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mghoshlisbin's reviews
338 reviews
The Sound and the Fury by William Faulkner
challenging
dark
emotional
slow-paced
5.0
A magnificent read, but one that is by no means easy. You may find that disclaimer in any review of the novel. I do not feel the need to write a more coherent rendering of my own notes into a review, as I did not do so for Absalom, Absalom either, but I should have an organized space for the way I felt over the course of the novel.
Chapter 1 - Benjy/Maury
* Complete lack of temporal and spatial stability. Faulkner seems to switch the perspective years using italics, but this is not always consistent. Throughout the current novel, Benjy is focuses his order through sounds/smells/the grounding aspect of nature (caddy smells like trees) and through his relationship to Caddy. He seems to be completely ruled by order or chaos, chaos indicated through the moments when he moans. (It is interesting to me that his clarity and sensitivity are attached to the two more excitatory romantic notions: sex/love and death).
* There are moments of intense clarity which I think bring together the power of his perspective:
* Import moment: When all three Compton brothers look up and see Caddy’s muddy underwear when she’s climbing the tree. It seems to me that Caddy is emblematic of a wildness, a freedom of belief, whereas both Quentin and Benjy are ruled by their intellect and by their relationship to time. I think this is the moment that takes all three of them off the edge in different ways - I think it is the sheer animalism of her; though she pays the price, she is not tethered to the social demands or intellectual/emotional deficiencies/limitations of her brothers. And she, in turn, becomes alien to them.
Chapter 2 - Quentin
* Quentin, in particular (chapter 2) seems to be wholly controlled by his dedication to Southern purity, which he holds Caddy accountable for. He is obsessed with her, reifies her as the ultimate representative of his grounding principles. Her marriage to Herbert, her loss of virginity, of her “camphor” smell, makes him lose his grasp on the real and unreal. He becomes untethered to his rigid moral foreground. This, I think is made even more complicated, by his father’s disinterest in virginity or virginity as a construct that means nothing and creates meaningless harm in fools like Quentin (116).
* “And father said it's because you are a virgin: don't you see? Women are never virgins. Purity is negative state in therefore contrary in nature. It's nature is hurting you not Caddy and I said That's just words and he said So is virginity and I said You don't know. You can't know and he said Yes. And on the instant when we come to realize the tragedy is second hand” (116).
* The cold pragmatism of his father seems to be incredibly disjointed for Quentin, disavowal of his beliefs in Southern purity, his foregrounding pole of morals.
* “it seems to me that I can hear whispers secret surges smelled a beating heart of blood under wild unsecret flesh watching against red eyelids the swine untethered in pairs rushing coupled into the sea and he we must just stay awake and sea eagle done for a little while. [… ] he every man is the arbiter of his own virtues whether or not you consider it courageous is of more importance than the act itself in any act otherwise you could not be in earnest and I you don't believe I am serious and he Eitan you are too serious to give me any cause for alarm you wouldn't have felt driven to the experience of telling me you hadn't committed incest otherwise and I I wasn't lying I wasn't lying and he you wanted to sublimate a piece of natural human folly into a horror and then exercise it with truth and I it was the isolate her out of the loud world so that it would have to flee us of necessity and then the sound of it would be as though it had never been (176).
* I could probably spend hours analyzing this single page, but I believe this is a roll credits moment - the pinnacle of the sound and the fury. At once Quentin finds the intersection between the experiences of Benjy, himself, and Jason, in a furious passage, desperate with longing earnestness. The confusion of pronouns between that of himself and his brothers showcases and disjointedness of identity, one which I think cements his later move toward suicide.
Chapter 3 - Jason
* I felt somewhat unprepared for the vitriol in his narration (once a bitch, always a bitch), and his particular hatred for Miss Quentin (Caddy’s illegitimate daughter). I think what surprised me more was the fact that he was willing to burn the 200$ checks from Caddy. His hatred and pride overcame his pragmatism, which was simultaneously disgusting and on brand. Clearly he has resentments toward Ms. Quentin because he believes that Caddy cheated him out of a job and that Ms. Quentin is the reason why.
* It was also particularly startling, in this chapter, that the narration becomes increasingly linear and coherent with each progressive brother. Benjy is completely untethered from temporality and place, Quentin struggles to escape time, to live beyond time, but Jason was completely clear. I might consider that he in completely stuck in the constraints of the present. The authorial section that follows, instinctively Faulkner himself, is also clear.
* Anger toward black people; receptacles for his hatred
* The ways in which he burned the tickets instead of giving them to Luster (why, for what purpose other than to antagonize?).
Chapter 4 - Faulkner
* The role of Dilsey - maternal, caretaker, legitimate care for Benjy. What is the analysis here? She is the one character that cares for everyone.
* Black religiosity; maybe an invocation of genuine religion? Or is this a condemnation from the mouth of Faulkner? (294)
* “‘Never you mind,’ Dilsey said. ‘I seed de beginnin, en now I sees de endin.’” (297).
Chapter 1 - Benjy/Maury
* Complete lack of temporal and spatial stability. Faulkner seems to switch the perspective years using italics, but this is not always consistent. Throughout the current novel, Benjy is focuses his order through sounds/smells/the grounding aspect of nature (caddy smells like trees) and through his relationship to Caddy. He seems to be completely ruled by order or chaos, chaos indicated through the moments when he moans. (It is interesting to me that his clarity and sensitivity are attached to the two more excitatory romantic notions: sex/love and death).
* There are moments of intense clarity which I think bring together the power of his perspective:
* Import moment: When all three Compton brothers look up and see Caddy’s muddy underwear when she’s climbing the tree. It seems to me that Caddy is emblematic of a wildness, a freedom of belief, whereas both Quentin and Benjy are ruled by their intellect and by their relationship to time. I think this is the moment that takes all three of them off the edge in different ways - I think it is the sheer animalism of her; though she pays the price, she is not tethered to the social demands or intellectual/emotional deficiencies/limitations of her brothers. And she, in turn, becomes alien to them.
Chapter 2 - Quentin
* Quentin, in particular (chapter 2) seems to be wholly controlled by his dedication to Southern purity, which he holds Caddy accountable for. He is obsessed with her, reifies her as the ultimate representative of his grounding principles. Her marriage to Herbert, her loss of virginity, of her “camphor” smell, makes him lose his grasp on the real and unreal. He becomes untethered to his rigid moral foreground. This, I think is made even more complicated, by his father’s disinterest in virginity or virginity as a construct that means nothing and creates meaningless harm in fools like Quentin (116).
* “And father said it's because you are a virgin: don't you see? Women are never virgins. Purity is negative state in therefore contrary in nature. It's nature is hurting you not Caddy and I said That's just words and he said So is virginity and I said You don't know. You can't know and he said Yes. And on the instant when we come to realize the tragedy is second hand” (116).
* The cold pragmatism of his father seems to be incredibly disjointed for Quentin, disavowal of his beliefs in Southern purity, his foregrounding pole of morals.
* “it seems to me that I can hear whispers secret surges smelled a beating heart of blood under wild unsecret flesh watching against red eyelids the swine untethered in pairs rushing coupled into the sea and he we must just stay awake and sea eagle done for a little while. [… ] he every man is the arbiter of his own virtues whether or not you consider it courageous is of more importance than the act itself in any act otherwise you could not be in earnest and I you don't believe I am serious and he Eitan you are too serious to give me any cause for alarm you wouldn't have felt driven to the experience of telling me you hadn't committed incest otherwise and I I wasn't lying I wasn't lying and he you wanted to sublimate a piece of natural human folly into a horror and then exercise it with truth and I it was the isolate her out of the loud world so that it would have to flee us of necessity and then the sound of it would be as though it had never been (176).
* I could probably spend hours analyzing this single page, but I believe this is a roll credits moment - the pinnacle of the sound and the fury. At once Quentin finds the intersection between the experiences of Benjy, himself, and Jason, in a furious passage, desperate with longing earnestness. The confusion of pronouns between that of himself and his brothers showcases and disjointedness of identity, one which I think cements his later move toward suicide.
Chapter 3 - Jason
* I felt somewhat unprepared for the vitriol in his narration (once a bitch, always a bitch), and his particular hatred for Miss Quentin (Caddy’s illegitimate daughter). I think what surprised me more was the fact that he was willing to burn the 200$ checks from Caddy. His hatred and pride overcame his pragmatism, which was simultaneously disgusting and on brand. Clearly he has resentments toward Ms. Quentin because he believes that Caddy cheated him out of a job and that Ms. Quentin is the reason why.
* It was also particularly startling, in this chapter, that the narration becomes increasingly linear and coherent with each progressive brother. Benjy is completely untethered from temporality and place, Quentin struggles to escape time, to live beyond time, but Jason was completely clear. I might consider that he in completely stuck in the constraints of the present. The authorial section that follows, instinctively Faulkner himself, is also clear.
* Anger toward black people; receptacles for his hatred
* The ways in which he burned the tickets instead of giving them to Luster (why, for what purpose other than to antagonize?).
Chapter 4 - Faulkner
* The role of Dilsey - maternal, caretaker, legitimate care for Benjy. What is the analysis here? She is the one character that cares for everyone.
* Black religiosity; maybe an invocation of genuine religion? Or is this a condemnation from the mouth of Faulkner? (294)
* “‘Never you mind,’ Dilsey said. ‘I seed de beginnin, en now I sees de endin.’” (297).
Brave New World by Aldous Huxley
3.75
"But I don't want comfort. I want God, I want poetry, I want real danger, I want freedom, I want goodness, I want sin."
"In fact, " said Mustapha Mond, "you're claiming the right to be unhappy."
While, at heart, a protest novel, Aldous Huxley may write one of the most enjoyable protest novels I have read in quite a while. Though Brave New World had been on my list of books to read for some time, I was pushed to finally pick it up because of Michel Houellebecq's clear adoration of Huxley in The Elementary Particles . It was incredibly accessible--so a good choice for someone who is trying to get into classics.
The novel follows a small set of characters: Bernard Marx and Helmholtz Watson, both misfit "Alphas" of a civilized society and John "the Savage", a medium between the uncivilized world and the "new world". The story is set in a futuristic world in which harmony and stability are prioritized by chemically diminishing all excessive emotion, individualistic thinking, monogamy, and procreation. Any indulgence in solitude or strong emotional attachments to a given person is deemed a sort of “solipsism” against the “social body,” in which “everyone belongs to everyone else.” This sanitized world is dominated by the use of a drug called soma which creates a fictional simulation of positive emotion, drowning out any negative feeling. This, in conjunction with "scent organs" and "feelies" creates a wholly sanitized world that is controlled by a government of elite exceptions to the rule.
I think I was most fascinated by the Bokanovsky armies that are created and conditioned through sleep training. From a more modern perspective, the sleep conditioning feels eerily similar to the ways in which we passively consume social media. While exaggerated, modern psychologists suggest that the regular and constant use of social media can be detrimental to critical thinking, perfect for creating the "happy" but malleable populace that is central to Huxley's novel. Furthermore, the work of the Epsilon, or lowest echelon, caste, is monitored such that they "enjoy" it.
John, the "civilized Savage" who is of both worlds, is destined to fail in his journey to liberate civilized society to individual emotional freedom. Though I think this aspect of the novel is perhaps it's weakest point, I do acknowledge that the imagery in the final whipping scene is immensely powerful, and has been pulled into many modern scenes of horror (think: Midsommar and the scene in which the cult wives cry and scream in tandem with Dani's panic attack).
Wholly engrossing, powerful themes, if a bit on the nose. It is difficult to determine whether I feel this way because I have been exposed to iterations of Huxley's ideas in modern media/literature, or whether the writing itself was less genius than implied.
"In fact, " said Mustapha Mond, "you're claiming the right to be unhappy."
While, at heart, a protest novel, Aldous Huxley may write one of the most enjoyable protest novels I have read in quite a while. Though Brave New World had been on my list of books to read for some time, I was pushed to finally pick it up because of Michel Houellebecq's clear adoration of Huxley in The Elementary Particles . It was incredibly accessible--so a good choice for someone who is trying to get into classics.
The novel follows a small set of characters: Bernard Marx and Helmholtz Watson, both misfit "Alphas" of a civilized society and John "the Savage", a medium between the uncivilized world and the "new world". The story is set in a futuristic world in which harmony and stability are prioritized by chemically diminishing all excessive emotion, individualistic thinking, monogamy, and procreation. Any indulgence in solitude or strong emotional attachments to a given person is deemed a sort of “solipsism” against the “social body,” in which “everyone belongs to everyone else.” This sanitized world is dominated by the use of a drug called soma which creates a fictional simulation of positive emotion, drowning out any negative feeling. This, in conjunction with "scent organs" and "feelies" creates a wholly sanitized world that is controlled by a government of elite exceptions to the rule.
I think I was most fascinated by the Bokanovsky armies that are created and conditioned through sleep training. From a more modern perspective, the sleep conditioning feels eerily similar to the ways in which we passively consume social media. While exaggerated, modern psychologists suggest that the regular and constant use of social media can be detrimental to critical thinking, perfect for creating the "happy" but malleable populace that is central to Huxley's novel. Furthermore, the work of the Epsilon, or lowest echelon, caste, is monitored such that they "enjoy" it.
John, the "civilized Savage" who is of both worlds, is destined to fail in his journey to liberate civilized society to individual emotional freedom. Though I think this aspect of the novel is perhaps it's weakest point, I do acknowledge that the imagery in the final whipping scene is immensely powerful, and has been pulled into many modern scenes of horror (think: Midsommar and the scene in which the cult wives cry and scream in tandem with Dani's panic attack).
Wholly engrossing, powerful themes, if a bit on the nose. It is difficult to determine whether I feel this way because I have been exposed to iterations of Huxley's ideas in modern media/literature, or whether the writing itself was less genius than implied.
Tess of the D'Urbervilles by Thomas Hardy
medium-paced
5.0
I loved reading this book so deeply that it is almost difficult for me to compose a review of it here. I knew, in some sense, that I would enjoy this book, if only because I loved reading Jude the Obscure a couple of years ago. Even so, Tess of the D'Urbervilles exceeded my expectations.
WARNING: Spoilers ahead.
Thomas Hardy's Tess of the D'Urbervilles follows the story of Tess Durbeyfield, who comes to realize that her family is truly the lost lineage of the D'Urbervilles, a romantically affluent and noble line. This realization sets Tess off to the Stroke-d'Urberville estate as a maid, where she is beset upon by the wiles of the young son Alec. Alec takes advantage of the beautiful and innocent Tess, seducing her and pushing her boundaries, until he sexually assaults her. This assault results in a child, whom Tess names Sorrow and hides for fear of ostracization. The child, however, passes tragically, and Tess is left alone with her internalized shame. As time passes, Tess meets Angel Clare, the son of a strictly moralistic pastor, with whom she falls deeply in love. She struggles to tell him the truth of her past, that she is not the innocent milkmaid he thought her, but always succumbs to fear. On the day after their marriage, when they confess their deepest fears, she tells him and Angel, despite his deep love for her, feels deceived and angry, leaving her behind to find farmland in Brazil. In their time apart, Alec, who has undergone extreme religious conversion to atone for his sins, finds Tess again. Alec pursues her with abandon despite her desire to be free of him. In a moment of financial weakness, Alec promises to care for her family if she acquiesces to marriage. Convinced Angel will never want her back, she agrees and condemns herself to a life of forfeit. But Angel, coming to his senses, returns to find his wife married again, and their love lost a second time. In a fit of grief, Tess murders Alec in his bed and runs away with Angel. For a few days, they experience the marital bliss they were owed, before Tess is imprisoned and executed for her crimes.
If you come to this book, a classic Romantic woman's coming-of-age story, with the expectation of an Austen or Bronte positivistic outlook, you will be disappointed. The story of Tess is as tragic and heart-wrenching as it is painstakingly beautiful and eloquent. I had forgotten, in the couple year interim, just how startlingly beautiful Hardy's prose is.
I think I was most taken with the discussion of coincidence, clandestine fate, and the ways in which Hardy positions Tess as under the grudge of destiny or the gods. This plays deeply into the discussion of this novel as a Greek tragedy, rather than a more traditional Romantic classic. These questions draw not only on religious determinism, but also on whether the world is always defined by the binaries of good and evil. Hardy invokes Greek views on good and evil, as well as the Torah, the Old Testament and New Testament of the Bible. Hardy also cites Milton's Paradise Lost, and even likens Tess to Eve.
I think the centralization of Greek drama is cemented by the allusions to femininity (particularly Tess' femininity) as a sort of nature aligned, untamable thing. Though the desire to tame nature is inherently Romantic (think the manicured gardens in Pride and Prejudice or Friedrich's Wanderer above the Sea of Fog), Tess becomes almost nymph-like in Hardy's description, part of "unconstrained Nature" as opposed to the "abodes of Art". This is in large part why Tess would be so attractive to the morally decrepit (Alec) and the morally repressed (Clare). She embodies what Hardy addresses directly as the "ache of modernism".
It would do this novel a disservice to fail to discuss the role of feminism and the ways in which Hardy addresses the double standards we allow even "good men". Angel, who is undoubtedly a good man, falls head first into our bad books when he admits that he has spent time with women out of wedlock, but cannot help but judge Tess for being assaulted, sullied. Despite the fact that he logically knows she "was sinned against more than she [you] had sinned", he nonetheless feels that she is "not the woman he married", and cannot bear to be with her. Tess does not even consider judgment on his part. Hardy skips over the discussion so quickly, I barely remember it happened. Similarly, Clare's father forgives Alec for his previous sins, but this would not so quickly have been done for any woman.
The modern takes for feminism are fascinating as well. I was so utterly touched by the ways in which the women in this book hold love for one another. The relationships between Tess, Marian, Izz, and Retty is so true and gentle, despite the fact that the other three girls were also enamored with Angel. Despite the tragedy in their own lives, they never hold anything against Tess, and are her truest friends throughout the novel. I feel that many authors have a tendency to pit women against one another, particularly in the context of romantic rivalry. But Hardy resists against that narrative and it is appreciable and striking. Even further, one could say that Tess invokes her own ruin by way of internalized shame. Her decisions are often made through an internal mechanism of disgust in herself, which is not only undue, but bred by an unjust society. This trend of behavior is mirrored in our present day.
Finally I think it is interesting to note how critical Hardy is of organized religion. Where he seems complimentary toward pagan and Druid beliefs (the May Dance in chapter 1, or even the discussions of Stonehenge), he is clearly disproving of Christianity. Angel's brothers are both clerics without conscience, and the religious sign painter in earlier chapters who plasters walls in horrific red paint. Hardy is right, to argue that within the uneducated, understanding of religion IS shallow, and is used to arm deep forms of bigotry, meaningless cruelty, and overt ignorance. (uh, see literally any Trump rally if you need an example). Characters like Tess and Angel seem more aware of the deeper meanings of some of the religious scriptures that are cited (i.e. when Tess questions the sign painter or Angel's intelligent entreaties on religion and philosophy).
Overall, there were so many fantastic elements to this novel. Though deeply tragic, it was also incredibly accessible for classic fiction, and it flew by. I fell in love with Tess and her humility, her grace. I loved Angel despite his flaws, despite how late he was in breaking through the rigid judgments instilled by his parents. I hated Alec with a vengeance.
5/5
WARNING: Spoilers ahead.
Thomas Hardy's Tess of the D'Urbervilles follows the story of Tess Durbeyfield, who comes to realize that her family is truly the lost lineage of the D'Urbervilles, a romantically affluent and noble line. This realization sets Tess off to the Stroke-d'Urberville estate as a maid, where she is beset upon by the wiles of the young son Alec. Alec takes advantage of the beautiful and innocent Tess, seducing her and pushing her boundaries, until he sexually assaults her. This assault results in a child, whom Tess names Sorrow and hides for fear of ostracization. The child, however, passes tragically, and Tess is left alone with her internalized shame. As time passes, Tess meets Angel Clare, the son of a strictly moralistic pastor, with whom she falls deeply in love. She struggles to tell him the truth of her past, that she is not the innocent milkmaid he thought her, but always succumbs to fear. On the day after their marriage, when they confess their deepest fears, she tells him and Angel, despite his deep love for her, feels deceived and angry, leaving her behind to find farmland in Brazil. In their time apart, Alec, who has undergone extreme religious conversion to atone for his sins, finds Tess again. Alec pursues her with abandon despite her desire to be free of him. In a moment of financial weakness, Alec promises to care for her family if she acquiesces to marriage. Convinced Angel will never want her back, she agrees and condemns herself to a life of forfeit. But Angel, coming to his senses, returns to find his wife married again, and their love lost a second time. In a fit of grief, Tess murders Alec in his bed and runs away with Angel. For a few days, they experience the marital bliss they were owed, before Tess is imprisoned and executed for her crimes.
If you come to this book, a classic Romantic woman's coming-of-age story, with the expectation of an Austen or Bronte positivistic outlook, you will be disappointed. The story of Tess is as tragic and heart-wrenching as it is painstakingly beautiful and eloquent. I had forgotten, in the couple year interim, just how startlingly beautiful Hardy's prose is.
I think I was most taken with the discussion of coincidence, clandestine fate, and the ways in which Hardy positions Tess as under the grudge of destiny or the gods. This plays deeply into the discussion of this novel as a Greek tragedy, rather than a more traditional Romantic classic. These questions draw not only on religious determinism, but also on whether the world is always defined by the binaries of good and evil. Hardy invokes Greek views on good and evil, as well as the Torah, the Old Testament and New Testament of the Bible. Hardy also cites Milton's Paradise Lost, and even likens Tess to Eve.
I think the centralization of Greek drama is cemented by the allusions to femininity (particularly Tess' femininity) as a sort of nature aligned, untamable thing. Though the desire to tame nature is inherently Romantic (think the manicured gardens in Pride and Prejudice or Friedrich's Wanderer above the Sea of Fog), Tess becomes almost nymph-like in Hardy's description, part of "unconstrained Nature" as opposed to the "abodes of Art". This is in large part why Tess would be so attractive to the morally decrepit (Alec) and the morally repressed (Clare). She embodies what Hardy addresses directly as the "ache of modernism".
It would do this novel a disservice to fail to discuss the role of feminism and the ways in which Hardy addresses the double standards we allow even "good men". Angel, who is undoubtedly a good man, falls head first into our bad books when he admits that he has spent time with women out of wedlock, but cannot help but judge Tess for being assaulted, sullied. Despite the fact that he logically knows she "was sinned against more than she [you] had sinned", he nonetheless feels that she is "not the woman he married", and cannot bear to be with her. Tess does not even consider judgment on his part. Hardy skips over the discussion so quickly, I barely remember it happened. Similarly, Clare's father forgives Alec for his previous sins, but this would not so quickly have been done for any woman.
The modern takes for feminism are fascinating as well. I was so utterly touched by the ways in which the women in this book hold love for one another. The relationships between Tess, Marian, Izz, and Retty is so true and gentle, despite the fact that the other three girls were also enamored with Angel. Despite the tragedy in their own lives, they never hold anything against Tess, and are her truest friends throughout the novel. I feel that many authors have a tendency to pit women against one another, particularly in the context of romantic rivalry. But Hardy resists against that narrative and it is appreciable and striking. Even further, one could say that Tess invokes her own ruin by way of internalized shame. Her decisions are often made through an internal mechanism of disgust in herself, which is not only undue, but bred by an unjust society. This trend of behavior is mirrored in our present day.
Finally I think it is interesting to note how critical Hardy is of organized religion. Where he seems complimentary toward pagan and Druid beliefs (the May Dance in chapter 1, or even the discussions of Stonehenge), he is clearly disproving of Christianity. Angel's brothers are both clerics without conscience, and the religious sign painter in earlier chapters who plasters walls in horrific red paint. Hardy is right, to argue that within the uneducated, understanding of religion IS shallow, and is used to arm deep forms of bigotry, meaningless cruelty, and overt ignorance. (uh, see literally any Trump rally if you need an example). Characters like Tess and Angel seem more aware of the deeper meanings of some of the religious scriptures that are cited (i.e. when Tess questions the sign painter or Angel's intelligent entreaties on religion and philosophy).
Overall, there were so many fantastic elements to this novel. Though deeply tragic, it was also incredibly accessible for classic fiction, and it flew by. I fell in love with Tess and her humility, her grace. I loved Angel despite his flaws, despite how late he was in breaking through the rigid judgments instilled by his parents. I hated Alec with a vengeance.
5/5
Endymion by Dan Simmons
adventurous
dark
4.5
Each segment of the Hyperion Cantos has been quite incredible. I think, however, that I am sometimes perplexed by the stylistic changes which have taken place with each progressive installment. The first book, Hyperion, is fashioned after Chaucer's The Canterbury Tales , and has an episodic structure--each pilgrim's tale told with the tonality of old classics, while still retaining the epic themes of a fantastical space odyssey. It creates a magical effect. The second novel, Fall of Hyperion, takes on a more normative structure, with limited omniscient POVs that have dimension through the manipulation of dream perspective and time alteration. It still retains the somewhat dettached tonality of classic lit, though it is slightly more accessible than the first novel. Endymion, by contrast, almost feels as though it is written by a different author.
The novel is composed, primarily, of only two perspectives: Raul Endymion, the guardian, lover, carer of Aenea the messiah and daughter of Brawne Lamia, and Captain Father Frederico de Soya. There are celebrity one-shots from Aenea herself and Nemes (of whom I won't mention anything more about). Raul retains the rights to first person, de Soya in third person, with a newly implemented intimacy of emotion and retelling. The style is WAY more accessible, in my opinion, and is more fast-paced than the previous novels. I am more perplexed by this change than anything else, I almost just feel neutral about it. I don't feel negatively about this shift simply because the quality of the writing, story-telling, and themes have remained consistent (though I do think Hyperion covered the most themes more intricately; poetry and philosophy take something of a backseat here).
WARNING: Spoilers ahead.
In the novel, the vagabond troupe consisting of Raul Endymion, Aenea, A. Bettik the android, and the Shrike itself, embark on a journey across the River Tethys in order to seek the person who will teach Aenea the necessary skills for her future as a messiah. The Pax, the reformed Christian Church who have proselytized many of the existing worlds through the persuasive power of reformed cruciforms (those horrific parasites from Hyperion that turned the Bikura into sexless, emotionless zombies in the first book--yeah) which can resurrect the dead. Aenea realizes that the Pax Church has been taken over by the TechnoCore, which are seeking to control humanity through the cruciforms, and have sent Father de Soya to capture and kill Aenea, as she is predicted to save humankind.
The story is incredibly complex, continuing to play intricate games with time and religion. Though this novel is clearly critical of Christianity, the portrayal of Father de Soya and Father Glaucus create a more nuanced vision of Christianity. Both de Soya and Glaucus are kind, independent thinkers who have a loyalty to a Church that brought goodness to them. They, at a smaller level, are innocent of the criticisms that Simmons directs toward Christianity. The overarching metaphor is powerful, that people manipulated by a parasite, whether that be greed or a TechnoCore cruciform, have the power to utilize religion to horrific ends. We have seen this in the real world and we see it at an interstellar level in Dan Simmons Endymion.
As per time, I have mixed feelings about Aenea and Raul. They are destined for great love in the future, and she is a manipulator of time, a traveler. Raul knows her through most stages of her life and is only in love with her when she is older. But I do find the dynamic strange. There is nothing untoward in the novel, but the premise is...hmm.
All in all, I ripped through it still. The saga continues and Simmons has me here for the ride. I am excited to read the final book in the series!
The novel is composed, primarily, of only two perspectives: Raul Endymion, the guardian, lover, carer of Aenea the messiah and daughter of Brawne Lamia, and Captain Father Frederico de Soya. There are celebrity one-shots from Aenea herself and Nemes (of whom I won't mention anything more about). Raul retains the rights to first person, de Soya in third person, with a newly implemented intimacy of emotion and retelling. The style is WAY more accessible, in my opinion, and is more fast-paced than the previous novels. I am more perplexed by this change than anything else, I almost just feel neutral about it. I don't feel negatively about this shift simply because the quality of the writing, story-telling, and themes have remained consistent (though I do think Hyperion covered the most themes more intricately; poetry and philosophy take something of a backseat here).
WARNING: Spoilers ahead.
In the novel, the vagabond troupe consisting of Raul Endymion, Aenea, A. Bettik the android, and the Shrike itself, embark on a journey across the River Tethys in order to seek the person who will teach Aenea the necessary skills for her future as a messiah. The Pax, the reformed Christian Church who have proselytized many of the existing worlds through the persuasive power of reformed cruciforms (those horrific parasites from Hyperion that turned the Bikura into sexless, emotionless zombies in the first book--yeah) which can resurrect the dead. Aenea realizes that the Pax Church has been taken over by the TechnoCore, which are seeking to control humanity through the cruciforms, and have sent Father de Soya to capture and kill Aenea, as she is predicted to save humankind.
The story is incredibly complex, continuing to play intricate games with time and religion. Though this novel is clearly critical of Christianity, the portrayal of Father de Soya and Father Glaucus create a more nuanced vision of Christianity. Both de Soya and Glaucus are kind, independent thinkers who have a loyalty to a Church that brought goodness to them. They, at a smaller level, are innocent of the criticisms that Simmons directs toward Christianity. The overarching metaphor is powerful, that people manipulated by a parasite, whether that be greed or a TechnoCore cruciform, have the power to utilize religion to horrific ends. We have seen this in the real world and we see it at an interstellar level in Dan Simmons Endymion.
As per time, I have mixed feelings about Aenea and Raul. They are destined for great love in the future, and she is a manipulator of time, a traveler. Raul knows her through most stages of her life and is only in love with her when she is older. But I do find the dynamic strange. There is nothing untoward in the novel, but the premise is...hmm.
All in all, I ripped through it still. The saga continues and Simmons has me here for the ride. I am excited to read the final book in the series!
Identity by Milan Kundera
4.5
"...the gaze of love is the gaze that isolates. Jean-Marc thought about the loving solitude between two old persons become invisible to other people: a sad solitude that prefigures death. No, what she needs is not a loving gaze, but a flood of alien, crude, lustful looks settling on her with no good will, no discrimination, no tenderness or politeness--settling on her fatefully, inescapably. Those are the looks that sustain her within human society. The gaze of love rips her out of it."
What is it in that desire to be noticed and to be looked at, that is so integral to the human experience? And what a complicated thing it is, to want to be seen while also being fearful of being judged? The conflict between the social desire to be noticed and the personal desire for solitude is a complex thought that is explored beautifully in Milan Kundera's Identity. When picking up this book as an "inbetween fantasy read", I did not expect to enjoy it so much. But it was fabulous! Short and sweet, with an incredible mixture of themes such as boredom, the real/unreal, the role of dreams and dreaming in our lives, the inner workings of personal relationships, perception vs. reality--this book really was a treat.
The story details a tumultuous period in the relationship between Chantel and Jean-Marc, a couple whom were entirely in love with one another, but succumb to misunderstandings, misperceptions, and their own desires. Chantel, an older woman who had previously been married and lost a child, is in a relationship with Jean-Marc, who is utterly infatuated with her but beleaguered by his distortions of events and his confusion about Chantel's personal journey of self. The story begins when Chantel, attempting to explain a confusing desire for external validation, proclaims, "Men don't turn to look at me anymore." Jean-Marc, moved and disturbed by this sentiment, begins to send Chantel love letters under the guise of a secret, alternate admirer. As he does so, tensions form, and the distinctions between reality and a mystical non-reality begin to blur.
I found the discussions of boredom and the need to contrive intrigue in our lives extremely compelling. Some examples that struck me quite intensely: Chantel and Jean-Marc willfully ignoring roads to resolution in their miscommunication in favor of continuing the illusion of suspense; the way in which Jean-Marc intentionally imagines horrific scenarios of Chantel's demise or alternative love affairs in order to spark his sole trigger for empathy; Chantel's colleague Leroy as a provocateur for the sake of itself. Even the way in which Chantel descends into a near obsession with finding the culprit of the love letters is inherently non-promiscuous--she, more than anything else, craved relief from routine, a disruption of the normalcy which had been granted to their relationship. And as much as Jean-Marc was disturbed by the changes in Chantel, by her "two-faced" nature, one could argue that it also fascinated him and made his ardor for her stronger.
Similarly, the themes of death and violence are intricate and compelling. In this novel, death and love seem to ride the same edge: Chantel, working in advertising for funeral homes, is always surrounded by death. Death as a freedom (to be "free" from those "spies" and "watchers"--presumably the prison walls of convention), death as punishment (as it had felt for the child of her previous marriage), and death as a potential disruption of boredom.
Finally we must consider the role of reality and unreality in the novel. The final dream which Chantel experiences, which is such an incredible change of pace, a switch to climax with near no warning by Kundera. I believe that it is an exploration of what happens when we allow our fantasies to create space for themselves in our lives. Throughout the novel, Chantel is haunted by moments where thoughts impose themselves upon her; they are out of character, weird, unusual and they direct the next decisions she makes. This dream is also an implant into her fantasy mind, a moment where the real (her love for Jean-Marc) fades, and is replaced by the terrible. It is an ode to our capacity to dream, but I think it is also cautionary. We should hold tight to the grounding experiences of death and love.
I will come back to this novel with further thoughts I am sure. There were many other aspects I had many thoughts about--the inefficacy of language to convey meaning, the dissociation that is created between the persona we curate for society and how we appear to ourselves and our loved ones, and others. But perhaps I will re-read this in a year and come back with some new thoughts.
What is it in that desire to be noticed and to be looked at, that is so integral to the human experience? And what a complicated thing it is, to want to be seen while also being fearful of being judged? The conflict between the social desire to be noticed and the personal desire for solitude is a complex thought that is explored beautifully in Milan Kundera's Identity. When picking up this book as an "inbetween fantasy read", I did not expect to enjoy it so much. But it was fabulous! Short and sweet, with an incredible mixture of themes such as boredom, the real/unreal, the role of dreams and dreaming in our lives, the inner workings of personal relationships, perception vs. reality--this book really was a treat.
The story details a tumultuous period in the relationship between Chantel and Jean-Marc, a couple whom were entirely in love with one another, but succumb to misunderstandings, misperceptions, and their own desires. Chantel, an older woman who had previously been married and lost a child, is in a relationship with Jean-Marc, who is utterly infatuated with her but beleaguered by his distortions of events and his confusion about Chantel's personal journey of self. The story begins when Chantel, attempting to explain a confusing desire for external validation, proclaims, "Men don't turn to look at me anymore." Jean-Marc, moved and disturbed by this sentiment, begins to send Chantel love letters under the guise of a secret, alternate admirer. As he does so, tensions form, and the distinctions between reality and a mystical non-reality begin to blur.
I found the discussions of boredom and the need to contrive intrigue in our lives extremely compelling. Some examples that struck me quite intensely: Chantel and Jean-Marc willfully ignoring roads to resolution in their miscommunication in favor of continuing the illusion of suspense; the way in which Jean-Marc intentionally imagines horrific scenarios of Chantel's demise or alternative love affairs in order to spark his sole trigger for empathy; Chantel's colleague Leroy as a provocateur for the sake of itself. Even the way in which Chantel descends into a near obsession with finding the culprit of the love letters is inherently non-promiscuous--she, more than anything else, craved relief from routine, a disruption of the normalcy which had been granted to their relationship. And as much as Jean-Marc was disturbed by the changes in Chantel, by her "two-faced" nature, one could argue that it also fascinated him and made his ardor for her stronger.
Similarly, the themes of death and violence are intricate and compelling. In this novel, death and love seem to ride the same edge: Chantel, working in advertising for funeral homes, is always surrounded by death. Death as a freedom (to be "free" from those "spies" and "watchers"--presumably the prison walls of convention), death as punishment (as it had felt for the child of her previous marriage), and death as a potential disruption of boredom.
Finally we must consider the role of reality and unreality in the novel. The final dream which Chantel experiences, which is such an incredible change of pace, a switch to climax with near no warning by Kundera. I believe that it is an exploration of what happens when we allow our fantasies to create space for themselves in our lives. Throughout the novel, Chantel is haunted by moments where thoughts impose themselves upon her; they are out of character, weird, unusual and they direct the next decisions she makes. This dream is also an implant into her fantasy mind, a moment where the real (her love for Jean-Marc) fades, and is replaced by the terrible. It is an ode to our capacity to dream, but I think it is also cautionary. We should hold tight to the grounding experiences of death and love.
I will come back to this novel with further thoughts I am sure. There were many other aspects I had many thoughts about--the inefficacy of language to convey meaning, the dissociation that is created between the persona we curate for society and how we appear to ourselves and our loved ones, and others. But perhaps I will re-read this in a year and come back with some new thoughts.
Shōgun by James Clavell
slow-paced
2.25
2.25/5
I got about three quarters of the way through this book before I put it down and didn't bother to pick it up again. I started this book at the frequent pestering of my brother and father (who are avid fans of Clavell), but while I guess I could be impressed by the extent of this novel and Clavell's capacity to create a sprawling narrative, the characters were cardboard stereotypes of outdated conceptions of the white man, the submissive Japanese woman, the arrogant, unknowing and primitive Japanese man. All of this was clearly decorated in a veneer of white saviorism.
Bigotry in dated literature can be unavoidable, and when in the context to criticize it, I am happy to do so. But this is not literature. This is a white man epic. One I was glad to put down. If I want to explore literature on the exposure of Japan to western powers, I will read Japanese translations. Regardless of Clavell's research sometimes, it just isn't enough to bring sensitivity to the writing.
Not a fan.
I got about three quarters of the way through this book before I put it down and didn't bother to pick it up again. I started this book at the frequent pestering of my brother and father (who are avid fans of Clavell), but while I guess I could be impressed by the extent of this novel and Clavell's capacity to create a sprawling narrative, the characters were cardboard stereotypes of outdated conceptions of the white man, the submissive Japanese woman, the arrogant, unknowing and primitive Japanese man. All of this was clearly decorated in a veneer of white saviorism.
Bigotry in dated literature can be unavoidable, and when in the context to criticize it, I am happy to do so. But this is not literature. This is a white man epic. One I was glad to put down. If I want to explore literature on the exposure of Japan to western powers, I will read Japanese translations. Regardless of Clavell's research sometimes, it just isn't enough to bring sensitivity to the writing.
Not a fan.
On Truth and Untruth: Selected Writings by Friedrich Nietzsche
4.0
Some notes to self:
I think this was a really good selection of essays, though I did prefer some alternate translations which I have read previously. I had noted in the margins those changes, particularly with reference to "On Truth and Lying in a Moral Sense".
I think generally, this selection could have included a more interesting preface. The selection was published in a series which responded to the political relevancy of "fake news" in recent years. (Yes, I am a little late to reading relevant material for that party). The preface does little, however, to tie in any of that analysis into the essays which were chosen. Even notes as per each selection as to why they were chosen would have been an interesting counterpoint to my own interpretations. This made some of the essays and aphorisms seem somewhat untethered and unrelated to one another, which should not have been their intention. Similarly, the final selection from The Antichrist is an incredible depiction of Nietzsche's descent into skepticism, but does not seem to fit the denouement that is implied by the series of essays. Nor does it provide any optimism for the prevailing context the essays were selected for (i.e. our political climate).
Even so, I found it was delightful to reread "On Truth and Lying", enjoyed the preface from Beyond Good and Evil , and was reminded that I definitely have to re-read The Gay Science in it's entirety. When paired with some of the other philosophical texts from Ernst Cassirer and Max Weber that I have read this year, I think it would be utterly fascinating to have a new perspective.
I always enjoy a bit of Nietzsche, and they chose from my favorite selections. There wasn't much they could do wrong.
I think this was a really good selection of essays, though I did prefer some alternate translations which I have read previously. I had noted in the margins those changes, particularly with reference to "On Truth and Lying in a Moral Sense".
I think generally, this selection could have included a more interesting preface. The selection was published in a series which responded to the political relevancy of "fake news" in recent years. (Yes, I am a little late to reading relevant material for that party). The preface does little, however, to tie in any of that analysis into the essays which were chosen. Even notes as per each selection as to why they were chosen would have been an interesting counterpoint to my own interpretations. This made some of the essays and aphorisms seem somewhat untethered and unrelated to one another, which should not have been their intention. Similarly, the final selection from The Antichrist is an incredible depiction of Nietzsche's descent into skepticism, but does not seem to fit the denouement that is implied by the series of essays. Nor does it provide any optimism for the prevailing context the essays were selected for (i.e. our political climate).
Even so, I found it was delightful to reread "On Truth and Lying", enjoyed the preface from Beyond Good and Evil , and was reminded that I definitely have to re-read The Gay Science in it's entirety. When paired with some of the other philosophical texts from Ernst Cassirer and Max Weber that I have read this year, I think it would be utterly fascinating to have a new perspective.
I always enjoy a bit of Nietzsche, and they chose from my favorite selections. There wasn't much they could do wrong.
Hyperion by Dan Simmons
adventurous
challenging
dark
reflective
medium-paced
4.75
What an utterly fantastic sci-fi epic. I haven't read epic sci-fi done this well in quite a long time, and I am excited to read the second installment of the Hyperion Cantos in the coming days.
The epic is benefitted by it's vignette structure-- Hyperion details the beginnings of a pilgrimage to the planet of Hyperion by seven pilgrims from different corners of known space. Each have come to Hyperion with secrets, histories, and intentions, and hope, that at the expense of the other six, the mysterious deity/living God/living terror the Shrike will grant their wish. The pilgrimage is comprised of The Priest, Father Lenar Hoyt; the Soldier, Colonel Fedmahn Kassad; the Poet, Martin Silenus; the Scholar, Sol Weintraub and his de-aging daughter Rachel; the Templar, Het Masteen; the Detective, Brawne Lamia; and the Consul. The first installment of the Hyperion Cantos details each of their stories, foregrounding the future interstellar war the galaxy must face. The Shrike, which can manipulate time, lives amongst the Time Tombs on Hyperion, which have yet to open. The Time Tombs, continuously moving backward in time from some thousands of years in the future, may unleash an unknown weapon from an unknown origin, throwing current interstellar politics into fear and disarray.
Each of their backstories are an incredible foray into the intricacies of religion, language, poetry, war and violence, imperialism, artificial intelligence, and the value of indigeneity, the death of culture by human machinations. The Hegemony, the federal human intergalactic force which ties the 16 ruled worlds together, is a clear analogy of Great Britain, for the destructive forces of colonialism. Simmons does an incredible job of creating an absolutely MASSIVE set up--with forces of authority like the Shrike church, the Ousters, Hegemony, and of course, the TechnoCore. Somehow, each story introduces enough information to create a foundation for the intergalactic war the waits at the horizon, and Simmons does so without overwhelming his audience. His characters are crafted with incredible depth despite the shifts in narrative voice and despite the brevity of their stories. Each story is chilling--they seize you by the throat and don't let go. Beginning with Father Hoyt, and by extension, Father Duré's, story, I was completely, utterly hooked.
Simmons also does a fantastic job of melding the known (the Old Earth and the cultures that resided there) and the new in his novel. Simmons seven pilgrims are curated with diversity--by age and gender, religion, ethnicity. His broadness of intention enriches the novel without being gimmicky. His inclusion of literature (particularly during The Poet's Tale) is also similarly well-done. The inclusion of Keats (see also Brawne Lamia and her tale) and other poets is apt and engaging, rather than a name dropping contest.
And of course, I cannot finish my review of this novel without actually discussing the Shrike and the conversations this novel creates around time. There are very few authors who can discuss time well. Kurt Vonnegut is one of them, and so, apparently, is Dan Simmons. Simmons makes the discussion of time intricate but accessible (this is true for the discussion of AI as well). I was amazed by the clarity when dealing with such a finicky subject. The Shrike itself, is also such a fantastic big bad. Simmons does, however, only truly deal with linear time. Time, by his definition, moves forward and backward, without potentiality for deviation or multiple timelines. This keeps the narrative neat and clean, which benefitted an already complex story.
Absolutely obsessed. A new favorite.
The epic is benefitted by it's vignette structure-- Hyperion details the beginnings of a pilgrimage to the planet of Hyperion by seven pilgrims from different corners of known space. Each have come to Hyperion with secrets, histories, and intentions, and hope, that at the expense of the other six, the mysterious deity/living God/living terror the Shrike will grant their wish. The pilgrimage is comprised of The Priest, Father Lenar Hoyt; the Soldier, Colonel Fedmahn Kassad; the Poet, Martin Silenus; the Scholar, Sol Weintraub and his de-aging daughter Rachel; the Templar, Het Masteen; the Detective, Brawne Lamia; and the Consul. The first installment of the Hyperion Cantos details each of their stories, foregrounding the future interstellar war the galaxy must face. The Shrike, which can manipulate time, lives amongst the Time Tombs on Hyperion, which have yet to open. The Time Tombs, continuously moving backward in time from some thousands of years in the future, may unleash an unknown weapon from an unknown origin, throwing current interstellar politics into fear and disarray.
Each of their backstories are an incredible foray into the intricacies of religion, language, poetry, war and violence, imperialism, artificial intelligence, and the value of indigeneity, the death of culture by human machinations. The Hegemony, the federal human intergalactic force which ties the 16 ruled worlds together, is a clear analogy of Great Britain, for the destructive forces of colonialism. Simmons does an incredible job of creating an absolutely MASSIVE set up--with forces of authority like the Shrike church, the Ousters, Hegemony, and of course, the TechnoCore. Somehow, each story introduces enough information to create a foundation for the intergalactic war the waits at the horizon, and Simmons does so without overwhelming his audience. His characters are crafted with incredible depth despite the shifts in narrative voice and despite the brevity of their stories. Each story is chilling--they seize you by the throat and don't let go. Beginning with Father Hoyt, and by extension, Father Duré's, story, I was completely, utterly hooked.
Simmons also does a fantastic job of melding the known (the Old Earth and the cultures that resided there) and the new in his novel. Simmons seven pilgrims are curated with diversity--by age and gender, religion, ethnicity. His broadness of intention enriches the novel without being gimmicky. His inclusion of literature (particularly during The Poet's Tale) is also similarly well-done. The inclusion of Keats (see also Brawne Lamia and her tale) and other poets is apt and engaging, rather than a name dropping contest.
And of course, I cannot finish my review of this novel without actually discussing the Shrike and the conversations this novel creates around time. There are very few authors who can discuss time well. Kurt Vonnegut is one of them, and so, apparently, is Dan Simmons. Simmons makes the discussion of time intricate but accessible (this is true for the discussion of AI as well). I was amazed by the clarity when dealing with such a finicky subject. The Shrike itself, is also such a fantastic big bad. Simmons does, however, only truly deal with linear time. Time, by his definition, moves forward and backward, without potentiality for deviation or multiple timelines. This keeps the narrative neat and clean, which benefitted an already complex story.
Absolutely obsessed. A new favorite.
The Dry Heart by Natalia Ginzburg
challenging
dark
emotional
medium-paced
4.5
"How easy life is, I thought, for women who are not afraid of a man."
This novel is the telling of a dull marriage that culminates in a murder. A deep condemnation of marriage as an institution, facilitated by the willful imagination of women and the indifferent dry hearts of men, this novel is an incredible exploration of loneliness, motherhood, death, and loss. Though a short read, Ginzburg's novel packs a punch.
The narrator is constantly in conflict between her imaginings for the perfect relationship with her distracted and unfeeling husband Alberto, who, throughout their marriage, has an ongoing affair with another semi-indifferent romantic partner, Giovanna. Ginzburg brings nuance to the female experience in marriage through the moments of lucidity and insight that the narrator experiences, which of course, are brought to a head by the murder of Alberto. Again and again, the narrator descends into an imaginative sense of romance, a conflation of the dreadfulness of reality and the glass rosiness of fantasy.
Ginzburg decisively shows that we are not changed by romance itself--we are disillusioned by romance. Alberto is a perfect example of that argument, when he admits that he loses interest even in Giovanna and their all-consuming affair of eleven years, when they are not in proximity. The novel makes you question the authenticity of celebrated "romance", about the sacrifices we make for validation, for the feeling of being celebrated, loved.
Francesca, the narrator's 'friend' and cousin, is the only character that could be considered free from the constraints of a romantic imagination. But even she is cynical, unhappy, flighty, and unsettled. And furthermore, Giovanna, despite being the other woman, mirrors the narrator's unhappiness and her relationship with Alberto. The strange and alluring conversations between the narrator and Giovanna, as well as those between the narrator and Augusto are some of the most enjoyable and fascinating scenes in the novel.
4.5/5, I would love to read this again in a few years.
This novel is the telling of a dull marriage that culminates in a murder. A deep condemnation of marriage as an institution, facilitated by the willful imagination of women and the indifferent dry hearts of men, this novel is an incredible exploration of loneliness, motherhood, death, and loss. Though a short read, Ginzburg's novel packs a punch.
The narrator is constantly in conflict between her imaginings for the perfect relationship with her distracted and unfeeling husband Alberto, who, throughout their marriage, has an ongoing affair with another semi-indifferent romantic partner, Giovanna. Ginzburg brings nuance to the female experience in marriage through the moments of lucidity and insight that the narrator experiences, which of course, are brought to a head by the murder of Alberto. Again and again, the narrator descends into an imaginative sense of romance, a conflation of the dreadfulness of reality and the glass rosiness of fantasy.
Ginzburg decisively shows that we are not changed by romance itself--we are disillusioned by romance. Alberto is a perfect example of that argument, when he admits that he loses interest even in Giovanna and their all-consuming affair of eleven years, when they are not in proximity. The novel makes you question the authenticity of celebrated "romance", about the sacrifices we make for validation, for the feeling of being celebrated, loved.
Francesca, the narrator's 'friend' and cousin, is the only character that could be considered free from the constraints of a romantic imagination. But even she is cynical, unhappy, flighty, and unsettled. And furthermore, Giovanna, despite being the other woman, mirrors the narrator's unhappiness and her relationship with Alberto. The strange and alluring conversations between the narrator and Giovanna, as well as those between the narrator and Augusto are some of the most enjoyable and fascinating scenes in the novel.
4.5/5, I would love to read this again in a few years.
Song for the Basilisk by Patricia A. McKillip
adventurous
mysterious
reflective
medium-paced
4.5
4.5/5--what an absolutely fantastic representation of standalone adult fantasy. If you're looking to read older adult high fantasy by a female author, Patricia McKillip may be a wonderful place to start or continue that journey. I know that I will be reading more of her work.
The novel follows Rook Caladrius, who at 37 years of age, begins to unravel his personal history as the Griffin of House Tormalyne, which was massacred by the new ruling Pellinor House of the Basilisk. A story of power, intrigue, dynasty, and espionage, Song for the Basilisk is a whirlwind of adventure.
This novel reminded me, in many ways, of Dragonsbane by Barbara Hambly, as it centers on an older cast of characters (namely Rook/Caladrius), and has strong elements of parenthood throughout the story. The world building, which is constructed around music, bard magic, and inter-house rivalry, is unique, somewhat mystifying and obscure, but nonetheless riveting. Though I do think the ending resolution of the novel was a little bit rushed, the characters and lyrical prose writing more than make up for it. Very rarely have I come across fantasy with such beautiful imagery, nor have I recently seen such an interesting discussion of memory and music in a fantasy setting. (Perhaps reminiscent of Patrick Rothfuss, though Rothfuss is hardly as concise).
Absolutely loved it, and will be looking for more McKillip in the future.
The novel follows Rook Caladrius, who at 37 years of age, begins to unravel his personal history as the Griffin of House Tormalyne, which was massacred by the new ruling Pellinor House of the Basilisk. A story of power, intrigue, dynasty, and espionage, Song for the Basilisk is a whirlwind of adventure.
This novel reminded me, in many ways, of Dragonsbane by Barbara Hambly, as it centers on an older cast of characters (namely Rook/Caladrius), and has strong elements of parenthood throughout the story. The world building, which is constructed around music, bard magic, and inter-house rivalry, is unique, somewhat mystifying and obscure, but nonetheless riveting. Though I do think the ending resolution of the novel was a little bit rushed, the characters and lyrical prose writing more than make up for it. Very rarely have I come across fantasy with such beautiful imagery, nor have I recently seen such an interesting discussion of memory and music in a fantasy setting. (Perhaps reminiscent of Patrick Rothfuss, though Rothfuss is hardly as concise).
Absolutely loved it, and will be looking for more McKillip in the future.