To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf

I really enjoy taking reading recommendations from people. If you ask a friend to suggest a book for you to read, and they actually give it some thought, chances are the book will tell you something about your friend. To the Lighthouse is another in a long list of books that have been recommended to me in the last couple of months.

Let me start by saying this was not a particularly easy book to read. Many times I would decide to put the book down and go to bed, then realize that I had only read eight or nine pages. I think the best word to describe it is dense. Much of this stems from Woolf writing style. It is very stream-of-consciousness. She moves abruptly from one character to the next--often without warning--leaving it up to the reader to determine who she is writing about.

The book is split up into three parts. The first, and the longest, takes place at the summer beach house of an aristocratic British family. Throughout this section, Woolf supplies her readers with glimpses into the minds of her characters, of which there are many. Mr. Ramsay is a professor of philosophy, and brought some of his brighter student with him to the beach house. There is Lily Briscoe, and a young painter who is enraptured with the Ramsay family. Mr. and Mrs. Ramsay also have a number of children.

The second part of the book is cold, almost sterile. Woolf describes the now empty, nearly abandoned house, without sneaking a peak into the mind of anyone, save the maid. A few years have passed since the first section (I am not referring to the rate at which I was reading.) and many changes have come. That is all I will say.

For the final section we are back in the minds of the primary characters. Much of the time, we see the world from the perspective of Lily Briscoe. She doesn't seem to realize that the reason she is never satisfied with what she paints while at the house is because she is trying to capture the essence of the Ramsay family.

The book is really much better than this review makes it sound. Simply describing what takes place does the book injustice, since the plot is really minimal to the work. What made To the Lighthouse so enjoyable was Virginia Woolf's writing and insight into the human psyche. As a friend, I recommend that you read this.

The Hobbit by J. R. R. Tolkien

I'll make this short. I don't have a lot to say about this book, and I am a little behind...both in posting reviews and reading books.

I really thought I would enjoy this book more. I didn't really dislike it, more that I was simply disappointed. Part of the problem was that it is truly children's literature. I was expecting something a little less juvenile. The book really dragged for the first 100 pages. I nearly stopped reading it, but I usually finish a book if I start it. It got much better. The issue was that I didn't find Tolkien's prose all that good, so the slower parts of The Hobbit were just boring.

I am hoping that the LOTR books are better. People have told me that The Hobbit is much more of a kid's book than the LOTR books. I still plan on reading them, but my expectations have been lowered.

Check out Christopher's review of The Hobbit.

1984 by George Orwell

You probably already know the premise of 1984, easily George Orwell’s most famous book. A friend told me that it was disappointing, so I hesitated in reading it, but am glad to report that I disagree with that friend, and am thus considering revoking their status as such.

In a nutshell: Oceania, formerly the British Isles and the Americas, is an absurdly controlled and oppressed country where even thinking the wrong thing is punishable by torture and death. Its citizens are constantly monitored down to the minutest detail, to the point that even an involuntary twitch of the eyelids, or momentary betrayal of a disapproving expression, can result in arrest, forced labor, and, again, torture and death. Winston Smith, the book’s protagonist, works for the paradoxically named Ministry of Truth, and his job is to constantly correct certain ‘misprints’ in government issued documents, so that the government always manages to exceed their production estimates, or predict the outcome of the next war, or so that a disappeared person has never existed in any recorded form.

Always the eyes watching you and the voice enveloping you. Asleep or awake, working or eating, indoors or out of doors, in the bath or in bed -- no escape. Nothing was your own except the few cubic centimetres inside your skull.

I was most impressed by the palpable sense of real fear that the book generates. The whole plot seems to balance on the edge of a knife; Winston, a dissenter, can’t help but express his opposition to the government, but does so at extreme risk. 1984 is frighteningly believable, almost a thought experiment on human nature and power. It’s surprisingly and depressingly pessimistic about our capacity to resist oppression, always choosing self-preservation over liberty, or justice for one’s fellows. Occasionally, it was eerily reminiscent of the little that I know about the situation in North Korea. Obviously, the year 1984 has come and gone without the world dividing itself into three totalitarian countries, but that doesn’t make the book any less powerful. There will always be those people hungry enough for power that they’d kill not only their enemies but their countrymen by the thousands to get it. Unfortunately, I can’t say anything about how it ends without giving it away. It’s a powerful, poignant book, and I’d recommend reading it.

You can access the full text online, for free, here.

The Railroad and the City by Carl W. Condit

Apparently there isn't a single picture of this book on the internet. It makes sense. It is relatively dry, technical reading about Cincinnati railroads. The only reason that I read this book was so that I could write a final paper for my History of Cincinnati class.

Condit charts the rise of railroads in southwest Ohio, ending with the construction of Union Terminal -- the largest semicircular, half-dome structure in the world. I found it interesting that Union Terminal was the first time that Cincinnati constructed a train station as part of an overall city plan, namely the 1925 Master Plan. Prior to this, stations had simply been built by the railroad companies wherever it made economic sense to do so.

Trained as an engineer and a historian, Condit is able to provide the reader with some nice descriptions of the numerous railroad stations that were scattered across the city of Cincinnati before to the unification of the city's rail lines. I enjoyed the old pictures, but I would guess that the average person would find them somewhat boring.

As far as academic books go, this wasn't all that bad. However, I would have to be drunk to recommend it to anyone.

Pale Fire by Vladmir Nabokov

It is entirely possible that I am not literate enough to fully appreciate Nabokov's Pale Fire. After all the entire book is writen in the format of a commentary on a 999-line poem called, appropriately, Pale Fire. It's split into three sections, with the first 60 pages containing the complete text of the poem, the middle 200 or so containing commentary on various obscure lines, and the final section comprising a bibliography. Of course, there are some twists. First, the entire thing is fiction. The poem, the commentary, the bibliography, all just framing devices to tell the story of Zembla, the home country of commentator (and friend of the poet John Shade, author of Pale Fire, the poem) Dennis Kinbote. Confused? Titillated? Having a hard time believing a book like this could actually be interesting and understandable to someone who knows nothing about literary criticism?

Well, Pale Fire was not the easiest book I've ever read, but it wasn't as difficult and pedantic as its summary would make it sound. The poem Pale Fire, which opens the book, is actually quite good as a standalone poem, and, afer reading it, it's difficult not to be a bit curious what the commentary will reveal about it. However, anyone actually seeking insight on the poetry will be disappointed, since most of Kinbote's commentary takes the form of taking a line from the poem, making a tenuous connection to John Shade's life, and then using the line (or, sometimes, even an isolated word) to tell the story he wants to tell. Namely, the story of Charles Xavier, Zemblan king, and his life, rule, and eventual exile from the fictional country of Zembla.

The most interesting aspect of he book is that it never really entirely answers many of the questions it raises. From reading Kinbote's commentary, it's possible to pick up clues and put together a rough draft of what may have happened, but, in conjunction with that, Kinbote's own confessions of the reactions of others to his friendship with Shade (particularly Shade's wife) are revealing: virtually everyone thinks he's crazy, and it's difficult to tell if even his romanticized friendship with Shade himself is being told in the truest possible light. The entire novel is like a puzzle box, with each bit of commentary shifting other bits side-to-side until a vague pattern begins emerging.

Lest I make it sound like a plotless bore, Pale Fire is quite funny at points, both because of Kinbote's eccentric narration and because of the book's satire of literary criticism in general. The final third of the book is quite plot heavy, such as it could be in its format, and is really pretty exciting. Still, the book works best if you enjoy reading books as intellectual exercises in addition to just pure entertainment. I'm going to read it again someday. Maybe after I've read 30 more books, I'll be smart enough to understand it all.

Those Who Blink by William Mills

I read this book at random--literally. In the library, Alyson closed her eyes and picked this book out. Admittedly, we did this a couple of times until we found something that wasn't poetry or short stories, but hey, it's still pretty random.

My hopes that this book might be an undiscovered classic were dashed, however, when I discovered that it in fact sucks. It tells the story of Farley Stokes, a young Korean War vet working at a chemical factory that befriends a shady but charismatic union worker who helps him realize his dream of becoming a cattle rancher. What ensues is page after page of hot cattle ranching action.

The book is written into two sections--"Hot," which describes Farley's newfound fortunes, his budding friendship with the union man Bo Simmons, and his blossoming relationship with a local nurse, and "Cold," which describes his impending mortgage payments (you can mortgage cows--did you know? You can mortgage all kinds of shit), his disillusionment with Simmons, and his failing relationship (she sleeps with Simmons). It's a pretty unnecessary and obvious conceit, but hey, A for effort. What gets a big fat F is Mills' efforts to make any of this business interesting in the least. Stokes is a nothing of a character and Simmons is a broadly written Burt Reynolds type who never quite seems able to justify the big puppy eyes that Farley gives him. The conflict is not all that conflicting and the romance is as well-crafted as your standard romantic movie, which is to say not at all. No one in this book has anything approaching a personality and they never do anything approaching plot.

To its credit, Those Who Blink is easy to read because it's written in very basic and utilitarian prose (you can't be too flowery when describing cattle ranching--it's just not possible). The sections in which Mills tries to be poetic--like when, say, Farley and his lady love first do it--are mind-bogglingly bad. Here is a description of what Farley calls the "inevitable approach shot that would land me in her green":

Suddenly her hand went out to my legs and she began to move it back and forth and finally moved inside my pants.

We undressed each other, and with her strong hands she went over my body, exploring. As we lay down on the rug, she kneaded the muscles in my neck and back, sitting on me.

She turned me over and as she leaned forward, her hair and breasts touched my chest and right then I saw the strangest wildness there, like she was letting go of some control she had. But I was beyond thinking anymore, and as we rode our horse to glory, no bad men were going to catch our gang. I slipped out of town into the darkest night.

Five points to whoever can pick up a girl using the line, "Do you want to ride a horse to glory?" How about, "Hey, let's slip out of town into the darkest night, baby."

A Short History of Nearly Everything by Bill Bryson

It's true, I haven't posted anything in over a month now. But, not to worry dear friends, for I have returned, and with a vengeance. Best watch your back, Chris. There's a new sheriff in town.

As it turns out, Bill Bryson writes more than just great travelogues. A Short History of Nearly Everything is a sort of science primer, giving a brief but thorough introduction to almost every field of popular science. He says that he set out to make scientific knowledge accessible to those people (most of us) who were stuck with completely dull, unreadable textbooks in high school and college. He certainly does a great job putting huge, unapproachable concepts and figures in perfectly understandalbe perspective.

It is a slightly arresting notion that if you were to pick yourself apart with tweezers, one atom at a time, you would produce a mound of fine atomic dust, none of which had ever been alive but all of which had once been you.

Each section gives a history of a certain branch of the scientific world, as well as a brief summary and explanation of its basic tenets. The book moves as chronologically as is possible, while still maintaining clear divisions for the many different “–ologies.” He starts with the Big Bang, age of the Universe, our place in it, and finishes with the evolution of man and a chapter on massive extinctions that are taking place today. In between the book is packed with an unbelievable amount of information – completely readable information – on geology, paleontology, earth science, climatology, evolution, physics, particle physics, of all things, biology, zoology… I could go on. What struck me most was the unseen politics of the scientific world. There have been some serious words exchanged over whether a type of rock belongs to one geological era or the next and personal attacks of character made over fossil classification. Also, Sir Isaac Newton was apparently a complete nutcase. He’s reported to have stuck a nine inch hatpin in between his eye and the socket, pushing it as far back as it would go until it met resistance, just to see what might happen.

Bryson spent years traveling the globe to meet with the authorities (major and minor) in each of these fields, trying to get as much of a handle on each of their areas of expertise as he could before writing this book. What results is a book that has a bibliography with well over 250 entries, not to mention the informal interviews, which is completely and absolutely accessible by someone with no background in scientific education whatsoever. And all this without losing his unique tone and style; it’s still funny, which is quite a feat when your subject matter includes such topics as mitochondrial DNA genetics, carbon and radioactive dating techniques, and tectonic plate theory. One thing to keep in mind, however, is that the book is very dense. It took me weeks to get through it just because there is so much information to absorb – I underlined practically the entire text. But it’s definitely worth the effort. I can’t count how many times I set the book in my lap just to look up and say “wow,” to absolutely no one, or annoyed the hell out of my girlfriend by tapping her on the shoulder and recounting some scientific tidbit that I found fascinating, mostly when she was trying to sleep.

As an environmental studies student who's fascinated by evolution, this is one of my new favorites. I plan to keep it close at hand as a reference from now on. If you don’t care much for any branch of the sciences, this book is probably not for you. If you’d like to get a better understanding of the broad range of scientific information out there, then, by all means, read it.

Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

The third installment of the series finds Harry Potter in great danger. Sirius Black has escaped from Azkaban -- the wizard prison that no one has ever escaped from -- and is coming after Harry. Although everyone is very worried about Harry's safety, he's more worried about being confined to the castle and winning the Quidditch Cup; that is, until he learns the truth about why Black went to prison in the first place. To make matters worse, every time Harry crosses a dementor -- the terrible soul-sucking creatures placed around the castle for the school's protection -- he relives his worst memory: his mother screaming as Voldemort murders her.

The taunt about his father rang in Harry's ears as though Black had bellowed it. A boiling hate erupted in Harry's chest, leaving no place for fear. For the first time in his life, he wanted his wand back in his hand, not to defend himself, but to attack--to kill.

Another great Harry Potter adventure... I am enjoying this way too much. This is the first book that the film was a significant departure from. When new director Alfonso Cuaron stepped in, he had never read a Harry Potter book before. For the most part, this one isn't a huge difference. There were just a couple things about the film that bothered me -- namely that in the beginning, Harry is practicing spells in his bedroom. Anyone who read any of the books would realize this is ridiculous -- underage wizards aren't allowed to practice magic during summer holidays, and every time Harry accidentally has, he's been terrified of (and been threatened with) being expelled. He would never practice just for fun.

But anyway, about the book. Once again, I love how Rowling jumps right into Big Issues, even though it's "just a kids' book." The trio learns the typical lesson about Friendship (friends are more important than silly fights), but also Big Lessons about Revenge and Betrayal. That's cool to me.

As much as I love Professor Dumbledore, his character annoys me sometimes. He's supposed to be so smart and all-knowing, and yet he still never seems to be able to help Harry with his troubles until afterwards, when he comes in for the feel-good one-liners. He always contributes the Moral of the Story in the final chapter. And then he's always speaking in riddles. When two lives are on the line and he gives Harry and Hermione instructions for saving them, he doesn't just outright tell them, leaving the kids to figure it out when they're already tight on time. Though I guess with more interference from him, there wouldn't be much of a story.

The Sheltering Sky by Paul Bowles

The sky turned to black
Would he ever come back?
They would climb a high dune
They would pray to the moon
But he'd never return
So the sisters would burn
As their eyes searched the land
With their cups full of sand

Tea in the Sahara with you
Tea in the Sahara with you

--"Tea in the Sahara," The Police


The Sheltering Sky is a novel about strange deserts both real and psychological. In it, a trio of well-to-do but well-traveled Americans, Kit and Port Moresby and their friend George Tunner, take an extended trip to North Africa, which proves to be stranger and more dangerous than they had anticipated. The book is split into three parts: First, a sort of dismal travelogue that follows Port and Kit's failing marriage and Tunner's unwelcome advances on Kit as the three Americans explore the towns of what is probably northern Morocco. The second deals with the married couple, who, tired of Tunner, have sent him on ahead of them, and Port's sudden illness as they travel further south and deeper into the desert.

All this is well and good, and at times can be very beautiful--the authors of the Times 100 Books List point out that this book proves you can write affectively about the desert without being cloyingly poetic--but can also be very tedious. Bowles never sufficiently explains for my taste why the Moresbys decide to spend weeks in North Africa, for example. The dialogue never approaches real, and Bowles has an annoying habit of telling rather than showing, delving into long descriptions of the nuanced relationships between the three figures without real anecdotal evidence. Some of the psychological stuff is fascinating, but it's overused.

It's the third and final section that really stands out, though--and here I shall inject a major SPOILER WARNING--when Port dies ignominiously in a French military camp. Kit, horrified and heartbroken, walks off into the desert until she is discovered by a native named Belqassim who dresses her as a man and takes her as his secret consort, which continues for weeks. Because Belqassim and Kit do not share a common language, this third part is told for the most part without dialogue, and allows the characters to seem more real. The depiction of Kit in the desert, mad and mute, is both terrifying and beautiful, and stands in stark contrast to the well-mannered and somewhat prissy American of the first two sections. In many ways, Kit reminds me of the character of Almasy in The English Patient, who goes to the desert in order to lose himself but finds he cannot. This concept is echoed in the comments of a nurse who ultimately helps Kit return to civilization, referring to Kit's lost luggage: "It's funny... The desert's a big place, but nothing really ever gets lost there." I recommend this book, if only for the final section, and because it will give you a new perspective on that Police song.

Flatlands by Edwin Abbott

So, Liz recommended this book to me after I shared with her my plan to write a fantasy novel based on mathematical concepts. Evidently, I'm not the first person to have this idea (surprise).

Edwin Abbott wrote Flatlands before Einstein formulated his theory of relativity, so the concepts of alternate universes and dimensions beyond the third existed only in very abstract theory. Considering that, it's a fairly impressive book on a purely theoretical level.

The plot of the book, such as it is, mostly takes the form of a travelogue (so listen up, Nathan) of a two-dimensional world. The protagonist, A. Square, gives us a tour of a land where women (who are just lines) are required to sway side to side when they walk, and where judging people by sight is considered a greater virtue than getting to know (or “feeling”) them. Most importantly, it's a world that can't even conceive of a third dimension, and even the suggestion of such is a cause for death.

In the final section of the book, A. Square's world is turned upside down when he is visited by Sphere, a creature from the third dimension who also introduces Square to Pointland, the land of one dimension. The book is a pretty clever satire, and it fits a lot of content into its scant 100 pages. It would probably take less time to read than this review, and would be more rewarding.