I am on page 37.
Those first 37 pages took 2 weeks and were making me lose the will to ever read again. I had to look up 4 words and a phrase that I still don’t understand. And I ignored the Latin. I can see why a scholar would call it ‘rich’, but I cannot bring myself to carry on…
Page turner: 7/10
Heart tugger: 8/10
Thought provoker: 8/10
Overall: 4 stars
I really, really liked The Great Gatsby.
Also: Liking it was a pleasant surprise.
I – like most other teenagers in America- read The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald in high school, and I remember feeling broadly ambivalent about it. But I think at the time I was looking for a happy ending, and my frustration and disappointment in the characters in the book meant my teenage self equated that with not liking the book. Whereas perhaps I should have realized that a book that could Make me feel disappointed might actually have something going for it. And actually, reading it now a decade and a half later (ish), I would quite happily read it again.
The thing is that this book is stunning. The language is descriptive, evocative, and meaningful without being overly descriptive. Which is particularly impressive given the opulence of the setting. After all, it takes place amid the extremely privileged crowds of New York and Long Island in 1922. Readers float along with the narrator, Nick Carraway, as he at first interprets his roaring life amongst the likes of the great Jay Gatsby as, potentially, the American Dream.
“There was music from my neighbor’s house through the summer nights. In his blue gardens men and girls came and went like moths among the whisperings and the champagne and the stars. At high tide in the afternoon I watched his guests diving from the tower of his raft, or taking the sun on the hot sand of his beach while his two motor-boats slit the waters of the Sound, drawing aquaplanes over cataracts of foam.”
I liken my experience of this book to that of my recollection of dreams: occasionally vivid but often overwhelming and blurry. And when I wake up I have an intense feeling of some emotion, without being quite sure how I got it. Yes, reading Gatsby is like having a dream, waking up, going back to sleep, and then having a bit of a nightmare.
I love Nick’s restraint, even as the dream-turns-nightmare. In the telling of events he states truth more often than his interpretation of it, so that when he does express his disapproval you feel it (and a warmness for him) all the more. But the way he paints a picture of the room as he enters it really what is outstanding – I don’t think I can now ever forget the white statuesque stances of Daisy and Miss Baker when he first visits them.
The Great Gatsby is a beautiful book. It is well worth overcoming your teenage impressions and giving it a re-read, and I can see why it is so high up the Modern Library’s list (though I am not-yet sure about being 2nd). I apologize to my 10th (11th?) grade English teacher. I am also horrified I can’t remember which year I read it. I might even open it again soon – at which point I reserve the right to give it 5 stars.
Page turner: 2/10
Heart tugger: 4/10
Thought provoker: 8/10
Overall: 2 stars
My copy of Midnight’s Children is 647 pages long. I know this, not because I finished reading the book only a few minutes ago, but because I have checked how many pages I have to go probably about 447 times (I didn’t check the first 100 – that’d be rude, and I could do the math quite easily the last 100). This book was long. And it was a chore.
Now before I rant overly much about the hard-slog-reading-that-is-the-first-two-thirds-of-this-book I would like to conduct a bit of a thought experiment that I learned whilst reading Daniel Kahneman’s book ‘Thinking Fast and Slow’. I think (hope?) Salman Rushdie would approve. The true experiment isn’t exactly possible, but hopefully you’ll get the idea. I am going to describe this book in 6 words. First, three positive words. Then, three negative words. Then I’ll do it the other way ’round. Using the same six words. Bear with.
Positive: magical, intelligent, organic
Negative: dense, meandering, self-important
Now, think for a second about what impression this leads you with. Now try to forget the words.
Ok.
Negative: dense, meandering, self-important
Positive: magical, intelligent, organic
Think again about what impression this description leaves you with.
In his book, Kahneman is using a similar experiment show how humans are effected by first impressions. It is meant to do a great deal more than describe novels, but hopefully I can use the device to demonstrate how I feel about this book, resulting in a confusing mix of ambiguity and frustration. Which, to be fair, is probably what Rushdie was going for.
In the positive-first scenario I go away thinking that Midnight’s Children is a book of magical realism, a splendidly original and creative piece of fiction that brilliantly characterizes the birth and trials of India as a nation, that happens to be a bit self-indulgent and long-winded. And, upon reading this description, I don’t disagree. The way in which Rushdie manages to tie the life of Saleem (the protagonist) inextricably from that of his country – from the moment of his birth through his first 31 years – is intellectually fascinating. And worthy of a place in the top 100 books of the 20th century. (It come’s 90th)
In the negative-first scenario I get the impression that a windy-but-intelligent author has a good idea, but it. He’s intentionally perverse. And a bit mad. My gosh does he use a lot of ellipses … It does … I think … get to be a bit much. And I know I am occasionally one to get carried away with punctuation and capitalization. And why the need to recap so often through the book? And isn’t the part in the jungle just a bit much? And it astounds me how a book can manage to be Both meandering AND dense. That is a literary feat fit only for as much sarcasm as I can muster. And, as I pause to re-read this description I also agree with myself. I didn’t like the book. There are lots of others that I think I would give awards and plaudits to, instead.
I both liked and didn’t like this book. My ratings err on the ‘didn’t like’ side as a word of caution. It took me nearly three weeks (including two inter-continental flights!) to read this book. It would normally take me days. But I do feel good for (finally!!) having read it.
The front cover of my copy has a quote by the Sunday Times that describes Midnight’s Children as ‘vital’. Whilst my personal taste would disagree with the connotation of necessity, I very much agree with the idea of this book having vitality. (If you can make it through the first quarter of the book – during which the main character and narrator hasn’t even told of his own birth.) There is humanity in this book. And it is an utterly original idea.
Finally, this book features on both the Modern Library and Man Booker prize lists. Which means, it was recognized in its day and retrospectively – which is impressive. And I can understand that it is of historical significance, and for the ‘positive scenario’ described above. I can understand, but not personally Agree with it purely because I found it to be quite so unreadable. It’s a book I am proud to have read, but wouldn’t particularly advise you to read!
Page turner: 5/10
Heart tugger: 6/10
Thought provoker: 9/10
Overall: 3 stars
I, Claudius is number 14 on the Modern Library’s top 100 books of the 20th Century. I can see why. This is a book I very much appreciate for its astuteness and unusual voice. I am pleased I read it and my brain was very much engaged (I even occasionally chuckled) but I’m not sure I Really Liked it.
As the title suggests, the book is an ‘autobiography’ of the Roman Emperor Claudius, of his life before he became emperor in AD 41. His full name is Tiberius Claudius Caesar Augustus Germanicus. The stories and intrigues of his life, as really the only surviving member of his family through an incredibly political period of Roman history, are fascinating. And the events (I discovered afterwards) are all true. His thoughts and personal opinions are of course fictional, but by all accounts, plausible, given that his personal papers were all burned just prior to his death. As such, the book does a fantastic job of presenting itself as a history (Claudius himself is a historian) and in the book the occasional indentation appears where the date is simply noted in the margins. I’ve never seen that before. But it is a useful metric of marking time, which flows in fits and starts in the book to coincide with the more interesting portions of his life – or this lives of those around him.
So the era, the presentation, and the stories themselves are fascinating. And Robert Graves does an amazing job of giving Claudius an intelligent, thoughtful, occasionally irreverent tone of voice that is very compelling. Claudius is believed by many of his family as an idiot – he stammers (which gets worse when he’s nervous) and has a few physical tics – but as a reader you cannot help but like Claudius. He has a heart.
And yet, despite these excellent elements, I didn’t find myself that eager to read more. I put the book down for a few days. There are a lot of people and names. Many of the names are very, very similar. It gets confusing and tangles. And whilst you feel for Claudius, and he describes some of the despicable deeds of others, I somehow didn’t connect. I never really got angry when the poisoners poisoned and the beheaders decapitated. Now, I can put this down to Claudius’ self-professed career as an unbiased historian, so it is very much in-keeping with his character. But that doesn’t make it a particularly enjoyable read, it just makes those who have read it appreciate the author’s skill.
So, would I recommend? If you want something a bit intellectual, and you like history – then yes. To read something that you will appreciate having read? Most certainly? But if you want to be entertained, moved, or empowered? Maybe skip it and come back when you’re feeling a bit more cerebral. Or want to catch up on your Roman history without having to actually read a history book.
Great books blog 