- Rain that tappity taps.
- A new skein of bright yellow cotton bamboo yarn on its way to becoming a summer scarf.
- An ornate Jane Austen book.
- A cup of joe.
- The Saturday Show on WNYC.
- A week old (almost) New York Times Magazine.
- And a mind made up to enjoy a rainy Saturday morning reading and knitting instead of fretting.
23 June 2009
A Sluggish Saturday...
The Ingredients:
12 June 2009
A To-Read List
Sheenae surprised me yesterday with an Alice Munro book Runaway. Despite what I said about the practice of lending and borrowing books, I really appreciated her lugging around the hardcover book all day long so she can lend it to me. I have heard lots about but never read her. And I started thinking about some of the people I want to read but haven't:
After Alice Munro though, who shall I read next? The prospect of discovery excites me.
- Tolstoy, Dostoevsky, and Chekov (The Russians)
- Italo Calvino
- John Cheever
- Herman Melville (Moby Dick)
- Proust
- Flannery O'Connor
- Gertrude Stein
- Joyce Carol Oates
After Alice Munro though, who shall I read next? The prospect of discovery excites me.
11 June 2009
The Complete Works of...
One thing I can't figure out: why do people buy The Complete Works of Someone Prominent? The thickness and the subsequent heaviness necessary to contain a person's entire published works in one volume makes the book more suitable for hurling at a roommate/spouse/significant other/robber than reading. Besides, buying books isn't always about the reading, so really, why do people buy those monsters?
Consider also: there is a steep activation energy curve for those books--you have to pick one up (oh the ATPs required!) and carry it over to the cash register. Then you have to fork over money for the thing and lug it home. So many onerous steps in which to simply give up. So it must take some singleminded determination to carry the mission through and become the owner of all thoughts published by someone.
Some guesses: People want to reference their revered writer. I see this a lot with people who own the Complete Works of Shakespeare. But there must be other reasons... you wouldn't go around referencing Plato, would you? So is it maybe a form of homage to a favorite writer? Or is it a form of therapy: you feel a pride of ownership and therefore feel good/intellectual? Or, is it to alleviate a different form of insecurity--the insecurity that stems from possibly not being able to open up a book and point to a quote when you want/need it? Is that similar to why people used to buy a set of encyclopedia? Did they feel relieved knowing they owned knowledge itself (until the next edition came out)? Did anybody actually read the encyclopedia the whole way through? If you don't read it, do you really own the information? Ah, but now I am getting into a list of things to ask Google. So going back to the complete works...
Maybe the book is really pretty on the bookshelf. The complete works do tend to look like real books: hard cover, maybe leather bound, substantial and serious looking. Or or or.... maybe the book is bought to actually be read?
Ah for me it was both the extreme prettiness of and the desire to read the works of Jane Austen that prompted me to buy the Barnes and Noble produced book of seven Jane Austen novels. I am usually not a huge fan of Barnes and Noble classics. Though they are well-priced, the paper doesn't smell so nice and, in general, the binding is cheap. But the Jane Austen book was pretty. It smelled nice. And more importantly, I saw it when I was just starting to get obsessed with Austen. Yea, I know girls in their late teens fall in love with her novels. But having totally misunderstood Pride and Prejudice in the seventh grade, I vowed never to subject myself to books so boring and insulting to women. I even argued with my 11th grade English teacher when she said Austen was a feminist. Not my most proud academic moment, but eventually I saw how clever she is when I read Northanger Abbey a few months ago. And now I am hooked on the world of parties and marriages.
So here I am trying to read all of Jane Austen in one book. I even went far as saying June is my personal Jane Austen month. Reading thin, almost translucent, paper with font 10 writing while breathing in the allergy inducing gold dust is a whole new experience than reading a paperback.
Ah, but I still don't really get why people buy the complete works of someone. Full disclosure: I do own a couple of other complete works of... Emily Dickinson (a great bargain) and Plato (college class). But can we really own the complete works of someone? What about the unpublished writings? Or the thoughts that were disrupted before being put on paper? Or the thoughts that went unrecognized? Even The Bible, with its various versions that leave out different texts, isn't the complete works of God.
Consider also: there is a steep activation energy curve for those books--you have to pick one up (oh the ATPs required!) and carry it over to the cash register. Then you have to fork over money for the thing and lug it home. So many onerous steps in which to simply give up. So it must take some singleminded determination to carry the mission through and become the owner of all thoughts published by someone.
Some guesses: People want to reference their revered writer. I see this a lot with people who own the Complete Works of Shakespeare. But there must be other reasons... you wouldn't go around referencing Plato, would you? So is it maybe a form of homage to a favorite writer? Or is it a form of therapy: you feel a pride of ownership and therefore feel good/intellectual? Or, is it to alleviate a different form of insecurity--the insecurity that stems from possibly not being able to open up a book and point to a quote when you want/need it? Is that similar to why people used to buy a set of encyclopedia? Did they feel relieved knowing they owned knowledge itself (until the next edition came out)? Did anybody actually read the encyclopedia the whole way through? If you don't read it, do you really own the information? Ah, but now I am getting into a list of things to ask Google. So going back to the complete works...
Maybe the book is really pretty on the bookshelf. The complete works do tend to look like real books: hard cover, maybe leather bound, substantial and serious looking. Or or or.... maybe the book is bought to actually be read?
Ah for me it was both the extreme prettiness of and the desire to read the works of Jane Austen that prompted me to buy the Barnes and Noble produced book of seven Jane Austen novels. I am usually not a huge fan of Barnes and Noble classics. Though they are well-priced, the paper doesn't smell so nice and, in general, the binding is cheap. But the Jane Austen book was pretty. It smelled nice. And more importantly, I saw it when I was just starting to get obsessed with Austen. Yea, I know girls in their late teens fall in love with her novels. But having totally misunderstood Pride and Prejudice in the seventh grade, I vowed never to subject myself to books so boring and insulting to women. I even argued with my 11th grade English teacher when she said Austen was a feminist. Not my most proud academic moment, but eventually I saw how clever she is when I read Northanger Abbey a few months ago. And now I am hooked on the world of parties and marriages.
So here I am trying to read all of Jane Austen in one book. I even went far as saying June is my personal Jane Austen month. Reading thin, almost translucent, paper with font 10 writing while breathing in the allergy inducing gold dust is a whole new experience than reading a paperback.
Ah, but I still don't really get why people buy the complete works of someone. Full disclosure: I do own a couple of other complete works of... Emily Dickinson (a great bargain) and Plato (college class). But can we really own the complete works of someone? What about the unpublished writings? Or the thoughts that were disrupted before being put on paper? Or the thoughts that went unrecognized? Even The Bible, with its various versions that leave out different texts, isn't the complete works of God.
04 June 2009
borrowed books; lent books
The access to books I don't own (the public and friends' libraries) is a huge boon on a promiscuous reader. While I love to buy books for the euphoria of being a book-owner, it can also be too much of a commitment for someone like me who finds it a crime to throw out a book, even a bad one. My vanity (don't want the number of books I own to go down), of course, outweighs my moral indignation (can't throw away someone's thoughts).
When you buy a book, you are in a sense committing to read that volume. If it sits on a bookshelf for too long (more than a year?), you feel guilty. The ambient questioning with a tinge of recriminations begin: "Why did I buy that book if I wasn't going to read it? Why am I so lazy? Why haven't I read that book yet? God, I don't read enough." My favorite is the perennial leftover thought from college: "Why are you so behind with your reading?" To avoid the self-directed psychological torture, you have to buy the books you know you will like. I even have a couple of friends who, for this very reason, only buy books they have already read (and liked).
You can be more loose when picking a book at the library. You can try a new author (some famous award winning author you haven't yet read), or a book you aren't sure you'll love (fiction you see in bookstores and best-selling lists). You can also read a book you kinda sorta wanna read but don't wanna buy (non-fiction books that you want to read but is still in hardcover). Finally, library is a great place for guilty pleasure reading (chick lit, for example). You have the option of stopping 50 pages in if the book is so very bleh. And ultimately you will purge yourself of the so-so books and the guilty pleasure reading books you didn't wanna own when you return the book. Though the purging feeling is great, having to make the trip is very annoying. Hence, one of the factors that go into borrowing a book from the library has to be portability. That explains why I have not finished the Harry Potter series (yes, I know the movie is coming out and hence the time is running out). The real danger with borrowing from the library, of course, is that you will find a book that you truly love, a real gem, and it'll hurt to part with the book. For example, Gilead. So despite the recession and all, I don't frequent the library that much.
Borrowing from friends' libraries is a bit different. More specifically, with friends, we are willing to take even greater risks than with the library books. We venture, not only into a new author's books, but a whole genre. Irrationally, we even delude ourselves into borrowing books we are pretty sure we won't really like that much, or a really long book that will take us more than this lifetime to read. Maybe she always talks about this book, maybe she has a book you've been hearing a lot about, or maybe she flaunts a book you know you should read but don't really really want to. Before you know it, you've asked to borrow it.
Then a whole new beast: the books they force on you. They bring the book over and say, "hey, borrow this book." Even worse, "you SHOULD read this book. I KNOW you'll love it." You protest politely saying, well, you just don't have enough time and you don't want to hold the book hostage. But alas, they even say you can take a while to read it. Okay, full disclosure: I have been guilty of springing books on people as well, most recently on Alice. But what can we do when, as Agatha Christie notes in "A Murder is Announced":
Not to say I am not grateful for friends' libraries. Really. I have read some really great books at the insistence of earnest friends. And there's something really intimate about sharing books.
But the problem is with friends' books is similar to library books: they must be returned. And here we must carefully weigh the potential schism in friendship over the potential boost in friendship from sharing. Let's face it: we tend not to return books. And nothing breeds resentment like not returning a book. That's a crime forever remembered. I myself had an internal list of books that never made their way back to me. And now I have an external list where I keep track of books lent. Never mind that I have books on my bookshelf that aren't mine. Perhaps it's not resentment. It's more like a thread of hope... that if you keep remembering the book and send it good thoughts, it'll find its way back to you.
Despite all the hassle and the risks, we continue to lend. We INSIST on lending. Confession: I want people to borrow my books. I don't want my books to get lonely and neglected. And I don't subscribe to the philosophy of keeping books in pristine conditions. I want to "break in" my books because the books that look "used" are unique. And really, I do think sharing books is a great sign of friendship. Hence I welcome people to borrow my books, write in them, and read them. Just (try to) remember to return them.
When you buy a book, you are in a sense committing to read that volume. If it sits on a bookshelf for too long (more than a year?), you feel guilty. The ambient questioning with a tinge of recriminations begin: "Why did I buy that book if I wasn't going to read it? Why am I so lazy? Why haven't I read that book yet? God, I don't read enough." My favorite is the perennial leftover thought from college: "Why are you so behind with your reading?" To avoid the self-directed psychological torture, you have to buy the books you know you will like. I even have a couple of friends who, for this very reason, only buy books they have already read (and liked).
You can be more loose when picking a book at the library. You can try a new author (some famous award winning author you haven't yet read), or a book you aren't sure you'll love (fiction you see in bookstores and best-selling lists). You can also read a book you kinda sorta wanna read but don't wanna buy (non-fiction books that you want to read but is still in hardcover). Finally, library is a great place for guilty pleasure reading (chick lit, for example). You have the option of stopping 50 pages in if the book is so very bleh. And ultimately you will purge yourself of the so-so books and the guilty pleasure reading books you didn't wanna own when you return the book. Though the purging feeling is great, having to make the trip is very annoying. Hence, one of the factors that go into borrowing a book from the library has to be portability. That explains why I have not finished the Harry Potter series (yes, I know the movie is coming out and hence the time is running out). The real danger with borrowing from the library, of course, is that you will find a book that you truly love, a real gem, and it'll hurt to part with the book. For example, Gilead. So despite the recession and all, I don't frequent the library that much.
Borrowing from friends' libraries is a bit different. More specifically, with friends, we are willing to take even greater risks than with the library books. We venture, not only into a new author's books, but a whole genre. Irrationally, we even delude ourselves into borrowing books we are pretty sure we won't really like that much, or a really long book that will take us more than this lifetime to read. Maybe she always talks about this book, maybe she has a book you've been hearing a lot about, or maybe she flaunts a book you know you should read but don't really really want to. Before you know it, you've asked to borrow it.
Then a whole new beast: the books they force on you. They bring the book over and say, "hey, borrow this book." Even worse, "you SHOULD read this book. I KNOW you'll love it." You protest politely saying, well, you just don't have enough time and you don't want to hold the book hostage. But alas, they even say you can take a while to read it. Okay, full disclosure: I have been guilty of springing books on people as well, most recently on Alice. But what can we do when, as Agatha Christie notes in "A Murder is Announced":
If anyone is determined to lend you a book, you never can get out of it.
Not to say I am not grateful for friends' libraries. Really. I have read some really great books at the insistence of earnest friends. And there's something really intimate about sharing books.
But the problem is with friends' books is similar to library books: they must be returned. And here we must carefully weigh the potential schism in friendship over the potential boost in friendship from sharing. Let's face it: we tend not to return books. And nothing breeds resentment like not returning a book. That's a crime forever remembered. I myself had an internal list of books that never made their way back to me. And now I have an external list where I keep track of books lent. Never mind that I have books on my bookshelf that aren't mine. Perhaps it's not resentment. It's more like a thread of hope... that if you keep remembering the book and send it good thoughts, it'll find its way back to you.
Despite all the hassle and the risks, we continue to lend. We INSIST on lending. Confession: I want people to borrow my books. I don't want my books to get lonely and neglected. And I don't subscribe to the philosophy of keeping books in pristine conditions. I want to "break in" my books because the books that look "used" are unique. And really, I do think sharing books is a great sign of friendship. Hence I welcome people to borrow my books, write in them, and read them. Just (try to) remember to return them.
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