Such freedom from convention was intoxicating.

It's really nice to read without having any other homework eating at me. Any time I sit down to do reading for class, some ridiculous, masochistic part of me says, 'No, this part has to be last; you actually enjoy this.' Since spring semester hasn't even started yet, I, of course, don't have any other assignments.

Yesterday, I picked up "Fun Home: A Family Tragicomic," which I'll be reading for Gay and Lesbian Lit next semester. I must admit, as obvious as it may seem, the idea of reading ahead has never occurred to me. Marcy mentioned that she was going to try to get some reading done over winter break, and I thought, 'What a brilliant idea!! I can't ever think of something to read, and I'm always bored to tears at home!' and here I am.

This graphic memoir is the author's recollection of her sexually confused home, particularly in respect to her father, who died when she was twenty. He was hit by a truck--officially an accident, perhaps a suicide. Their family dynamic is very unique, and yet, I find it relatable despite completely different circumstances within my household.

Bechdel explains that her parents were both artists in multiple forms--her mother a pianist and actress, her father a literary scholar with a flair for interior design--and that often she interrupted their moments of escape.

"It's childish, perhaps, to grudge them the sustenance of their creative solitude, but it was all that sustained them, and was thus all-consuming. From their example, I learned quickly to feed myself. It was a vicious circle, though. The more gratification we found in our own geniuses, the more isolated we grew. Our home was like an artists' colony. We ate together, but otherwise were absorbed in our seperate pursuits. And in this isolation, our creativity took on an aspect of compulsion."

I see this so vividly in my own family. We are less of a unit and more several units coexisting in the same space. We don't hate each other. We don't necessarily like each other, but we certainly love each other with all of our hearts, and that stands for something, doesn't it?

She mentions another time that she feels as though there was an unspoken agreement that she would go on to live the artistic life that both of her parents gave up for a family. The unspoken request my parents seem to be making is interesting--it seems to me that they want me to do just as they have done, but WITHOUT that regret of giving something else up. It seems they want me to give up the same things, they just want me to "see" that it's worth it.

The problem, of course, is that my parents have accidently raised their polar opposites in children. While my brother maintains their political and religious beliefs, I honestly think (and hope...) that it's only a manner of time. I didn't consider other options until college; I'll consider him up in the air until he gets to college as well.

Basically, this book is very easy to fall into. It's easy to exchange your family's issues for those Alison brings up, and it's easy to remember those tiny psychological scars that parallel events left in you. This 'quick read' has a lot of depth, and I know that it will take two or three more quick reads through it to pick up half of the meaning in these anecdotes.

As a graphic narrative, it's a totally new genre for me, and I must say it is enjoyable. It forces me to see the story first and its typographical delivery second, with fair reason and to my advantage. It's definitely worth the read.

-- Post From My iPhone

I think that as a general rule lonely people give other lonely people money a lot.

"I'm not saying that I ever expect you to toe the line or anything as insubstantial and conformist as that; I hope that you will do quite the opposite and question everything--teachers, coaches, priests, lawmakers, prime-time television shows, magazine ads, top-forty deejays, and any intellectual analgesic that could numb the senses and lure you into rote compliance like it has done to the vast, flimsy-minded flock of sheep that is America."

I guess I just have a thing for the Rapp brothers.

That is a piece of a letter that Peter wrote to his little brother Jamie (aka Punkzilla). In the same letter, Peter goes on to tell his fourteen-year-old brother that he has cancer. Jamie, desperate to see his big brother before he dies, has to get from Portland, Oregon to Memphis, Tennessee.

And when Jamie starts his journey, he's still feeling the meth from last night.

This novel is written in letters that aren't necessarily in order, but they are all dated. Jamie doesn't have the best syntax or punctuation, but he has the most beautiful thoughts sometimes, and he writes down every single one of them.

As a sucker for the Rapp boys and epistolary narrative style and stream of consciousness writing, I had no chance to escape this one.

This week my son thinks he's the Supremes. All of them. So we can scratch "straight" off the list.

I never had a chance to dislike this book.

My Most Excellent Year: How do I love thee? Let me count the ways:

1. Musical theatre--I will put up with a lot of nonsense for a good musical theatre reference. I'm glad this did not have to be one of those times.

2. Epistolary narrative style--I'm a sucker for this stuff. It's the characterization and the raw beauty of stream of consciousness thought. I know that sounds strange coming from the punctuation fiend, but I can appreciate something that stirs empathy (Faulkner and e e cummings both have crazy punctuation, too, and I still love them with all of my heart and soul).

3. Diva of the week--Liza? Angela Lansbury? This is such an excellent idea that I may steal it from him. I think I'll start with Idina.

4. This quote--"And while I was tucking him in, I realized that we'd never had the "I'm gay" conversation. Has this generation finally made it superfluous? If only."

Basically, this book is a ton of fun. It's super cheesey most of the time, and it's far too happy...

...but we all need that once in a while, right?

And this time he doesn't tell me to say mercy.

It's hard to talk about We Were Here without giving everything away. The most beautiful parts are the most anticipated and the most terrifying and devestating and to give them away would be cruel.

After "it" happened, Miguel was sent to a group home and required to write about "it" and talk about "it"--but he refuses to deal with "it." Miguel bonds with Mong and Rondell, two boys from the group home with issues of their own, and the three of them escape, running for Mexico, running from home.

There are times in the book when I would notice something hinting heavily at "it," but de la Pena manages to effectively surprise even those of us who saw "it" coming with his choppy phrases like choppy breaths as Miguel pours honesty out of his chest and onto the pages of his journal.

This novel speaks less to me about race as a specific prejudice and more to me about judgement as a generality. On the first page we see Miguel's sentencing, and we automatically assume he's a terrible kid. We don't stop to consider the severity of his crime or the circumstances of his commiting it, but worst of all, we don't stop to consider that he is still a person.

Honestly, I would rather see this story in a poetic format--a lot of the build up is just frustrating, but the style and wording when Miguel decribes "it" evokes such sympathy. I think those emotions would be stronger if they hadn't been dampered by time.

She wasn't the kind of girl to attempt a makeover.

In the world of sarcastic teens, Frankie Landau-Banks is queen, but she's determined to be king.

In The Disreputable History of Frankie Landau-Banks, Frankie is a student at a prestigious boarding school, Alabaster Prep. Her newly filled-out shirt negates her sophomore status; she gains the attentions of Matthew Livingston, a senior. After they begin dating, Frankie discovers that Matthew is a member of a secret society called "the Loyal Order of the Basset Hounds," a once "respected" group of male pranksters. Angered by patriarchy and eager to prove herself, she creates a little prank of her own.

The message behind this book is clear--women are equal to men.

One aspect I feel is particularly unique is the recognition of differences between men and women; it separates the idea that women can only be equal to men if they are exactly the same. Frankie embraces her femininity while asserting her voice, while plotting and planning and scheming, while hoping for a better salad bar. Her introduction may seem as though she's taking the fall for these boys when in fact, she's taking the credit.

The message behind this book is clear--women do not have to act like men in order to be equal to men.

I've decided that, for the purposes of my Adolescent in American Literature class, I need to look at these books through a lens of thematic content more than syntactic content. My preferences are very particular, and viewing these books through such a limited perspective prohibits my ability to grant them merit, which is not fair to the authors or the readers or the characters for that matter.

The message behind this book is clear, and that's what makes it worth reading.

But you...you shall be encumbered with your own past, hm?

As a part of my Adolescent in American Literature class, we are reading various sub-genres within the genre of YA lit in order to better familiarize ourselves with the many types of books available to our future students as well as lessen the stigma of a "young adult" label. So far, we've read a YA novel of our choice (Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban), a "classic" YA novel of our choice (The Chocolate War), a realistic YA novel (Looking for Alaska), an author-specific novel (John Green, An Abundance of Katherines), a dystopian YA novel (The Hunger Games) and now, a historical fiction YA novel, The Astonishing Life of Octavian Nothing by M. T. Anderson.

Octavian leads the life of a prince--silk clothes, an education in the classics and the arts--but this son of an African once-princess is far from royalty. After having his curiousities aroused by the comments of a servant in "his" household, Octavian opens the "forbidden door," and discovers how limited his freedom really is. This psychological devestation, however, teaches Octavian more than he could ever have hoped to learn in his childhood home with the philosophers; he realizes the injustices in the world and goes off to fight them.

Stylistically, the author pays tribute to the time period, which I fully apprecite. I love the phrasing of Octavian's thoughts, the constant near-beat of the word. It's almost as though his mother's description of their native tongue as song rather than speech impacts the voice of Octavian, even before he has had that conversation with his mother. In short, I very much enjoy it.

Additionally, the novel has historical documents throughout, adding to the realism of Octavian's plight and, therefore, to the connection the audience feels with the protagonist. If students form a more personal connection with the narrator(s), they have more inspiration for completing the assignment regardless of the difficulty level. Yes, a student is less inclined to read anything they find too difficult, but I know that's one way I grew as a reader.

I fully support this book being taught in a classroom. It's a great pairing novel for English OR History.

Of the "star-crossed lovers" from District 12

I must confess--I'm quite behind on these blog posts (as far as class is concerned). Several weeks ago, we read a highly lauded dystopian novel called The Hunger Games.

The Hunger Games is about two young adults from District 12 of Panem, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark, who are chosen to compete in one of the most popular competitions of their time--the hunger games. All twelve districts of Panem send a male and a female tribute (age twelve to eighteen) to the Capitol for the games; all twelve districts watch with bated breath. The game, you see, is survival, and the sole winner receives the prize--life. Without intention, Katniss and Peeta change the role of this game and perhaps even the Capitol itself.

Suzanne Collins (author, The Hunger Games) is not the first to tell this story, nor will she be the last. The first tale of sacrificial youth dates back to the ancient Greeks with the story of Theseus. The story has been simplified for children, intensified for adults and, in The Hunger Games, reimagined for teenagers.

Though the writing style is simple, the overarching theme of the book is far more complicated. Hidden among the unique post-apocalyptic world of fights to the death and teenage romance you'll find stimulating discussion points concerning the human animal, the abuse of political power and socioeconomic stratification. Because of the simplicity mentioned earlier, this novel can be taught as a modernization of any of its many precursors (preferably relating to Greek mythology) without providing undue stress on students.

That smile could end wars and cure cancer.

I expressed in the previous blog post that I was quite a fan of John Green's Looking for Alaska; my reading circle in the adolescent in American literature did as well, so we decided to split his other two books, An Abundance of Katherines and Paper Towns, between ourselves. As you may have guessed, the title of the former intrigued me, and I read it.

Katherines is about a recent high school graduate, Colin, and the over-abundance of Katherines in his life. His girlfriend (Katherine XIX, as he affectionately refers to her) breaks up with him, and Colin falls apart. His best friend sprints to the rescue with the idea of a roadtrip to nowhere lasting forever, and the two embark on this journey to rid Colin of his curse--the dumpee of all Katherines.

The writing here differs significantly from that of Green's first book. Katherines is in third person, which makes connecting to the main character (who is a little distant in the first place) more difficult. After a bit of consideration, I think that Green may have done this on purpose. Though I have no evidence other than my own personal knowledge and opinion of the following claim, I think it's an interesting one; perhaps Colin has (very mild) autisim. He has a lot of classic signs I've observed in classes before--he's obsessive (the Katherines, anagrams), he was reading at a young age, he tries to make love into an equation, his best friend has to teach him social cues--and Green's third-person narrative exascerbates the distance between the reader and the protagonist. I think there are a lot of interesting, intelligent ideas presented in this novel, but the way they are presented lacks something. I can't quite put my finger on it, but this book is not nearly as engaging as Alaska.

Because Colin is so interested in math and anagrams, the book does contain some interesting content in subjects other than English, but as a future English teacher, I don't think I would teach this book to the general classroom. I would certainly suggest it to any student whom I thought would be interested; though there is a little bit of language and a few awkwardly inappropriate comments (particularly surrounding religion), there is no material objectionable enough to question its audience.

I love you, Alaska Young.

Our first "assigned" book for the semester in The Adolescent in American Literature was "Looking for Alaska" by John Green, and I must admit, the man has style.

The narrator, Miles Halter, begins boarding at Culver Creek his junior year, on a search for the "Great Perhaps." He finds friends for the first time in his life--particularly his roommate, the Colonel, and his love interest, Alaska--who bestow upon him the ironic nickname "Pudge." These three teenagers, with varying backgrounds and histories, spend the "Before" sharing secrets, falling in love and misbehaving; they spend the "After" theorizing, feeling guilty and mourning as best they know how.

Green's use of repetition is powerful and beautiful and emotionally thrilling--at the end of the "Before" Pudge repeats "We did not say," followed by the what-ifs that weigh on all of our hearts at one point or another. Throughout the novel he uses the device in similar ways, but never quite as striking. I also liked the general style of the book; the "teenager" language doesn't feel forced or fake, rather pulsing slowly, with an appropriate crescendo and decrescendo, lyrical, but harsh.

The story, though somewhat unique, has elements to which everyone can relate. The simultaneous (or loosely separated) feelings of elation and bottomless despair are familiar to anyone who has ever experienced growing up.

Though students will be very interested in this book, I doubt that it could be taught (due to the sexuality and expletives). It's worth having around the classroom and worth recommendation, particularly to students struggling with a significant loss.

The Chocolate War by Robert Cormier

I've heard good things about The Chocolate War, so, when I saw it on the list of classic YA novels we could choose to read for "The Adolescent in American Lit," I decided to give it a try.

The story is that of Trinity High School, particularly a freshman named Jerry Renault. The school has a "gang" called The Vigils; these boys give "homework assignments" to younger boys as a form of psychological torture. Jerry's first assignment is to refuse to sell chocolates for the school fundraiser, lighting the short fuse of Brother Leon, the assistant headmaster. After ten days, when Jerry is allowed to start selling chocolates, he doesn't--inspired by a poster reading "Do I dare disturb the universe?" Jerry dares, and the rest of the book lays out the consequences of his split-second decision to challenge authority.

I'll begin by saying that this book is indeed intelligent. It is well-written with complex grammar and vocabulary. It gets quite violent at times, vividly so. The first chapter describes a football tryout, but it sounds more like a gang war. The violence escalates, but I don't want to ruin the novel.

Here's a quote that I rather liked from that first chapter: "His body seemed to telescope into itself but all the parts didn't fit, and he was stunned by the knowledge that pain isn't just one thing--it is cunning and various, sharp here and sickening there, burning here and crawling there"(2). Even here, on the second page, it's clear that Cormier has talent and knowledge; I think that this was the "problem novel" before it was a meaningless term. I think that want-to-be authors saw this compelling story and these multidimensional characters and thought, 'Hey, I could do that,' not considering the parts of the novel that take it from good to great.

Personally, I wasn't a huge fan of the writing style or the ending, but I appreciate the novel for what it is--a quality piece of literature for students.

Chaos is success, and from chaos emerges beauty.

Though it was Chuck Palahniuk's third book, I just read "Invisible Monsters." I've owned it for a significant period of time and for whatever reason never read it. I'm currently at the beach with my family, so I chose it because the Village Voice reviewer way back when called it a "bitchy beach read."

"Invisible Monsters" is a fast-paced novel about the fast-paced world of beautiful people. These models have surgery after surgery and never look beautiful enough for themselves or their fashionista friends. In this world, people are just accessories with little worth and nothing original to offer. Specifically, the narrator laments about her condition after her "car accident," her life before and the people in between. What she wants is constantly changing, and the ways she goes about getting it will shock you.

I've mentioned before that I read Palahniuk for his poetic prose, not his often lackluster plotlines. "Invisible Monsters" differs in that it offers the same stream-of-consciousness narration and the same interesting ideas, but the language isn't as impressively lyrical. However, Palahniuk more than makes up for his not-as-picture-perfect language with a storyline that will knock you off of your feet. It's difficult to explain without giving away the story because so much is about how nothing is as it seems. The philosophies presented here are easy to relate to and more sensible than most of those in his other novels. The narrator things a lot about God and his place in the lives of people as well as our place in the lives of others, which leaves a lot to think about as a reader.

I have to say, this really is one of the best books I've ever read--top five at least. It's incredibly intelligent, amusing and interesting. It has a bit of a slow start, but after about the halfway point, I had a difficult time putting it down because there was something new and surprising at every turn. I must admit that there are a couple of inconsistencies, but they are so minor that they could be easily written off or explained if absolutely necessary.

I enjoyed this book to such a degree that I am considering re-reading "Lullaby" to see which one is better. If the language in "Invisible Monsters" is equal to that of "Lullaby," I may have just found a new favourite book....

-- Post From My iPhone

Snuff by Chuck Palahniuk

I've always been an avid Chuck Palahniuk fan. He's a little more transgressive than I usually prefer, but I can't get over the absolute beauty and wonder that is his style of prose. Oddly enough, its poetry almost overshadows the storyline in some novels, because I find his storylines to sometimes be only so-so.

Most people know Palahniuk from his first novel, Fight Club, or his latest novel-turned-film, Choke. Both are good books (and movies), but I've always loved Lullaby most of all. Maybe later today I'll do a Lullaby quotes post--then you'll understand.

His latest three books are (in order of publishing) Rant, Snuff and Pygmy. I seem to remember reading something about these three being somehow connected (back when Rant came out a couple of years ago), but I don't remember where I read it or what it said, and I haven't been able to find it since. I heard from a friend that Rant wasn't very good, so I skipped it (but I bought it in paperback to read later) when I read reviews that said Snuff was brilliant.

Snuff tells the story of an aging, legendary porn star, Cassie Wright, as she tries to reclaim her fame. She decides that the best way to do this is to create an epic gang-bang porno with 600 men performing various sex acts filmed in succession. The narrators are Mr 600, another aging porn star with a Cassie Wright history, Mr 72, a young kid with flowers and a dream, Mr 137, a recently scandalized and sexually confused television actor with nothing to lose and, finally, Sheila, Ms Wright's assisstant/ talent wrangler who has an interest in unusual true stories. Chapters bounce from narrator to narrator, maintaining the scene of debauchary and disgust that is a room full of 600 naked men waiting their turn to do whatever it is they want to do, each looking for God only knows what. Each narrator has a hidden agenda revealed to the reader in turn, and just when you think you've got it all figured out, a classic Palahniuk plot twist makes your jaw drop.

First of all, this plot, though nasty, sounded extremely interesting to me. I've never read anything quite like it, and I need an element of mystery in a novel to enjoy it fully. I often ruin books, movies or television shows for myself because I predict the plot. While some elements of this story were indeed predictable, I appreciated the ending twist. Some of Palahniuk's endings almost try too hard, seemingly coming out of nowhere and serve little more purpose than to shock; the ending of Snuff, though throughly disgusting, was appropriate and sensible, considering the plot, while still managing to use that shock factor and surprise the reader.

As surprising as this may be, I think Choke was nastier than Snuff. I read Choke as a junior in high school, so maybe it was exclusively the perspective from which I read it. Still, this plot had the potential to scar me for life, but it left me with little more than apathy. There was something that I can't quite identify, whether it's Palahniuk loyalty or some hidden interest, that kept me from putting it down. I purchased Hey, Nostradomus! a few weeks before Snuff, but I couldn't manage to get through it. I was just so bored. I read half of it in a day, and it was good, but not good enough to finish.

I hate to conclude with something so vague, but I can't think of any other way to describe this book. It's a good read for those of you interested in modern, slightly transgressive fiction, and it's a good read for Palahniuk fans. I rate it better than Choke or Survivor, but not nearly as good as Fight Club or Lullaby. Of the five Palahniuks I've read, it belongs smack dab in the middle.

Thanks for reading! Constructive criticism welcome.

-- Post From My iPhone

Twlight

I finally jumped on the bandwagon and read Twilight (by Stephanie Myer) today. Here are my thoughts.

First of all, it's an easy read. It doesn't require a lot of thought or effort to figure out what's going on, and it is often pretty predictable. Still, I had trouble putting it down. Though the descriptions are simple and often cliche, Myer presents a new brand of vampire for us, and I always appreciate originality, particularly when it comes to something common.

Now, I do have some pretty strong opinions of the characters. I, like every other female on the planet, loved Edward Cullen and his whole family, for that matter. Those characters are mysterious, interesting. Once again, there's something to say for the different view of vampires. Bella, on the other hand, is not my brand of protagonist. She's just too much of a "damsel-in-distress" for me. I understand that she doesn't have powers and such, but she just seems...annoying. I mean, come on, you love fear and danger and Edward, but you faint at the sight (or smell) of blood? Kind of silly. And the whole 'I-want-to-be-a-vampire' thing? I'm split on this one. Part of me wants Edward to sire her and for them to live happily ever after, part of me understands that desire to be special, different, anything but boring and part of me is extremely annoyed. See, that desire to be different that I have, Bella lacks. She specifically wants to blend in. Her want to be a vampire is completely contradictory of her personality. The really annoying bit is that she knows how much it hurts Edward to think of her becoming a vampire, and yet she brings it up constantly.

Who knows, maybe I'm just jealous, and that's why I'm not crazy about her. Maybe when I read the other books, she will develop as a person, as a character, and I'll be able to relate to her. As for now, I think that Myer has some consistency issues when it comes to Bella. It's possible that she just spent too much time working on her lovely vampire family to make a decent protagonist, but still...

All right, well, that's all I have to say for now. Hopefully more to come (after I read the other books).

Without You: a Memoir of Love, Loss and the Musical Rent

"What? I thought that this was a blog about literature...isn't he some actor on Broadway? He was in that one show...what's it called...Rent, right?"

Yes. He is an actor on Broadway--an AMAZING actor, singer and playwright on Broadway. He is also, as most do not know, an author. His brother, Adam Rapp, is an author and is more well-known in the literary world. Anthony has only written one book, Without You: a Memoir of Love, Loss and the Musical Rent. I still have about twenty pages left, and have for quite some time. Basically, I can't stand for it to end. It is one of the most beautifully written memoirs I've ever read. Don't take my word for it; here are some of my favourite parts.

As they were working on Rent, Jonathon Larson brought in a friend of his, Cy O'Neal to talk about the organization Friends in Deed. The scenes depicting the Life Support group in Rent were based on this group, so Jonathon felt it was necessary for them to grasp the concept of the real organization.

* "Well," Cy began, "at Friends, we come from the point of view that, in life, there are no accidents. It's all okay. There is nothing really ever wrong. Everything in life is exactly the way that it should be, very simply because that's the way it is. There is no other way that it can be."
...
Intrigued and stirred up, I raised my hand and asked, "If you're saying you come from the point of view that nothing's ever wrong, that everything's always okay, what do you do with anger and sadness and grief when something bad happens?"
...
"There's nothing wrong with grief. It's an entirely appropriate response. Of course we feel grief. The trouble is, in our culture, there isn't always a lot of permission for people to grieve. And so we think that we shouldn't go through it, and we stifle it down, because it's not allowed. And that's when we get into trouble."

This is by far the most real and devastating descriptions of death that I have ever encountered. Anthony's mother died moments before his flight left New York to go home. He asked his aunt to leave the body so that he could have a chance to say goodbye.

* My hand gripped the doorknob and quickly closed the door behind me. A sound began to emerge from my throat, from my gut, from my chest, a moan I had never heard myself make, a low sound, a horrible, frightening sound, and though I had already shed so many tears, there were fresh ones, streaming down my face, uncontrolled, unbidden, wet and wet and wet, and there was Mom, or rather there was her body, her shell, beautifully laid there on the bed, in a simple white nightgown, under her simple white quilt, a simply white rose resting on her chest. It was clear that she had been tenderly settled there by Robert or Terry, and I was so grateful that they had taken such care, and I was grateful to get the chance to see her one more time, and at the same time, I was more certain than I had ever been that we are not contained in our bodies; there was nothing left of my mother in that shell on that bed, that impossibly pale body that only slightly resembled Mom. It was far, far too pale and still and, well--dead, yes dead, she was dead, dead dead dead--and I would have given anything at all to have one more chance, one more moment to tell her I loved her--even though I knew she knew it--and to hold her hand, and then I reached over and touched her hand, and my fingers felt her cold and rubbery dead dead dead skin, and there was no life in that skin, no sense of her, no possible way that all of who she was--all of the love she had, all of the life she lived, all of her mistakes and all of her energy and all of her friends' and family's love for her--there was no way that all of that was contained in that body, that empty dead body.
...
Then the door opened and Adam poked his head in. "Are you okay?" he said.
I wanted to say of course I'm not okay I'm not at all okay I'm in agony I hate this more than anything I've ever hated before in my life, and all of that time I was waiting for her to die, all of that time we spent laughing about it and hoping for this moment, all of that time, I would give it all back ten thousand times over to not have to go through this right now, what I'm going through right now, I hate myself for ever having said or thought those things, no I'm not okay. But instead I caught my breath and said, "Yeah."