To Have and Have Not

For book #30 I listened to an audio copy of Ernest Hemingway’s To Have and Have Not. It’s an emotional novel from 1937 following a boat captain who runs contraband between Key West and Cuba, trying to make ends meet for his family. Harry Morgan has lost one of his arms, but can still fight off three men at once. The story’s told through multiple viewpoints, each of which are engaging.

According to Wikipedia, “legend has it that Hemingway wrote the book as part of a contractual obligation and hated it,” calling it “his worst book, and a ‘bunch of junk’.” Not sure if this is true, but I liked it just fine. The only thing I didn’t like was that, since I checked it out at the library, one of the discs had been horribly scratched. I had to go back and skim the significant parts I missed, in order to feel that I actually “read” the whole thing.

#31 is all done too. We’ll try to talk about it in the next couple of days.

Downtown Owl

Book #29 was cross-posted at Some New Trend:

Chuck Klosterman’s fifth book and first novel returns to his familiar territory. The story takes place in the North Dakota town of Owl, and follows at least three citizens in 1983-1984. Mitch is a smart, girl-obsessed teen athlete whose class, along with the rest of the school, is reading Orwell’s 1984 to draw comparisons. Horace is a seventy-something man, who’s received his share of hardships, like dealing with the loss of his wife to a rare sleep disorder, and being the cheated out of her life insurance money in a scandal. And Julia just moved to Owl for a teaching job, only to find out that every man in town is pursuing her.

There’s a lot to love about Downtown Owl. The good parts are great. The great parts are funny. Klosterman is able to juggle several non-interlinking stories at once. Sometimes, however, the narrative seems to go nowhere. the story if some things were thrown out. In several longwinded portions, he gives into his editorial tendencies, talking extensively about sports and other topics that digresses from what’s ultimately interesting about the story: the characters, and their efforts to understand what is normal.

I heard an interview a while back where the author admitted finding difficulty in the process of writing fiction. Keeping this in mind, this book might be his winning inception. Can I admit, though, that I feel the same way about Chuck Klosterman as I do Kanye West? The very minute I think he’s glittering with respectability, he’ll say or do something to get under my skin. I loved what he wrote in a copy of my friend’s book, but hated it when he decided not to review King Dork, claiming the subject matter was too elementary. He might have hilarious views on some things and inaccurate opinions on others, but maybe we all can be blame for this. And furthermore, if from time to time  you wonder if you’re truly normal, well, you might have just found something in common with these characters, which might be a good enough reason to read this book.

La conjuration des imbéciles

The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao

Cross-posted at Some New Trend:

Though #28 is not brief (335 pgs.), it is wondrous, and has a lot to say about life. Of course there’s also a lot of Oscar de Leon (over 300 lbs worth). It was a whirlwind ride, which is funny, because when I reflect on it I can only remember learning about the hypersensitive kid’s troubles with girls, and becoming Dominican Republic’s answer to Tolkien.

Junot Diaz’s 2007 Pulitzer Prize-winning novel speaks about the mysterious fuku curse that’s followed Oscar’s family around for years, in both the D.R. and America. We meet a handful of characters along the way, and see how their portions of the story fit (or fail to fit) in the larger whole of the fuku curse and Oscar’s life. After the first 100 pages I was wishing we could stay on Oscar or his sister Lola, but further into the story came Yunior (our protagonist’s roughneck roommate, Lola’s sometimes-boyfriend, and probably my favorite narrator of all).

At about halfway Diaz’s storytelling became a challenge to follow, but his intense energy and amazing sentences kept me going. There was enough irreverent humor and wit to carry me through the liberties he took with grammar usage. He’ll switch from English to Spanish to slang (non-Spanish speakers beware), and as is the case with writers like Cormac McCarthy, he chooses to abandon dialogue punctuation completely. Diaz likes to use footnotes that tie in historical facts we probably wouldn’t know, and also mentions himself from time to time, just in case we’re forgetting it’s a work of fiction we’re reading.

If my review of this book is failing to jell, it might be because I’m still struggling to make sense out of it myself. I want to love the story more, not only because so many others seem to, but because there’s so much in the language to admire and appreciate. Maybe a re-read will transpire at some point, assuming I’ll become a more fluent Spanish-speaker.

Angela’s Ashes

Cross-posted at Some New Trend:

Yet another audiobook for #27. Angela’s Ashes is the Pulitzer Prize-winning book by Frank McCourt, first in a three-part memoir series, this one chronicling the eldest son of an Irish family and his interpretation of their difficult first years. The firsthand accounts of growing up in the impoverished city of Limerick are fascinating, from abusive school instructors, to being hospitalized for contracting typhoid, to the boy’s first pint with his uncle.

Though the title comes from McCourt’s mother, his father seems to play the more prominent role in his development (albeit in negative ways). Year after year Malachy drinks the family’s money away at local pubs, and comes home to tell his boys they should die for Ireland. He eventually enlists in the military, joining a defence plant in Coventry, England. This leaves the family anxiously awaiting a check that will never come.

There’s also more death and desperation. Many have regarded this book as a landmark of the “misery lit” genre. But I thought it did well to refrain from ever becoming a “woe is me” story. The book comes to an abrupt end when young Frankie goes to America—the culmination of several years of hard work.

AA is often sad and touching, frequently funny, and (please forgive me for saying it) at times bland and boring. I listened to the abridged audiobook on a trip, and found the author’s dialect to be soothing (it was also a treat to hear him actually sing each song inclusion). His voice won at making the writing come to life, and the already childlike, conversational-tone gives the story universal accessibility.