The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula K. LeGuin blends philosophy, religion, sociology, gender studies, and probably all of the "hard" sciences. It's a remarkable read. The protagonist is a human ambassador to an alien world where the inhabitants have no fixed sex: they are able to switch (like the dinosaurs in Jurassic Park!) to fit the needs of whatever breeding cycle they're in. The ambassador attempts to coerce this species to join a type of intergalactic alliance, and the plot more or less tracks that process. More important, though, is the vivid world of spirituality and cultural exchange, echoing around through different voices, that make up the narrative.
I enjoyed this novel. The first book of LeGuin's I read, called Lavinia, was about Aeneas' wife, a minor character in The Aeneid. It was fantastic. LeGuin died recently, and she was an Oregon writer, and I'm just now beginning to read her works. What made me put it off for so long was the trappings of genre. Something about our culture's propensity to treat superheroes and space fantasies with an adult seriousness makes science fiction really off-putting to me. It's usually derivative and stupid, something that I might have consumed when I was 11, but have outgrown a long time ago. LeGuin is something else though, and she spent her entire life considering herself a literary writer first. She's the real deal, and I look forward to reading many more of her books in the coming year.
Thursday, January 31, 2019
Sunday, January 20, 2019
Listen to the Marriage
(When asked, I often forget what I've recently read: I'm usually too absorbed in my current book. I'll try to keep better records in 2019. Each post will be a finished book.)
Listen to the Marriage by John Jay Osborn only has three speaking characters: Steve and Gretchen--a separated couple--and their marriage counselor, Sandy. Over the course of this extremely fast read, the couple reunite despite their myriad problems. This book is fine, I guess. I blew through it in two days and would probably loan it to a bored friend with a long plane ride.
Listen to the Marriage by John Jay Osborn only has three speaking characters: Steve and Gretchen--a separated couple--and their marriage counselor, Sandy. Over the course of this extremely fast read, the couple reunite despite their myriad problems. This book is fine, I guess. I blew through it in two days and would probably loan it to a bored friend with a long plane ride.
I read Listen to the Marriage because I heard an interview with Osborn on NPR and I liked his perspective on marriage. He had a high view on the institution, which I share, and he wasn't afraid to promote counseling, which I also believe in. But my counseling experiences are much more prosaic than the fictional couple. My wife and I have a different set of assumptions about child rearing, time with extended family, and home remodels, for example. Steve and Gretchen, on the other hand, are openly committing adultery throughout the course of the entire book. As I read, something was lost in the disconnect between our experience, and the writing wasn't strong enough to bridge the gap.
Thursday, January 17, 2019
Outline
(When asked, I often forget what I've recently read: I'm usually too absorbed in my current book. I'll try to keep better records in 2019. Each post will be a finished book.)
Outline by Rachel Cusk takes place over the course of a few weeks in Athens. The narrator has ten conversations--with strangers, with colleagues, with students--as she teaches a writing class and attempts to find meaning after her divorce. It's good. The sentences are precise and composed, like Marilynne Robinson. The subject matter is everyday and observational, like Karl Ove Knausgaard or W. G. Sebald. And the meaning of the novel (what's within the "outline" of the title) is submerged, like Hemingway's iceberg, cloaked in hints and allusion. Lately I've enjoyed plotless, oblique works that circle around an unspeakable main idea.
Outline is the first in a trilogy. The second volume, called Transit, is on my shelf and I'll probably read it a few books from now. I finished Outline on a rainy afternoon when I'd come home from school and my daughter was still asleep. My wife was checking the patient list at the hospital: she had to work the next day and wanted to know what to expect. A few pages before the end, I looked up and saw three teachers run past our house. They run every Tuesday and Thursday. We waved at each other through the glass and they disappeared down the street.
Outline by Rachel Cusk takes place over the course of a few weeks in Athens. The narrator has ten conversations--with strangers, with colleagues, with students--as she teaches a writing class and attempts to find meaning after her divorce. It's good. The sentences are precise and composed, like Marilynne Robinson. The subject matter is everyday and observational, like Karl Ove Knausgaard or W. G. Sebald. And the meaning of the novel (what's within the "outline" of the title) is submerged, like Hemingway's iceberg, cloaked in hints and allusion. Lately I've enjoyed plotless, oblique works that circle around an unspeakable main idea.
Outline is the first in a trilogy. The second volume, called Transit, is on my shelf and I'll probably read it a few books from now. I finished Outline on a rainy afternoon when I'd come home from school and my daughter was still asleep. My wife was checking the patient list at the hospital: she had to work the next day and wanted to know what to expect. A few pages before the end, I looked up and saw three teachers run past our house. They run every Tuesday and Thursday. We waved at each other through the glass and they disappeared down the street.
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