice. Writing from the opposite gender's point of view is something I've found even fully mature authors can have trouble with.

I watched the movie just a few months ago, and I've gotta say (beyond the horribly dated music) they did an excellent job with it. The book adds very little to the experience, although it does add some.

One of the main things I found in the book which I didn't glean from the movie (maybe it was there, but either I didn't notice, or I've forgotten since I didn't write it down) was the explanation for Johnny's line, "Stay gold, Ponyboy." I guess I always thought Johnny was basically just saying "stay cool," but there's more to it than that. Johnny is asking Ponyboy to retain the beauty of his innocence--to avoid being hardened by the harshness of reality, to hold on to the childlike tenderness in his heart. The wording came from this Robert Frost poem:

"Nothing Gold Can Stay"

Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

Now I finally understand why that guy from high school told me to "stay gold, Ponyboy."

Reading in Retrospect: "Mirror, Mirror" by Gregory Maguire

This was the second book I read by Gregory Maguire. It's definitely different. The story is based on that of Snow White, but I would call it more of an alternate history than a retelling of the fairy tale. In fact, when I read the "teaser" for Mirror Mirror which I found at the end of my copy of Wicked, I'm not sure I even realized it was supposed to be the Snow White story.

After reading Wicked and seeing how Maguire’s treatment of the Wicked Witch of the West portrayed Elfaba as more kindhearted than wicked, merely masquerading as a witch, and not even really from the west, I assumed that in Mirror Mirror the allegedly wicked queen would really be a tragically maligned figure while Snow White would be the truly wicked one. (And, in fact, until finishing Mirror Mirror I assumed that the ugly stepsisters of Maguire's Cinderella retelling would really be beautiful, sweet and kind, and Cinderella would be a mean and thoughtless harpy, but Mirror Mirror caused me to revise my expectations.) Maguire may have explored the theme of fairy tale retellings through several books, but his methods are by no means formulaic.

In Maguire's version of Snow White, displaced Spaniard Vicente de Nevada and his motherless daughter Bianca (get it? that's White) have a small but comfortable Italian holding in Montefiore. Bianca’s mother and the love of Vicente’s life, Maria Ines, had died in childbirth in approximately 1494. Seven years later, although the residents of Montefiore have managed to avoid the civil unrest that swirls around them, destruction is visiting them in the form of the Borgias, Cesare and his sister (and sometime lover) Lucrezia.

Cesare forces Vicente to depart from Montefiore on a quest to obtain the one remaining branch of the Tree of Knowledge, leaving Montefiore (and thus, Bianca) under Cesare’s control. Vicente is compelled to obey this demand as he owes the holding of Montefiore to the Borgias. Over the next five years, Lucrezia is overcome with jealousy as she realizes that Bianca has unwittingly and unwillingly caught the eye of Cesare, so Lucrezia pays a young hunter to take Bianca into the woods and kill her.

Of course the hunter cannot complete the evil deed, and instead releases Bianca into the forest, where she is found by a group of strange stone creatures that are slowly evolving into dwarves. (That's one of the more bizarre aspects of this story, of which I’m not absolutely sure I grasped the point.) Another odd part of the story is the way time seems to slow down for Bianca while she is with the dwarves. She lies in a sort of a coma for perhaps 6 years. There is really no explanation for this passage of time (no poison, no illness) other than the fact that the stony beings she is with have a different concept of time from humans; nor is there any good explanation for why she finally wakes up.

This book is definitely a departure from the Disney version. I am sure that in this case I prefer the original story. Some of Grimm’s fairy tales can be grisly (in the case of the original Snow White story, Disney doesn't tell us that the wicked queen salts, cooks, and eats what she believes to be Snow White's heart, or that while Snow White and her prince were living happily ever after, the queen was punished with dancing in red-hot shoes until she fell down dead), but Maguire's retelling went beyond grisly. It was corrupt and perverted (though I understand that for some of you that may be a draw rather than a deterrent).

One great thing about the way Maguire told the Snow White story was how he stirred in actual historical figures. The Borgias fascinate me in the mesmerizing way of a poisonous snake. I'm not sure I can think of a more conniving and infamous family in all of history. Though their presence in a fairy tale can't be historically accurate, I'm convinced the portrayal of their tendencies and personalities was.

My biggest complaint about the book is that odd dreamlike quality I was frequently frustrated by in my own creative writing assignments when I was in grade school. So often when I was required to write a story I had trouble making it sound concrete and realistic, as when something you think you understand inexplicably morphs into another thing, or perhaps even disappears entirely. Much of this book was plagued by a similar problem. It may sound intriguing, but I saw this as a weakness in my own writing, and when I recognize it in a book I can't help but view it as a flaw.

Words of the Day

1. Valetudinarian. It's like cheating to include this word in my Dictionary Day post, because 1) I didn't come across it while reading a book, and 2) it was defined for me. I read it here. But I'm using it anyway, because I have read Emma before (though it's been years), and I wouldn't have remembered what it meant if Tracy hadn't told me--in fact, I don't remember even seeing it in the book. But here it is: a whining hypochondriac. Webster says: a person of a weak or sickly constitution; esp: one whose chief concern is his invalidism. I can't count this one for me, but Tracy gets one point.

2. Exigent. From Tom Wright's fourth book, which I hope to tell you about soon. "The killing clearly was not exigent, nor did it strike effectively at the illegitimate occupation forces of Washington, either of which might have justified the effort and risk of such an undertaking." I gotta tell you, I've got nothing. Unless "exigent" is related to "exiguous" which was one of my previous Words of the Day, meaning excessively scanty or inadequate, though that really doesn't fit the context. Webster says: requiring immediate aid or action; requiring or calling for much; demanding. So, basically, my kids. And nothing like exiguous (other than the first four letters). Dang. Zero points.

3. Parlous. From Anna Karenina. "Oblonsky's financial affairs were in a parlous state." Sounds to me like the redneck pronunciation of "perilous." And--would you believe it?--it kind of is. Webster says: full of danger or risk; hazardous. One point for me!

4. Concatenation. From What I Was. "The sea was oddly flat. There was always at least a gentle swell and fall, though more usually little white riffles and uneven waves. It looked eerie out there now, unnatural. Dead flat and motionless. A concatenation of signs." As much as I want that to be something about a country of felines, judging by the context I am sure it is more of a confluence or a "coming together." Webster says: Linked together. Yeah, I was close enough to get point number two.

5. Exeat. Also from What I Was. I'm a little annoyed at myself for not writing down the sentence, but I remember it referred to a note signed by a teacher allowing a student to leave the boarding school campus and make a trip to town. Webster doesn't know this word (so I should get two points for it, right?) but wikipedia tells me that "exeat" is used in Britain to describe weekend leave from a boarding school. Another interesting tidbit: the word is Latin for "he/she may leave." I guess I'll just take one point. Three points for me and at least one for Tracy.

I've got a bonus phrase for you today. It's not one we need to define, but it's one I was surprised to find in Anna Karenina. Oblonsky "was kept cooling his heels for two hours" in a waiting room. I would have guessed that people started cooling their heels in the 60s (and by this of course I am referring to the twentieth century, not the era of Tolstoy).  I can't help but wonder if this is an anachronistic idiom or if the same phrase is found in the original Russian version. My brief search for the origin of "cool your heels" was unsuccessful, so if you have any information on this, please tell me. Otherwise, I will just content myself with this fact: at least Oblonsky didn't cool his jets instead.

Speaking of the era of Tolstoy, here's a fun parallel. Anna Karenina (written between 1873 and 1877) is a contemporary of Laura Ingalls Wilder (born in 1867). So the childhood we read about in the Little House series was taking place in America during the same time that Tolstoy was writing in Russia.

"The Art of Racing in the Rain" by Garth Stein

I didn't expect to like this book. It's about a race car driver (not interested) and it is narrated by his dog (double not interested). But it was recommended to me by Anne (who, by the way, ought to post on her blog more frequently because I know she has all kinds of interesting things to say). Anne's book suggestions are worth something to me, so I thought I might give it a try.

Judging by the source of the recommendation, I shouldn't be surprised that I enjoyed the book. I was afraid the doggy narration would either be too silly (look! a squirrel!) or too human, but Stein achieves a fine balance in anthropomorphizing Enzo the dog. He is smart, even philosophical, but not so clever that you lose sight of the possibility that maybe dogs really can think this way. Not my dogs, of course. One is too lazy, the other is too spastic, and neither has the look of a deep thinker. I can't help but figure that when they bark their minds are devoid of anything beyond "woof." But I have heard of dogs whose responsiveness to humans surely reflects an internal monologue every bit as steeped in astute observation as Enzo's.

Enzo is not omniscient (which is a good thing, of course, so that the story is not impossible to swallow), but he sees and knows and understands so much. It was a bit jarring at times when Enzo was clearly a thinly disguised vehicle for the author's own opinions (like the brief diatribe on allergies and pharmaceutical companies, among others) but it was never to an extent where I lost the magic and fell out of the book.

Some of the weirdest parts of the story (the zebra, the crows) were my favorites. They kept the narrative from being too syrupy, too saccharine, too sentimental. It was just as Enzo explains when postulating that a true hero is not perfect and must overcome obstacles of his own making in order to triumph. Unfortunately, I found Enzo's owner a bit too good to be true, belying those observations, but this was not a fatal flaw in the book.

My prayer to the movie gods: please give up on your film adaptation of this book. I can only picture two possible movies, and they would both suck. Movie #1: Just Denny the driver's story, with Enzo sidelined as a mute witness. This would drain all the life from the story. Movie #2: a movie more faithful to the book, with an Enzo voiceover by someone like Judge Reinhold. Please, no.

"Free-Range Chickens" by Simon Rich

Sometimes a book isn't what you expect and that is not a good thing. I bought this book because I was seduced by the price (a dollar for a hardback!), and I liked the cover, and I like chickens. I chose to read it next because it was short (129 pages!) and claimed to be funny.

I promise I really did read the cover copy before buying it, and although I'm sure I didn't pee my pants over it, what I read was at least chuckle-worthy. But evidently the price tag prevented me from flipping through and glancing at random excerpts the way I normally would before buying a book. I had expected one funny story, or possibly even unrelated but cohesive chapters, but instead it is basically just a joke book.

The text is divided into several categories, but there is no flow within those categories. It's like Short Attention Span Theater. I'm guessing the title refers to how scattered these unrelated thoughts are.

I wonder, had I not already read in the author bio that Simon Rich writes for Saturday Night Live, would I have been able to guess? Most of these bits read like skits that were either too short or not funny enough to make it onto the show. A show which I stopped watching years ago because it wasn't consistently entertaining. If only one or two skits are funny out of the entire show, it's too much of a gamble--a waste of time.

Don't let me give you the idea that the book isn't at all funny. Rich takes everyday circumstances and twists them so that the absurd or ridiculous is visible. I never did roll in the floor, and probably didn't even literally laugh out loud, but the book was at least humorous enough to bring a smile to my face.

I have to wonder how much more I might have appreciated this book if I had been prepared for what it really was. But I know what I do appreciate--someone has already requested it on paperbackswap.

"What I Was" by Meg Rosoff

I had vaguely heard about this book but didn't pay much attention until I saw it during my most recent foray into Books-A-Million. It has such a pretty cover! And it was on sale for $3.97, so I picked it up and read on the back about H and Finn and was reminded that I'd kind of heard of this book before.

The blurb phrase "this whole novel is built on a surprise" sold me on it, though if that hadn't, the next one claiming this was "a richly patterned work about secrets" would have worked on me just as well. And now, since it fits the shorty requirement of my Anna Karenina Recovery Program, I've given it a go.

So, a bit about the book, since I failed completely in conveying a sense of what my previous read entailed (beyond a faint mention of smoking, drinking, drugs and NOT hard-core porn). H is an English boarding-school student in the 1960s who comes across "a beautiful boy named Finn." Though a teenager like H, Finn lives alone in a ramshackle hut on the beach which can only be accessed during low tide. H develops what can only be called a crush on Finn, which borders on the obsessive. The two spend time together whenever H can sneak off from school; H is driven to see Finn, and Finn seems to passively tolerate H's visits.

It's always nice to be surprised by a book, and this one does not go in the direction I was expecting (which is more than likely the direction you are thinking right now, too). Even though very early on in the book H makes it clear that he "didn't long to see [Finn] in that way. It wasn't even that I longed to see him so much as to be him . . . " I think I didn't quite really believe that. Although I did begin to entertain suspicions of The Talented Mr. Ripley sort (which proved wrong, also).

One thing that impressed me about this book was Rosoff's ability to show me Finn through H's eyes. I  understood the obsession, and I keenly felt his desire to break through the shell keeping Finn aloof, to somehow make Finn aware of him, to be deserving of that awareness. Likewise, I was blinded to the same facts about Finn that were hidden from H.

I don't know how much of this is based on the fact that the book was not 800 pages long, or the fact that I spent less than four dollars on it (and very likely less than four hours, too, though I didn't count), but I really thought this book was excellent. In fact, I had a difficult time deciding to post it on paperbackswap. If this was a harcover copy maybe I wouldn't have. But I finally convinced myself that I can swap it for something that may turn out to be just as excellent.

I've never read anything else by Meg Rosoff, but she has also written How I Live Now and Just in Case, among others.