"But man was not made for defeat. A man can be destroyed, but never defeated." -- Santiago
There was a small to-do a while back, I forget precisely how long, when a European scholar on the committee that awards the Nobel prize for literature said that no current American authors need apply. The remark raised my hackles at the time. It's a cottage industry for European intelligentsia, looking down their noses at those ignorant Americans. But now, having surveyed a few of the more prominent American authors from the first half of the 20th Century, I kind of see his point. There aren't many current authors who are fit to hold the pen of a Steinbeck, or a Fitzgerald.
Or a Hemingway.
The Old Man and the Sea was one of Hemingway's last books, and some say it was his best. The plot is simple: an old fisherman in the middle of a slump goes out alone, hooks a giant fish, and fights to get his prize back home. But glossing over it like that misses the much larger point: a man's not beat until he decides that he's beaten. As long as he refuses to yield, he's still in the fight.
You might think this an odd theme for Hemingway to explore, given the way he checked out. I tend to give him a pass on that. In those days, they didn't understand depression very well, or how to treat it. The electroshock therapy was slowly destroying his brain. The man simply wasn't in his right mind, there at the end.
In any case, the theme of endurance runs through the book. At virtually any point, Santiago could have cut his losses and come home. He could have given up fishing right at the start. He could have given up before going far out to sea, or when he realized what a big fish he'd hooked. He could have given up at any point during the chase. He especially could have given up when the sharks came, and began devouring his prize bite by bite. But he didn't. As he said, a man can be destroyed but not defeated. He came home with prize basically worthless, that no one would pay any money for ... but a legendary one, that every other fisherman would envy.
The phrase "nothing ventured, nothing gained" rolls so glibly off our tongues that we scarcely realize the truth of those words. Nothing great was ever achieved without cost. No worthy goal is ever gained without hard work and persistence. Santiago's lesson for us is that when life gets hard, we face a choice. We can either take the easy way and quit ... or we can face the challenge, and show the world what we're made of.
The verdict: highly recommended. There are few finer books that a young man could read.
Showing posts with label Literature. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Literature. Show all posts
Friday, September 25, 2009
Monday, August 24, 2009
A Job Gone Bad
Today in my ongoing project to re-read books from high school literature classes, it's John Steinbeck's Of Mice and Men.
If you're like me, this was your first exposure to the character of Lenny:
Not that those old cartoons aren't art in their own right -- they are -- but prolonged exposure to Mel Blanc's nigh-perfect imitation of Lon Chaney's portrayal of Lenny from the 1939 movie version makes it really, really hard for a young man to take the book seriously. Which is a pity, because the book is worthy of serious thought. But be warned: it's not a fun, light read.
The writing isn't as tight as Fitzgerald's, but given that Steinbeck chose to present the story mostly through conversations between characters, I suppose that can't be helped. It's an effective storytelling device, though; it pulls you quickly through a story that becomes quite unpleasant and uncomfortable. The quickness is a saving grace. The territory the book covers would be unbearably grueling if it lasted much longer. My wife said that reading Steinbeck leads to suicidal thoughts, and I won't say she's wrong.
The one thought that occurred to me as I was reading this was: life was ugly before Welfare. Think on it. If this story were to occur today, there's at least a chance, maybe even a good one, that Lenny would be a ward of the state. He'd have gotten treatment, help to learn how to live within his condition, and a measure of supervision. Back in the day, family or friends had to do all of that. As long as they could do so, all was well. But when that ran out ... You're basically up the creek without a paddle, a boat, or a life preserver.
I've always been of two minds about this issue. I tend towards minimalism in government. That's because I don't trust people with lots of power and/or authority. Also, if freedom is to mean anything it should also mean the freedom to fail. But failure shouldn't be final -- there should be a safety net, so that you can learn from your mistakes and do better next time. There's a balance point somewhere between benign neglect and smothering supervision. Finding that balance point is extremely tricky, and while I don't think we've found it yet, we're certainly closer than we were when this book was written.
I can't recommend this book to everyone. It's a harsh read. Horrible things happen to people that don't deserve them. But if you think you can take it, go for it. But follow it with a chaser:
You've got to maintain an even strain. Moderation is good in all things, including serious thought.
If you're like me, this was your first exposure to the character of Lenny:
Not that those old cartoons aren't art in their own right -- they are -- but prolonged exposure to Mel Blanc's nigh-perfect imitation of Lon Chaney's portrayal of Lenny from the 1939 movie version makes it really, really hard for a young man to take the book seriously. Which is a pity, because the book is worthy of serious thought. But be warned: it's not a fun, light read.
The writing isn't as tight as Fitzgerald's, but given that Steinbeck chose to present the story mostly through conversations between characters, I suppose that can't be helped. It's an effective storytelling device, though; it pulls you quickly through a story that becomes quite unpleasant and uncomfortable. The quickness is a saving grace. The territory the book covers would be unbearably grueling if it lasted much longer. My wife said that reading Steinbeck leads to suicidal thoughts, and I won't say she's wrong.
The one thought that occurred to me as I was reading this was: life was ugly before Welfare. Think on it. If this story were to occur today, there's at least a chance, maybe even a good one, that Lenny would be a ward of the state. He'd have gotten treatment, help to learn how to live within his condition, and a measure of supervision. Back in the day, family or friends had to do all of that. As long as they could do so, all was well. But when that ran out ... You're basically up the creek without a paddle, a boat, or a life preserver.
I've always been of two minds about this issue. I tend towards minimalism in government. That's because I don't trust people with lots of power and/or authority. Also, if freedom is to mean anything it should also mean the freedom to fail. But failure shouldn't be final -- there should be a safety net, so that you can learn from your mistakes and do better next time. There's a balance point somewhere between benign neglect and smothering supervision. Finding that balance point is extremely tricky, and while I don't think we've found it yet, we're certainly closer than we were when this book was written.
I can't recommend this book to everyone. It's a harsh read. Horrible things happen to people that don't deserve them. But if you think you can take it, go for it. But follow it with a chaser:
You've got to maintain an even strain. Moderation is good in all things, including serious thought.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Nick's Wild Summer
This post is the third in what I'd originally intended to be an on-going series, re-reading some of the required books from my high school literature classes. Re-reading 1984 proved a very illuminating experience, but re-reading The Scarlet Letter was every bit as much fun as beating myself in the head with a drywall hammer. I have to admit, that experience dimmed my ardor for the project ... and now, a year and a half later, I'm plowing back into it with The Great Gatsby.
If you haven't read this one yet, by all means, do it. It's quite good.
Plot and story aside, Fitzgerald's writing is tight. He wastes no words. The edition I read tips the scales at a scanty 180 pages, while modern novels can ring up eight to ten times as many. Without being eight to ten times better, I might add... And, despite the direct, no-nonsense style, he still manages to paint quite a detailed picture. This, ladies and gentlemen, is what good writing looks like.
I also enjoyed the story. The basic idea as I see it is a treatment of class and social mobility in America. Jay Gatsby, Nick Carroway, and the other "new rich" lived in West Egg, while the "old money" aristocracy lived in East Egg. They're basically like oil and water: they go together, they move together, but they really don't mix. Which sets up the central tragedy -- Gatsby fell in love with Daisy, who married into the "old money" aristocracy. He had dedicated himself to the goal of becoming rich enough to move among the established families as an equal, without realizing that you really can't. That group, you have to be born into.
Some bits of the story look, well, odd to a modern reader. Take the racial attitudes as an example. Tom, Daisy's husband, is quite un-self-consciously racist, and pretty much assumed that everyone he talked to was as well. "It's all scientific stuff; it's all been proved," Tom would say. A modern reader might wonder how someone could say that in polite society ... but then, you remember that this was written in 1925. That sort of thing was common, and one must say, broadly accepted as true. On the other hand, Fitzgerald has these things being proclaimed by one of the book's least savory characters. So even then, you could see the tectonic plates of opinion shifting, ever so slightly.
But how relevant is the story today? Somewhat relevant ... and somewhat not. Social mobility in America is a generational process. A son of a working-class family can become a professional, and in turn his children can move another rung up. But you can't make that leap in a single lifetime, not without some fairly extraordinary circumstances. But on the other hand, education is a much more potent leveling force now than it was in the early 20th century. The fact that the sons of working-class families can become college-educated professionals, and do so with some regularity, is a thing that would be unheard-of a hundred years ago. I am, by and large, accepted in society based upon how I behave, not on who my parents were. Education opens doors.
And the doors it can't open? What of them? For some people, that becomes an endless, unscratchable itch. And that's sad: if you define yourself by what you can't do, or what you can't have, you doom yourself to a life of misery. But even today, there are plenty of people who destroy their lives trying desperately to bash that door down. Most of us don't go there. We're content with the opportunities we've had, and continue to have. Sometimes we may dream of what might have been, but at the end of the day we're content in our own lives.
In the end, that's what Nick did. At the end of that wild summer, he decided the East wasn't for him, and moved on with his life. Nick walked away from the locked door that Gatsby died trying to break down.
Final verdict: Highly recommended. Great writing, memorable characters, and a pretty fast read, too. They don't write 'em like that anymore...
If you haven't read this one yet, by all means, do it. It's quite good.
Plot and story aside, Fitzgerald's writing is tight. He wastes no words. The edition I read tips the scales at a scanty 180 pages, while modern novels can ring up eight to ten times as many. Without being eight to ten times better, I might add... And, despite the direct, no-nonsense style, he still manages to paint quite a detailed picture. This, ladies and gentlemen, is what good writing looks like.
I also enjoyed the story. The basic idea as I see it is a treatment of class and social mobility in America. Jay Gatsby, Nick Carroway, and the other "new rich" lived in West Egg, while the "old money" aristocracy lived in East Egg. They're basically like oil and water: they go together, they move together, but they really don't mix. Which sets up the central tragedy -- Gatsby fell in love with Daisy, who married into the "old money" aristocracy. He had dedicated himself to the goal of becoming rich enough to move among the established families as an equal, without realizing that you really can't. That group, you have to be born into.
Some bits of the story look, well, odd to a modern reader. Take the racial attitudes as an example. Tom, Daisy's husband, is quite un-self-consciously racist, and pretty much assumed that everyone he talked to was as well. "It's all scientific stuff; it's all been proved," Tom would say. A modern reader might wonder how someone could say that in polite society ... but then, you remember that this was written in 1925. That sort of thing was common, and one must say, broadly accepted as true. On the other hand, Fitzgerald has these things being proclaimed by one of the book's least savory characters. So even then, you could see the tectonic plates of opinion shifting, ever so slightly.
But how relevant is the story today? Somewhat relevant ... and somewhat not. Social mobility in America is a generational process. A son of a working-class family can become a professional, and in turn his children can move another rung up. But you can't make that leap in a single lifetime, not without some fairly extraordinary circumstances. But on the other hand, education is a much more potent leveling force now than it was in the early 20th century. The fact that the sons of working-class families can become college-educated professionals, and do so with some regularity, is a thing that would be unheard-of a hundred years ago. I am, by and large, accepted in society based upon how I behave, not on who my parents were. Education opens doors.
And the doors it can't open? What of them? For some people, that becomes an endless, unscratchable itch. And that's sad: if you define yourself by what you can't do, or what you can't have, you doom yourself to a life of misery. But even today, there are plenty of people who destroy their lives trying desperately to bash that door down. Most of us don't go there. We're content with the opportunities we've had, and continue to have. Sometimes we may dream of what might have been, but at the end of the day we're content in our own lives.
In the end, that's what Nick did. At the end of that wild summer, he decided the East wasn't for him, and moved on with his life. Nick walked away from the locked door that Gatsby died trying to break down.
Final verdict: Highly recommended. Great writing, memorable characters, and a pretty fast read, too. They don't write 'em like that anymore...
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Red-Letter Day
It seemed like a good idea at the time. Of course, I led out with a book that was very influential to me, that I think everyone ought to re-read and give serious thought to. The theory is that, re-reading these books as a middle-aged adult, I might gain some new insights.
Well, partially correct. I now know precisely why I despised The Scarlet Letter. I couldn't quite put my finger on it before, but I sure can now. And while I'd like to say that I had the fortitude to hang with it to the bitter end, I can't. About two thirds of the way through I decided that I'd had as much of the company of the Dynamic Duo -- Arthur Dimmesdale and Roger Chillingworth -- as I cared to. It was indeed the rare chapter that I didn't want to reach into the story and pimp-slap the both of them. Should you ever see this passage materialize in the text, you'll know I succeeded: "Forsooth! A disembodied hand from the Future hath descended from the Heavens and smote both Mr Dimmesdale and Mr Chillingworth into unconsciousness! Prithee, what doth it portend?"
It doth portendeth that this book sucketh, Beavis.
But, with the possible exceptions of the Dazzler graphic novel and The Sixgun Samurai, nothing is entirely bereft of redeeming qualities. The book does have some good points to make.
A minister told me once that there are three fundamental problems in the human spirit: guilt, bitterness, and stubbornness. Each of the three has its natural remedy: asking forgiveness, giving forgiveness, and submission to a higher authority, respectively. We see examples of all of the above, in abundance. Dimmesdale is wracked by guilt, but is too stubbornly proud to seek forgiveness. Chillingworth is consumed by bitterness, but is too stubbornly proud to forgive. Hester seems a bit stubborn at first, but of the three she is the only one who is actually working through her problems, trying to find some kind of redemption. This went completely over my head when I was younger. Stories of loss and redemption are wasted on the youth. You really have to be middle-aged to understand, to realize that the fondest dream of a man past his first youth is for a second chance. I was able to get that now, in a way that I couldn't then, and I'd have enjoyed it better if it weren't for one lamentable fact.
There are no real men in this book.
This book is absolutely jam-packed with examples of men shirking, avoiding, and otherwise ignoring their manly duties. Part of the sympathy Hester gets is due to the fact that she is so horribly ill-used by the so-called men who should be her staunchest defenders: her minister, and her husband. Poor Hester. Stuck for all eternity in a story with only these two chimps for company. But I get ahead of myself:
Where do I begin? Arthur Dimmesdale is a mewling, crawling, simpering, craven, boot-licking coward. He knows what he needs to do, knows what he ought to do, knows the right thing to do, but can't find the backbone to do it. Instead, he wails and moans about his guilt, beats himself as if that actually meant something, and otherwise makes a nuisance of himself. The Fist of the Future has this to say to the Reverend: MAN up, 'FESS up, take your lumps, and move on. You'll feel better, breathe easier, and enjoy life more. He makes a belated, half-hearted effort at this later in the book, but true to form, isn't enough of a man to pull it off successfully.
Not that Roger Chillingworth, the amazing human urine stain, is any better ... or, to give him the proper name he abandoned, Mr. Prynne. What a cad. What a miserable oxygen thief. Let's start with the fact that, if he were any kind of real man at all, he wouldn't have sent his young wife ahead of him to break trail in the wilderness, but would have come himself and sent for her later. But he didn't, and so he gave Hester the means, motive, and opportunity to dance the naked pretzel with the good Reverend. He had an opportunity to salvage what was left of his manhood, but botched it: he abandoned his wife to destitution while he sought his meaningless revenge. Revenge for what? For your non-existent manly honor? Wasted effort, pal. Here, why don't you go swimming with these cement overshoes, and hold onto this fathom of anchor chain while you're at it? You may not feel better, but I sure will.
Anyway, you may go in for this sort of gratuitous self-abuse, but I've had all I can stand. If you want to read a historical novel about adultery, go pick up any of the Flashman novels by George MacDonald Fraser. They're far more entertaining, and far less painful, than this particular groin-stomp in literary form.
Final verdict: Not recommended. Stay away from it, unless you happen to be a high-school lit teacher, or student, in which case you have my most profound sympathy.
Well, partially correct. I now know precisely why I despised The Scarlet Letter. I couldn't quite put my finger on it before, but I sure can now. And while I'd like to say that I had the fortitude to hang with it to the bitter end, I can't. About two thirds of the way through I decided that I'd had as much of the company of the Dynamic Duo -- Arthur Dimmesdale and Roger Chillingworth -- as I cared to. It was indeed the rare chapter that I didn't want to reach into the story and pimp-slap the both of them. Should you ever see this passage materialize in the text, you'll know I succeeded: "Forsooth! A disembodied hand from the Future hath descended from the Heavens and smote both Mr Dimmesdale and Mr Chillingworth into unconsciousness! Prithee, what doth it portend?"
It doth portendeth that this book sucketh, Beavis.
But, with the possible exceptions of the Dazzler graphic novel and The Sixgun Samurai, nothing is entirely bereft of redeeming qualities. The book does have some good points to make.
A minister told me once that there are three fundamental problems in the human spirit: guilt, bitterness, and stubbornness. Each of the three has its natural remedy: asking forgiveness, giving forgiveness, and submission to a higher authority, respectively. We see examples of all of the above, in abundance. Dimmesdale is wracked by guilt, but is too stubbornly proud to seek forgiveness. Chillingworth is consumed by bitterness, but is too stubbornly proud to forgive. Hester seems a bit stubborn at first, but of the three she is the only one who is actually working through her problems, trying to find some kind of redemption. This went completely over my head when I was younger. Stories of loss and redemption are wasted on the youth. You really have to be middle-aged to understand, to realize that the fondest dream of a man past his first youth is for a second chance. I was able to get that now, in a way that I couldn't then, and I'd have enjoyed it better if it weren't for one lamentable fact.
There are no real men in this book.
This book is absolutely jam-packed with examples of men shirking, avoiding, and otherwise ignoring their manly duties. Part of the sympathy Hester gets is due to the fact that she is so horribly ill-used by the so-called men who should be her staunchest defenders: her minister, and her husband. Poor Hester. Stuck for all eternity in a story with only these two chimps for company. But I get ahead of myself:
Where do I begin? Arthur Dimmesdale is a mewling, crawling, simpering, craven, boot-licking coward. He knows what he needs to do, knows what he ought to do, knows the right thing to do, but can't find the backbone to do it. Instead, he wails and moans about his guilt, beats himself as if that actually meant something, and otherwise makes a nuisance of himself. The Fist of the Future has this to say to the Reverend: MAN up, 'FESS up, take your lumps, and move on. You'll feel better, breathe easier, and enjoy life more. He makes a belated, half-hearted effort at this later in the book, but true to form, isn't enough of a man to pull it off successfully.
Not that Roger Chillingworth, the amazing human urine stain, is any better ... or, to give him the proper name he abandoned, Mr. Prynne. What a cad. What a miserable oxygen thief. Let's start with the fact that, if he were any kind of real man at all, he wouldn't have sent his young wife ahead of him to break trail in the wilderness, but would have come himself and sent for her later. But he didn't, and so he gave Hester the means, motive, and opportunity to dance the naked pretzel with the good Reverend. He had an opportunity to salvage what was left of his manhood, but botched it: he abandoned his wife to destitution while he sought his meaningless revenge. Revenge for what? For your non-existent manly honor? Wasted effort, pal. Here, why don't you go swimming with these cement overshoes, and hold onto this fathom of anchor chain while you're at it? You may not feel better, but I sure will.
Anyway, you may go in for this sort of gratuitous self-abuse, but I've had all I can stand. If you want to read a historical novel about adultery, go pick up any of the Flashman novels by George MacDonald Fraser. They're far more entertaining, and far less painful, than this particular groin-stomp in literary form.
Final verdict: Not recommended. Stay away from it, unless you happen to be a high-school lit teacher, or student, in which case you have my most profound sympathy.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
1984: The Year That Wasn't
I probably would never have come across this book if I hadn't had to read it in high school. But I'm glad I did, because it has been one of the most influential things I have ever read. It's an extraordinarily important book, and if you only re-read one book from your high school experience, make it this one.
This is the book that George Orwell wrote as he knew he was dying. It's filled with a driving sense of purpose, a sense of warning. Orwell wrote us to warn us of what the world would look like, if we ever lost the Long War.
The Long War probably isn't what you're thinking, although what we call the Cold War was part of it. The Long War is the eternal struggle of enlightened individualism against totalitarianism, liberty versus tyranny. 1984 spells out in painful details the cost of defeat. It also shows us, obliquely, how to avoid going there.
In the world of Winston Smith, liberty had long since gone down to defeat. The Party ruled all. It governed you from the moment you opened your eyes in the morning to the moment you closed them again at night, and held you to account for what you mumbled in your dreams. If the contents of your thoughts weren't sufficiently orthodox, the Ministry of Love would fix you. We get to see the entire process through to its horrific conclusion. Winston Smith goes from Party functionary to rebel, rebel to prisoner, and finally prisoner to ... what? In a real sense he was always a prisoner. His final transformation was a final realization of that fact. He is, at the end, a completely broken man.
But the world doesn't have to end up like this. That's the key message here.
Our best line of defense at home? A healthy suspicion of those we keep in power. My current blog tagline as I write this states my position perfectly: "In God we trust. Everyone else, keep your hands where I can see 'em." We the citizens have a duty to stay informed, and keep our elected leaders' feet to the fire. Most of them are good, honest people. But even so we dare not trust them with too much power. This means that the government will never be as efficient as it could be. This means that there are things the government won't be able to do. We simply have to accept that as the price of freedom.
But it goes beyond that. For example, this is the reason that I really don't like hate crimes legislation. I do not like the idea of criminalizing the content of a man's thoughts. It is irrelevant to me that those thoughts are indefensible or uncivilized. Because eventually someone will work their way around to criminalizing mine. It's far, far easier to stop this thing from snowballing now, than to try to stop it once the Powers That Be get used to the idea of legislating what you're allowed to think.
It's also why I really don't like political correctness. Mind you, I do think that a proper gentleman should self-censor his speech. I do not always do a good job of that. Some words have no place at all in polite communication, and if you cannot express yourself without vulgarity then your vocabulary is sadly lacking. That said ... There are substantive conversations we cannot have today, because they are not PC. We all know what we are not allowed to say, and about whom we are not allowed to speak. Try to have a serious conversation about a taboo topic, and you're branded a racist, a sexist, or worse. This is distinctly unhelpful, and does no one any real good. Pretending that an issue does not exist does nothing to help the situation.
But forewarned is forearmed: we do not go forward in this struggle unguided. And because an Englishman looked ahead and told us what he saw, we have a better chance to avoid the abyss.
Give it a read if you haven't done so lately. It'll make you think.
This is the book that George Orwell wrote as he knew he was dying. It's filled with a driving sense of purpose, a sense of warning. Orwell wrote us to warn us of what the world would look like, if we ever lost the Long War.
The Long War probably isn't what you're thinking, although what we call the Cold War was part of it. The Long War is the eternal struggle of enlightened individualism against totalitarianism, liberty versus tyranny. 1984 spells out in painful details the cost of defeat. It also shows us, obliquely, how to avoid going there.
In the world of Winston Smith, liberty had long since gone down to defeat. The Party ruled all. It governed you from the moment you opened your eyes in the morning to the moment you closed them again at night, and held you to account for what you mumbled in your dreams. If the contents of your thoughts weren't sufficiently orthodox, the Ministry of Love would fix you. We get to see the entire process through to its horrific conclusion. Winston Smith goes from Party functionary to rebel, rebel to prisoner, and finally prisoner to ... what? In a real sense he was always a prisoner. His final transformation was a final realization of that fact. He is, at the end, a completely broken man.
But the world doesn't have to end up like this. That's the key message here.
Our best line of defense at home? A healthy suspicion of those we keep in power. My current blog tagline as I write this states my position perfectly: "In God we trust. Everyone else, keep your hands where I can see 'em." We the citizens have a duty to stay informed, and keep our elected leaders' feet to the fire. Most of them are good, honest people. But even so we dare not trust them with too much power. This means that the government will never be as efficient as it could be. This means that there are things the government won't be able to do. We simply have to accept that as the price of freedom.
But it goes beyond that. For example, this is the reason that I really don't like hate crimes legislation. I do not like the idea of criminalizing the content of a man's thoughts. It is irrelevant to me that those thoughts are indefensible or uncivilized. Because eventually someone will work their way around to criminalizing mine. It's far, far easier to stop this thing from snowballing now, than to try to stop it once the Powers That Be get used to the idea of legislating what you're allowed to think.
It's also why I really don't like political correctness. Mind you, I do think that a proper gentleman should self-censor his speech. I do not always do a good job of that. Some words have no place at all in polite communication, and if you cannot express yourself without vulgarity then your vocabulary is sadly lacking. That said ... There are substantive conversations we cannot have today, because they are not PC. We all know what we are not allowed to say, and about whom we are not allowed to speak. Try to have a serious conversation about a taboo topic, and you're branded a racist, a sexist, or worse. This is distinctly unhelpful, and does no one any real good. Pretending that an issue does not exist does nothing to help the situation.
But forewarned is forearmed: we do not go forward in this struggle unguided. And because an Englishman looked ahead and told us what he saw, we have a better chance to avoid the abyss.
Give it a read if you haven't done so lately. It'll make you think.
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
My Latest Project
Coming soon to this space: I will be re-reading some of the novels that I was compelled to read during high school, and see if I can get anything more out of them now that I'm an adult. The tentative list includes, but will not be limited to:
1984
The Grapes of Wrath
The Great Gatsby
The Scarlet Letter
There are several that I've forgotten, I'm sure. Feel free to remind me.
Updates will follow, as I finish the books in question. I've already read 1984 relatively recently, I just need to think about what I want to write.
1984
The Grapes of Wrath
The Great Gatsby
The Scarlet Letter
There are several that I've forgotten, I'm sure. Feel free to remind me.
Updates will follow, as I finish the books in question. I've already read 1984 relatively recently, I just need to think about what I want to write.
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