Charles Dickens, The Old Curiosity Shop

Despite its incredible popularity when it was first serialized (take that, Ms. Rowling!), this is certainly not Dickens for the faint of heart. Ironically, it's the evil dwarf Daniel Quilp, a perfect example of a satanic character (akin to Judge Holden in Cormac McCarthy's Blood Meridian), who provides some of the best laughs in the novel (he sure knows how to treat a mother-in-law!). Woeful melodrama aside, however, for the most part this novel is a prolonged meditation on death and moves relentlessly deathward all along.

Lolita-esque Little Nell lives with her Grandfather in his curiosity shop until Quilp takes possession of said shop after it is revealed that the Grandfather's been gambling away the payments. Nell and Grandfather take to the streets of London and the English countryside in an attempt to escape the clutches of Quilp, whose influence has created a freakish network of travelling actors, lawyers, and other assorted Dickensians who may (or may not) lead the pair back to Quilp!

For readers of Shakespeare, this makes an excellent companion-read with King Lear: Little Nell and her Grandfather parallel Lear and Cordelia, both in temperment and sensibility; their journey away from Quilp's oppression (as well as the parade of freaks that follows them throughout their journey) sends them into a wilderness much like Lear's banishment; finally, both works offer variations on the concept of "nothingness" (and its connection to Life), giving both a distinctive (albeit early) Existential quality.

I enjoyed this book although, for those readers expecting the "happy marriages" and bliss that conclude The Pickwick Papers, Oliver Twist, and Nicholas Nickleby, this is much more . . . um, well . . . solemn.

Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being

Unbearable, indeed.

I can handle books that are "depressing." In fact, most (if not all) literature is at its essence rooted in tears and pain of some sort, anyway. But this novel beats 'em all.

That's not to suggest, however, that I necessarily disliked the book, or that I wouldn't recommend it. There are passages in Kundera that are beautifully rendered, and much of the philosophical flourishing will give the reader occasion to pause and consider how the notions apply to his/her own life. One of my favorites is early in the novel and, as it turns out, becomes the basis for the novel's themes:

"We can never know what we want, because, living only one life, we can neither compare it with our previous lives nor perfect it in our lives to come [...] There is no means of testing which decision is better, because there is no basis for comparison. We live everything as it comes, without warning, like an actor going on cold. And what can life be worth if the first rehearsal for life is life itself? That is why life is always like a sketch. No, "sketch" is not quite the word, because a sketch is an outline of something, the groundwork for a picture, whereas the sketch that is our life is a sketch for nothing, an outline with no picture [...] If we have only one life to live, we might as well not have lived at all."

Some of the book, however, left me feeling unfulfilled, and I sort of wonder if it had to do with the translation (Kundera is a Czech). Nevertheless, a colleague of mine *swears* by Kundera (and highly recommends his novel Immortality), while another friend said the film The Unbearable Lightness of Being is an excellent complement to the novel (i.e., each taken on its own is okay but, together, they inform each other . . . kinda like Pink Floyd's The Wall).

Either way, I've now read Milan Kundera. So much for that.

Charles Dickens, Nicholas Nickleby

Frankly, I find it amazing that this book isn't more popular. Next to David Copperfield, this is one of my favorite Dickens novels. While Pickwick is just innocent fun and Oliver Twist is dark and foreboding, Nicholas Nickleby has a wide range of tones, from the sinister (during the Dotheboy's Hall chapters) to the amusing (with the Crummles family) to the melodramatic (Smike's scenes) to the psychologically thrilling (Ralph Nickleby's unravelling). Along the way, Dickens offers *just enough* social commentary to make his point without brow-beating the reader. And the characters! What delicious evil in Wackford Squeers and Sir Mulberry Hawk, what hilarity in Mr. John Browdie, and what nobility in Newman Noggs and the title character!

Yet, for all its good points, I'm still disappointed in Dickens's portrayal of female characters. With the exception of Nancy in Oliver Twist, I have yet to encounter a woman in Dickens who isn't, at best, a poorly developed outline of a character. Of course, this is a gripe that most scholars likewise have with his work and, as I continue to read my way through the Dickensian canon, I will hopefully find a female character worthy of praise.

My next Dickens outing: The Old Curiosity Shop.

Charles Dickens, The Pickwick Papers

Last year, I decided I would attempt to read the entire Dickens canon in chronological order, leisurely working my way through all sixteen novels (this is going to take me a few years, obviously). Pickwick (Dickens's first novel) is one that I had read several years ago on a summer lark, but it was wonderful to reread this work and "revisit an old friend," as it were.

The "story" tells of Mr. Pickwick, founder of the Pickwick Club, and his entourage of fellow club members -- Mr. Winkle, Mr. Snodgrass, and Mr. Tupman, as well as that masterpiece of comic creation, Sam Weller -- as they participate in adventures and misadventures in and around the English countryside circa 1837.

In terms of Dickensia, this is where it all began: the quirky characters, the festive inns, the wry social commentary, the linguistic perambulations, and the tidily resolved plot and subplots. But one of the things that I absolutely love about this novel is the unabashed fun Dickens was obviously having as he wrote it! If ever there were a book in which you could imagine the author chuckling to himself because of the hilarity of the dialogue or description he'd just written, it is this one. And while there are many books I would count as the funniest I've read (The Catcher in the Rye, A Confederacy of Dunces, and Catch-22, for example), their humor is ultimately eclipsed by a dark and threatening world vision. The world of Pickwick, however, is one of childish delights; nothing bad will ever really befall any of the characters, and somehow we readers know this. Pickwick is innocent fun amid the inns, coach stands, and gaming fields of 19th Century England, and the reader is momentarily transported to an era in which we can all act foolishly amongst friends, and all will be forgiven over sweetmeats and libations!

In some ways, then, this novel is both typical and atypical of Dickens. On the one hand, this novel has all the charm and warmth of a cozy English hearth -- a mood we tend to associate with Dickensian works (especially around the holidays). On the other, it has an unbridled "happiness" to which Dickens would never return (his next novel, in fact, would be the incredibly dark Oliver Twist). This is another reason I especially like Pickwick: it's a pleasant anomaly within the Dickens canon.

This novel is pure fun. Enjoy!

Deborah Copaken Kogan, Shutterbabe

If you like photography, this book is for you.

If you like writing that captures the intensity of war-torn Afghanistan in 1988, or transports the reader from the decandence of Switzerland to the parkways of France (stopping along the way in Romania and Haiti and Zimbabwe), documenting the zeitgeist of the 1990s "me-decade" all the while, this book is for you.

And if you like a narrator who is ditzy, self-centered, peevish, and whiny . . . well, umm . . . this book is for you.

What I liked about this memoir is the author's travels and descriptions of the cultures she encountered. She even made camera specs sound interesting, which only goes to show that her passion for her career (photojournalism) is infectious. However, I found her annoying, especially when she'd prattle on about the men in her life and the way they made her "feel" as a woman (ugh!). I just wasn't interested, and while I kept expecting (hoping, even) to see a bildungsroman-type self-awareness develop in her voice by memoir's end, it just never happened.

At the end of the book (and I'm not giving anything away here) Kogan includes a two-part Afterword, part one written prior to 9/11 and part two written just after, meant to highlight the "quaint but misguided relic of an ancient, more innocent era" (i.e., the pre-9/11 American mindset). What I find most disturbing is just how "quaint" and "ancient" that one brief moment in American history immediately following the WTC attacks seems today -- that moment when Americans felt (and were perceived as) victimized and received the world's sympathy.

Taken in today's 2005 context, that era too seems like a "misguided relic."

Overall, this book was okay. I wasn't blown away, but it had its moments.

When The Levee Breaks: The Making of Led Zeppelin IV, by Andy Fyfe

When Led Zeppelin disbanded in 1980 due to drummer John Bonham's death, I was but a mere freshman in high school. Nevertheless, my close friends and I continued to worship this band for the duration of our high school years, and to this day it is difficult for me to remember anything between 1980 and 1984 without its having a Led Zeppelin soundtrack.

Reading this book was fun for me because it was like an opportunity to visit with an old friend, in this case Zep's fourth album (officially untitled, but known by several names). Back in high school I did all the requisite fetishisms a true Zeppelin fan was supposed to do with this album: drawn the four runes on your notebook, speculate on the cover and sleeve artwork, and (most importantly) play "Stairway to Heaven" backwards on your turntable to try to pick out the alleged references to Satan (which, now in retrospect, was a pretty silly and pointless activity, though at the time it certainly added to the Zeppelin mystique).

Fyfe's book provides an enjoyable look at all aspects of the making of this album, from recording to cover art to track sequencing to promotion. Additionally, he offers a healthy dose of background information on the formation and development of the band, as well as its volitile relationship with the media and its overall influence on the music industry. While much of the band background and interview material was old stuff for me (a longtime Zeppelin afficionado, quite honestly), the book will appeal to those of you who enjoy Zeppelin's music and would like to learn more about the band itself. Either way, Fife's book is a quick, enjoyable read.

This book is one of several in the "Vinyl Frontier" series, published by the Chicago Review Press.

Rendezvous with Rama, by Arthur C. Clarke

Just finished reading this one.

I'm a sucker for a good ol' science fiction story, and "good" science fiction must begin with a solid "what if?" premise (e.g., "What if a human infant were raised by Martians and then brought back to Earth?" asks Robert A. Heinlein in Stranger in a Strange Land; "What if androids became so humanlike that it was virtually impossible to tell them from humans?" asks Philip K. Dick in Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?). Arthur C. Clarke, best known for his collaboration with director Stanley Kubrick in writing 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968), delivers the goods in this novel that essentially asks, "What if an unknown celestial object of several trillion tons entered our solar system at remarkable speed? What would be the ramifications?"

The story traces the exploration of the aforementioned object, dubbed "Rama" by the folks at Project SPACEGUARD. A perfect cylinder of vast proportions, Rama hurls toward our Sun. The crew of the spaceship Endeavor, headed by Commander Norton, must attempt to explore the inside of it before it reaches and circles the Sun . . . or is it actually planning to attack our solar system? No one really knows, and part of the fun of this novel is the way Clarke toys with the reader's expectations of exactly what Rama is and what its purpose in our part of galaxy is supposed to be!

While this novel doesn't offer too much in the way of commentary on modern society (or at least it isn't as heavy-handed as some science fiction can be), it fulfills another requirement for "good" science fiction: it uses modern scientific theories as a starting point, then pushes those theories to their potential cognitive limits. For example, what might happen to atmospheric conditions within a vast enclosure like Rama if its temperature began to rapidly increase while it also began spinning at a particular rate? Such questions pertaining to areas like astronomy, physics, meteorology, chemistry, etc. are also part of what makes this novel a fun read!

Enjoy!

The Secret History, by Donna Tartt

This was one of the best books I've read in a long time. I had heard its title mentioned several times from different people, yet knew nothing about it other than it was one of their favorites. When you read this book, you can see why!

The novel is narrated by Richard Papen, a young man who goes to a New England college and decides to study Greek and Classical Studies with a somewhat mysterious professor (he only teaches Greek, he only teaches a handful of students in his office, and he refuses a salary, among other eccentricities) and his five students (none of whom are permitted by the professor to take classes other than his). Richard eventually becomes part of this elite group and, one night, the students take part in a Dionyssia in the middle of the woods -- an event that becomes catastrophic for each of them. The story then traces the students as they cope with the consequences of their late-night revelry: murder, guilt, obsession, and the rapid unraveling of their lives on campus, all leading to an explosive conclusion!

This is a page-turner that I would especially recommend to literature/humanities geeks or anyone who is college-bound. It's filled with university slices-of-life, and the characters sprinkle their dialogue with allusions to tragedy, philosophy, linguistics, etc. just enough to make the reader feel smart. The Secret History is one of those books I will find myself re-reading every few years because I'll want to revisit these characters again, and again.

Coriolanus, by William Shakespeare

Having the good fortune of being in two reading groups affords me a chance to read for pleasure and see some friends, time for which is considerably scarce of late. One of these reading groups is with a handful of Argo alums, and we try to gather once a year, usually around the winter break, to read and discuss one "obscure" Shakespeare play. In the past we read King John and Cymbelline (although last year we broke from the Shakespeare tradition and read the entire Divina Commedia). This time around, we chose The Tragedy of Coriolanus.

I enjoyed this play and find it somewhat disappointing that it isn't as "popular" as many of Shakespeare's other tragedies. While it lacks the cosmic depth of Lear and Hamlet, or even the range of emotion found in Macbeth and Othello, Coriolanus seems to me a perfect companion piece to any study of Julius Caesar, with its ancient Roman storyline and its obvious political commentary. The citizenry of Rome is explored more in depth in this play, yet both plays examine the give-and-take between the rulers and the ruled in interesting ways. Before we meet as a group, I'd like to go back and re-read a few passages more closely to figure out what Shakespeare might be "saying" about politics, the ruling class vs. commoners, human behavior (often described in cannibalistic or animalistic images), etc.

Typically with me, whenever I read a Shakespeare play for the first time I tend to notice his use of imagery most of all (thanks, Prof. Boyer! : ) ). It seems like everything Will wrote makes use of images relating to disease/infection, blood, body parts, animals, and food/eating. However, there's a cool butterfly reference that flutters through various parts of the play, culminating in Act V, sc. iv, lines 11-14, which corresponds to the changing nature of the title character. Also, I picked up on a TON of repetitions, and I wonder how that particular stylistic device relates to Coriolanus and the play as a whole. Again, I need to go back and consider some of these before the group meets.

Coriolanus is definitely one of the better Shakespeare plays I've read!