It is pretty clear, looking at the list of books I read this month, that I lacked intentionality here. 3 of the 4 books I read were clearly more “October books,” perfectly suited for Halloween and darkening days and creeping chills. Perhaps it is a byproduct of sticking almost entirely to books which have been recommended to me by others. So much of this has been a shot in the dark, an attempt at reading boldly and diversely, that I haven’t put much thought into when I should read each book on the list; I have preferred, instead, to read books as I am able to find them, and try to find interconnections of theme and tone about which to write after the fact. Maybe I am really bad at this. Maybe I went about this all wrong. Maybe it is not the way “the pros” would have done it. Ah, well. I have read them now, and I can’t very well undo what has been done.
Here are the books I read in September, in order, and the words therein that stayed with me:
#35
“Success, after all, loves a witness, but failure can’t exist without one.” – The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot Diaz
The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao is a literary intersection. It exists where contemporary realism meets Latin American fiction, with an added blend of nerd culture and innuendo, all topped with biting comedy and crushing tragedy. It is as diverse a novel as the cultures it pays tribute to (and simultaneously lampoons). I laughed through some chapters and read others through a misty film of sorrow, but every page was a treat to read. The novels centers around the concept of fuku, a curse perceived to follow unfortunate Dominicans throughout their lives. The “curse” weighs on every aspect of the titular Oscar’s life, sometimes light, others impossibly heavy. Of all the quotable moments in this novel of misfortunes and failures, though, none rings more true to me than Diaz’s reflection on the true nature of failure, above. We only fail because we or some other perceives that we have failed. Failure is a nothing, it is the lack of success, just as darkness is the lack of light. But failure becomes a something because it is given power by people – by ourselves or our detractors. And knowing that is how we take away its power over us.
#36
“What is more basic than the need to be known? It is the entirety of intimacy, the elixir of love, this knowing.” – Her Fearful Symmetry by Audrey Niffenegger
Her Fearful Symmetry is a book club book. It is a high school English independent study novel. It is a Top Ten Book To Read On Your Summer Holiday. It is all these things, and it also happens to be excellent. I say it is the others because it is written with intention; there are themes and motifs that beg to be picked at like a loose thread on the cuff of your sleeve, and characters that are easily contrasted with their almost-too-convenient parallels. I mean, the book has the word “symmetry” in the title. If you know any high schoolers looking for an independent study recommendation, this is that. But it is also well written, dark, often poetic, well-researched, and tremendously satisfying. It is a ghost story, a love story, an illness story, a domestic drama, and it is each of these unconventionally. I truly and sincerely recommend it.
The quote above is as succinct a summary on the theme of Niffenegger’s novel as can be found. The book, at its essence, is about the ways we know each other. Being known, feeling as if someone truly knows you as you are, imperfections and all, is the crux of love. Sometimes, though, we imagine we know more of someone than we do or ever can, and those whom we know and love most deeply can still surprise and hurt us. The novel questions whether love and closeness can blind us to truly seeing one another, to knowing one another in that most basic of ways, and if we truly want to know what lies in someone’s heart.
#37
“And as doors to the next world go, a bog ain’t a bad choice. It’s not quite water and it’s not quite land – it’s an in-between place.” – Miss Peregrine’s Home For Peculiar Children by Ransom Riggs
I wanted to read this book before seeing the Tim Burton film adaptation – it has been on my list for a long time, and the film provided a good impetus to get it out of the way. In all, I found it overwhelmingly average. It was pretty standard young adult fare, with the only exceptional element being the inclusion of real found photos by which elements of the story were inspired. It wasn’t bad by any means – it was just predictable. It was run-of-the-mill. But as with so many unexceptional books by good authors (Scott Westerfeld’s Uglies and Lawrence Hill’s The Illegal come to mind), there are moments of literary beauty and joy which seem all the more precious for being a diamond in the rough. That was the joy I found when reading Riggs’ description of the bog. It is an insightful thought well expressed, and it immediately sent me spiraling through a list of other in-between places in fiction, linking our world to another. Narnia’s wardrobe, the Secret Garden’s gate, the titular bridge to Terabithia – all are in-between places, not quite one thing and not quite another, the links between what we know and what we dream. And of course, the greatest in-between place of all, the strongest link between our lived experience and our imagination, well… that would be a book, would it not?
#38
“Your eye will no longer linger on the light, it will no longer trace constellations. You’ll care only about the darkness and you’ll watch it for hours, for days, maybe even for years, trying in vain to believe you’re some kind of indispensable, universe-appointed sentinel, as if just by looking you could actually keep it all at bay.” – House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski
House of Leaves might be the scariest book I have ever read. I am an avid fan of horror fiction; I have made no secret of my deep love of Stephen King, and on the whole I find the genre to be engaging beyond most others. House of Leaves, though, is not the fare of Stephen King. Stephen King intersperses (mostly) otherworldy horror with incredible character development and brilliant storytelling. He is almost more of a fantasist in his worldbuilding and dreamweaving. Sure, The Shining and IT still give me the most delicious creepy crawlies even after many readings, but on the whole I do not read Stephen King to be scared. I read him because I love his stories.
The story of House of Leaves hardly matters at all. What matters is Danielewski’s incredible use of language, typography, and unheard of literary devices to create a slow-building, all-encompassing, barely-perceptible-until-it-is-all-you-can-think-about terror that gnaws at you even when the book is tucked properly away. It predates most of the current fad of faux-documentary, first-person horror films, but it preys on the same parts of your psyche. It slowly exposes unexplainable terrors happening to people just like you. you know it is supposed to be scary, and you keep waiting for the ONE BIG SCARE to happen, only to realize it has been building in the back of your mind all along, and it already has you spooked. It was a reading experience like none I have encountered before.
And now I must be vigilant, lest I let the nightmares in.
*****
Nine months down. Three months and 12 books to go! Check back every month for more Words on Words and other thoughts on An Awfully Big Adventure!
An Awfully Big Adventure 