Monthly Archives: October 2011

The Resolution Project Book Seventy: A Passage to India (1924)

“How can the mind take hold of such a country? Generations of invaders have tried, but they remain in exile. The important towns they build are only retreats, their quarrels the malaise of men who cannot find their way home. India knows of their trouble. She knows the whole world’s trouble, to its uttermost depth. She calls “Come” through her hundred mouths, through objects ridiculous and august. But come to what? She is not a promise, only an appeal.” (Highlight Location 2025-28, Kindle version)

The Resolution Project: For my New Year’s resolution this year (that being 2011), I decided to try and read all one hundred of the novels picked by Time Magazine as the best since their inception in 1923 to the list’s publication in 2005. I exempted myself from reading ones I’ve already read, leaving some eighty-six or so to read before the end of this year. Some spoilers may lie ahead, so be warned if you’re the type to be bothered by that.

A Passage to India cover

Adela Quested and her soon-to-be mother in law Mrs. Moore have come to Chandrapore, a city in British India, to visit Ronny Heaslop, Adela’s fiancee. Ronny is the Magistrate in the city of Chandrapore, and a prominent member of the expat English society there, in the waning days of the British Raj. Mrs. Moore encounters a Muslim physician named Aziz while investigating a mosque, and a friendship of sorts grows between the two, who bond over accounts of one another’s children and a mutual respect. When Aziz invites the two women on an excursion to the Malabar caves, events are set into motion that will disrupt the balance of power between Hindus, Muslims and the occupying English. Emotions are set bare as the situation threatens to ignite a powder keg of distrust and inequality.

This was a pretty solid read. What I liked most about the book was that not a single character in the story really understood one another, while we the reader benefited from the third person omniscient narration and could see the problems from all sides. Everyone in the book is an outsider, in a way. The two women are obviously so: just off the boat from England, looking to see the mythical “real India”, they are unaware of the preconceptions they bring with them, as well as the tenuous, hard-fought peace they will go on to unknowingly disrupt. I love this quote, by the way: ”This pose of ‘seeing India’ which had seduced him to Miss Quested at Chandrapore was only a form of ruling India; no sympathy lay behind it …” (Highlight Location 4613-15). It perfectly describes how I feel about travelling, when “seeing” things almost becomes a way of taking ownership of them, of catching them and diluting them down into a Facebook slideshow of things you did on holiday. You can never get out of your own skin long enough to actually experience a foreign land, the most you can do is translate it into something that makes sense to you.

Gotta catch them all, mind expanding travel experiences, that is...

Gotta catch them all, mind expanding travel experiences, that is...

Aziz, on the other hand, is a Muslim, and as such is precluded from experiencing Hindu society to almost the same extent as an English person is. We learn a lot about what Muslim life would have been like at the time, and are helped to understand the theological and social underpinnings that separate Hindu India from Muslim India, which was to become the nation of Pakistan 23 years after the novel’s publication. The book helps us to understand all of the differences between the two cultures, who use the English almost as an intermediary in many cases.

Forster is an amazing descriptor of Indian society and the landscape of the country. He spends a lot of time (especially near the end of the book) describing Hindu religious ceremonies with an anthropological eye; never really getting the reader into the mindset of someone participating in the rituals, but describing them as an outsider would have experienced them. While some might find that a fault of the book, that we never really get to know a Hindu person as well as we do a Muslim and several Christians, it is definitely done with a purpose in mind. I don’t really think that this book is guilty of being written with “orientalism” as the goal, the Hindu world is instead used as a backdrop for the personal dramas of the protagonists to play against. The core of the book comes from the culture clash between Aziz and Adela, as well as their mutual friend Cyril Fielding, who is an Englishman who has ingratiated himself well in the country and acts as a sort of midpoint between the two in many ways.

I liked the imagery Forster used with regards to the “echo”: Adela, in the Marabar cave, hears an echo in the circular chamber, which afterwards seems to loom over her whole existence. What actually happened to her in the cave remains a mystery, but her accusation of Aziz of impropriety causes echoes, ripples, to spread over the entire city. Adela’s virtue starts as a cause celebre for the English occupiers, but grows into an excuse for a general distaste for the region they chose to conquer, and a reason to punish its inhabitants. I loved how “Marabar” starts off as innocent, the name of a cave structure, but grows into an all encompassing catch-all term for racial hatred that threatens to turn into violence. It’s the same way news organizations nowadays label everything “-gate” in an attempt to reclaim all of the feelings that the Watergate hotel came to signify in American popular culture. If you’d like something to compare the frenzy that is stirred by the ensuing trial (that most of you have had to read in school), I’d compare it to fellow Time 100 list member Harper Lee’s To Kill A Mockingbird, which captures the same sort of feeling, this time in the American South. What began as a supposedly simple sexual assault (if you can really have such a thing, of course, but hear me out on this), turns into a huge debate, over the future of India itself; Miss Quested, described as extremely plain and priggish, temporarily metamorphoses into the very flower of British womanhood herself, and just as quickly vanishes from the pubic interest soon afterwards once her usefulness as a symbol is extinguished.

Anyway, Forster must have been an incredible judge of character and had a great eye for landscapes, if the evidence found in this book is to be believed. He is able to, with short declarative language, capture the tenor of an entire age, of a Raj about to go into decline, and an India about to become resplendent once more.

“They had started speaking of ‘women and children’ – that phrase that exempts the male from sanity when it has been repeated a few times. Each felt that all he loved best in the world was at stake, demanded revenge, and was filled with a not unpleasing glow, in which the chilly and half-known features of Miss Quested vanished, and were replaced by all that is sweetest and warmest in the private life.” (Highlight Location 2754-57, Kindle version)

Who would I recommend this book to?:  People who are interested in the historical period known as the British Raj. People who like seeing how small events can blow up into large calamities. People who enjoy reading about other cultures handled really well.

Total pages read since January 1st: 13245 pp.

Total books on the Time 100 list read since January 1st (not including ones read before 2011, and two extras): 31

Next up on the Resolution Project: A Handful of Dust (1934) by Evelyn Waugh

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The Resolution Project Detour Four – Mourir Auprès de Toi

Here’s a lovely short film from Spike Jonze (Being John Malkovich, Adaptation) and designer Olympia Le-Tan. It’s poignant, funny and sort of naughty, and since I saw two Time 100 best novels in it (Under the Volcano by Malcolm Lowry and The Heart is a Lonely Hunter by Carson McCullers, which is most likely my next book to read), I decided it counts. My project, my rules. Enjoy.

Spike Jonze: Mourir Auprès de Toi on Nowness.com.

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The Resolution Project Book Thirty-One: Dog Soldiers (1974)

“‘All summer these people sweat fire, all winter they sweat the floods. Shit creeps out of the night under those sundecks, and they know it.’ He was shouting at her over the wind and the engine. ‘Fucking L.A., man – go out for a Sunday spin, you’re a short hair from the dawn of creation.’” (p. 164 Kindle version)

The Resolution Project: For my New Year’s resolution this year (that being 2011), I decided to try and read all one hundred of the novels picked by Time Magazine as the best since their inception in 1923 to the list’s publication in 2005. I exempted myself from reading ones I’ve already read, leaving some eighty-six or so to read before the end of this year. Some spoilers may lie ahead, so be warned if you’re the type to be bothered by that.

Dog Soldiers cover

John Converse is a writer for Nightbeat magazine, cooling his heels in Saigon as the Vietnam War winds down. Seeing a chance to make one final splash, he acquires a large quantity of heroin, which he gives to his old Marine buddy Ray Hicks to take back home on a Merchant Marine boat. The plan is for Hicks to deliver the scag to Converse’s wife Marge, but things get out of hand and Hicks and Marge are forced to go on the run through the hellish post-Manson Southern California.

Recipe for one Dog Soldiers: take Thomas Pynchon’s California landscape (as seen in The Crying of Lot 49, Vineland and Inherent Vice), add in a little bit of James Ellroy-McGuffinry (the big bag of H from The Big Nowhere and L.A. Confidential), mix in a little post-hippie solipsism and stir with a Deliverance-esque wilderness shootout finale.

I was actually pretty disappointed by this book. I don’t really know what I was expecting, though. Perhaps more Vietnam stuff? Actually, the sequences of Converse in Vietnam were pretty good. He actually seems pretty at home in the place, having dinner with other expats while bombs go off and kids get killed. It matches the sort of things you end up seeing reported in Nightbeat, a National Inquirer-esque rag devoted to the perverted and strange. It’s once the narrative focus switches to Marge and Hicks that was the problem.

Both characters have their viewpoints clouded somehow: Marge is a habitual abuser of the drug dilaudid, and eventually moves to heroin once it comes into her perception. Higgs also partakes in the H, but in his case it seems like an escape from how shitty his life has become since being deployed as a Marine in Japan. He also uses it in a Scarface-esque “stimpak” sense, to stay on his feet after incurring multiple bullet wounds. I had a difficult time sympathizing with either of these two junkies. Marge is only characterized briefly, and spend the rest of her time sleeping with Hicks at the drop of a hat essentially. Hicks is a little more interesting; he practices a sort of Zen/Samurai approach to life, which came to him after living at the mountain refuge of Dieter, the site of the novel’s climax.

I think the big reason for the lack of enjoyment I received from Dog Soldiers came from not only the fact that it is an incredibly dated piece (lacking the metatextuality, reflexivity and gags that lift Pynchon’s work out of the same morass), but also that I was struck by an insane thought while reading this book. It’s pretty much what a dark(er) prequel to The Big Lebowski would look like.

"Mark it zero, Dude!"

After this thought, I couldn’t think of anything else. The slacker journalist Converse was obviously a Jeffrey Lebowski “Year One” reboot, while the seemingly imperturbable samurai warrior Hicks was Walter Sobchak, 1974. Even the token female in the piece, Marge, is not too far off from Maude Lebowski, the femme fatale artiste. The gay mob muscle duo? Straight out of Coen bad-guy central casting. The depraved Antheil, narcotics agent and bagman? Obviously the sheriff of Malibu, 20 years earlier. I felt like I was intruding on someone’s garden party by the end of it.

SO, in conclusion, Dog Soldiers was just okay. It is no Lebowski (but what is, really?), but it’s no Blood Meridian, either. It just felt like a low-rent mashup version of many other things I’ve enjoyed previously. When it won the National Book Award in 1975, the judges must have still been working through the previous winner (Gravity’s Rainbow) and had to pick something fast.

“In the end there were not many things worth wanting – for the serious man, the samurai. But there were some. In the end, if the serious man is still bound to illusion, he selects the worthiest illusion and takes a stand. The illusion might be of waiting for one woman to come under his hands. Of being with her and shivering in the same moment. If I walk away from this, he thought, I’ll be an old man -all ghosts and hangovers and mellow recollections. Fuck it, he thought, follow the blood. This is the one. This is the one to ride till it crashes.” (p. 168, Kindle version)

Who would I recommend this book to?: People who’ve exhausted the oeuvres of Pynchon, Ellroy, Chandler and Hammett, and are looking for more hard-boiled crime stuff with a philosophical bent. People who don’t have flashbacks from ‘Nam. People who like reading about heroin addicts.

Total pages read since January 1st: 12877 pp.

Total books on the Time 100 list read since January 1st (not including ones read before 2011): 30

Next up on the Resolution Project: A Passage to India, by E.M. Forster (1924)

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The Resolution Project Book Thirty-Six: Gone With The Wind (1936) – Part Two

This is the second part of my review of Gone With the Wind. For the first part, go here.

“Everything in their old world had changed but the old forms. The old usages went on, must go on, for the forms were all that were left to them. They were holding tightly to the things they knew best and loved best in the old days, the leisured manners, the courtesy, the pleasant casualness in human contacts and, most of all, the protecting attitude of the men toward their women. True to the tradition in which they had been reared, the men were courteous and tender and they almost succeeded in creating an atmosphere of sheltering their women from all that was harsh and unfit for feminine eyes.” (p. 569)

The Resolution Project: For my New Year’s resolution this year (that being 2011), I decided to try and read all one hundred of the novels picked by Time Magazine as the best since their inception in 1923 to the list’s publication in 2005. I exempted myself from reading ones I’ve already read, leaving some eighty-six or so to read before the end of this year. Some spoilers may lie ahead, so be warned if you’re the type to be bothered by that.

gone with the wind new cover

Wow, what a book! Gone With the Wind is an epic read in the truest sense, in that it is big and contains multitudes of different stories within. You get Antebellum South romantic fiction, harrowing Civil War adventure, sociological examination of the dying courtly classes of the Georgia region, kitchen sink melodrama, political intrigue, and more. It had no real low points, except for one glaring omission that I started to talk about last time but couldn’t really get a handle on. More on that later.

Scarlett O’Hara is a fascinating character, one who changes a lot throughout the course of the novel’s twelve calendar years. She’s ultimately a very pitiful person, with a mind incapable of the sort of “great love” she continually moons over, and definitely not someone who should have become a mother, much less to the the three children she eventually has. For a while there, it was pretty irritating how she kept mooning over Ashley Wilkes and ignoring Rhett Butler, but once you realize that Scarlett’s love is an incredibly toxic one, I quit feeling like she should just read He’s Just Not That Into You and felt even more sorry for her (and everyone around her) than I did before.

He's Just Not That Into You cover

My favorite incarnation of Scarlett’s character was once she’d moved back to Atlanta to try and raise money in hopes of keeping her ancestral home, Tara. I came to refer to this era as her “Scarface” period in my head, as from this point onwards she becomes incredibly cruel and calculating with regards to accumulating wealth. It’s fun, though a little harrowing, to see the techniques and drive she once used in trying to steal away the beaux of other girls back in the County used instead to buy lumber mills, saloons and the debts of her fellow Atlantans (Atlanteans?). She eventually resorts to another kind of slave labor to make up for that lost the Emancipation of black people: convict labor. This, in addition to numerous social transgressions against the old guard of Atlanta society, results in her becoming effectively ostracized from the gentlemanly community she was bred to rule as a Southern Belle. I think this meme I made describes it best.

scarlett ducreux

The other reason I thought of this as the book’s Scarface period was that she eventually builds an elaborate mansion after marrying a rich business partner, and then proceeds to decorate it in what I could only assume was an incredibly gaudy style for the time (my knowledge of home furnishings from the era is somewhat less than it could be):

“Within the house was furnished as Scarlett had desired, with thick red carpeting which ran from wall to wall, red velvet portieres and the newest of highly varnished black-walnut furniture, carved wherever there was an inch for carving and upholstered in such slick horsehair that ladies had to deposit themselves thereon with great care for fear of sliding off … on the walls were gilt-framed mirrors and long pier glasses … steel engravings in heavy frames, some of them eight feet long … [t]he walls were covered with rich dark paper, the ceilings were high and the house was always dim, for the windows were overdraped with plum-colored plush hangings that shut out most of the sunlight.” (p. 806)

scarface stairs

See, add a few hot tubs and televisions and you’ve got Tony Montana’s ostentatious pad from the 1980s remake, don’t you think?

I’m getting a little off topic here. Gone With the Wind does an excellent job of evolving its main character from an empty-headed nobody at sixteen to a hard-headed pragmatist at twenty-eight. As she increases her power in business dealings, she’s blithely unaware of the fact that she’s pounding nails into the coffin of the South she grew up in; Atlanta society matrons scorn her though, knowing all too well what she’s doing.

So while Scarlett, Rhett Butler and to a lesser extent, continual crush object Ashley Wilkes, are quite rounded characters, the black servants they surround themselves with are definitely not. As I sort of got at last time, I feel that even by Gone With the Wind’s publication date in 1936 the way Mitchell characterized the slaves (soon to be the free people) in Scarlett’s world was a little much. It’s not like this was a true story with transcriptions of their speech habits and mannerisms to go by (like those William Styron had to go by when writing The Confessions of Nat Turner), Mitchell must have been playing up hateful stereotypes on purpose. Maybe sometimes it was done for comic relief, as the book needed it at some points, but reading dialogue from Mammy, Pork and Prissy was cringe-worthy a lot of the time. I don’t really have much more to say on that, other than it’s almost like Mitchell used all her writing prowess up on Scarlett and didn’t have any left for anyone else? Seems somewhat fishy though, I think.

I still would like to watch the film and compare it to the text, and I should hopefully have a brief review of that coming up this weekend.

“The Lost Cause was stronger, dearer now in their hearts than it had ever been at the height of its glory. It was a fetish now. Everything about it was sacred, the graves of the men who had died for it, the battle fields, the torn flags, the crossed sabers in their halls, the fading letters from the front, the veterans.” (p. 814)

Who would I recommend this book to?: People who are interested in American history, especially people like me who had no reason to learn about the Civil War up until now, as it wasn’t really that important in the overall scheme of things. People who enjoy books with strong, flawed female leads. People who are interested in narratives about the collapse of civilizations, and what arises from the ashes.

Total pages read since January 1st: 12535 pp.

Total books on the Time 100 list read since January 1st (not including ones read before 2011): 29

Next up on the Resolution Project: Dog Soldiers, by Robert Stone (1974)

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The Resolution Project Book Thirty-Six: Gone With the Wind (1936) – Part One

“It was this happy feminine conspiracy which made Southern society so pleasant. Women knew that a land where men were contented, uncontradicted and safe in possession of unpunctured vanity was likely to be a very pleasant place for women to live. So, from the cradle to the grave, women strove to make men pleased with themselves, and the satisfied men repaid lavishly with gallantry and adoration. In fact, men willingly gave the ladies everything in the world except credit for having intelligence.” (p. 163)

The Resolution Project: For my New Year’s resolution this year (that being 2011), I decided to try and read all one hundred of the novels picked by Time Magazine as the best since their inception in 1923 to the list’s publication in 2005. I exempted myself from reading ones I’ve already read, leaving some eighty-six or so to read before the end of this year. Some spoilers may lie ahead, so be warned if you’re the type to be bothered by that.

Gone With the Wind coverScarlett O’Hara is a young member of Georgia’s landed gentry in the waning days of the Confederacy. As such, her life revolves around balls, barbecues, dancing and dresses. She loves a young gentleman named Ashley Wilkes, who, strangely enough, would rather read a book than drink and ride horses like the rest of the men his age. But trouble’s a brewing in the land of King Cotton. The War Between the States looms as Scarlett moves to Atlanta, encountering along the way Rhett Butler, a scandalous man whose spoken thoughts resonate in Scarlett’s mind somehow.

I’m enjoying Gone With the Wind a lot more than I thought I would. As such, I’m going to end up devoting two posts to it, also because it is pretty long. Anyway, I think I had some misconceptions about the book coming in. I thought it was a sort of trumped-up romance novel, notable mostly for its massively successful film adaptation in 1939.

I was wrong, though.

While the romance element in Gone is still a pretty big part of it, it’s closer to that found in something like Jane Eyre or an Austen novel. While the main narrative thrust of the novel is “who will Scarlett end up with?”, it uses that as a base to examine Confederate society, and specifically women’s role in it, far more than your average bodice ripper does. Consider the way being a widow is treated. I had no idea just how intense it was at this point in time.

“A widow had to wear hideous black dresses without even a touch of braid to enliven them, no flower or ribbon or lace or even jewelry, except onyx mourning brooches or necklaces made from the deceased’s hair. And the black crepe veil on her bonnet had to reach to her knees, and only after three years of widowhood could it be shortened to shoulder length. Widows could never chatter vivaciously or laugh aloud. Even when they smiled, it must be a sad, tragic smile. And, most dreadful of all, they could in no way indicate an interest in the company of gentlemen. And should a gentleman be so ill bred as to indicate an interest in her, she must freeze him with a dignified but well-chosen reference to her dead husband.” (p. 144)

That sort of stuff is fascinating to me, and while I haven’t really researched the veracity of this description, it feels real to me. That’s why when all three of Scarlett, Ashley and Rhett chafe under the yoke of a society this calcified, I really started to empathise with them.

Another thing I’m enjoying is the main characters’ attitudes towards the Civil War. Again, I don’t really know what I was expecting here, but one thing I wasn’t expecting was for all three of them to have different, well thought out problems with the ideological underpinnings behind the conflict. Ashley Wilkes is a self-made scholar, and as such would rather stay home at Twelve Oaks than go out and die for his newborn country, even though he eventually does do so as he is one of the best riders in the County. He objects to the war on the same moral basis that sensitive people usually do, he just hates to see human life wasted for any “Cause”. Still, his love for his country gets him mired in the battlefields North of Georgia, as he is not able to reconcile his somewhat pacifistic nature with the danger posed by Yankees who would do away with the lifestyle that fostered it.

Rhett Butler, on the other hand, is an opportunist who sees in the War a chance to make a killing (not literally). He thinks the idea behind the War is a stupid one, as the Confederacy has not got the resources to fight the industrialized North for any great length of time. That’s why he stays back home and runs the blockade to bring supplies to Southern towns, as he knows the conflict’s not worth risking his own skin over. While the South runs high on valour and excellent commanding officers, it lacks factories to make things like boots and guns, aka. the very materiel needed for any modern conflict.

Scarlett has perhaps the most honest reason to hate the war, if not the best thought out. She hates the inconvenience it brings to her, she hates how it plucks marriageable men away from the County she lives in and spits them back shell-shocked and minus some limbs. She hates how the simple amenities that any Southern belle of her stature takes for granted are made much more difficult to come by in wartime, as well as more expensive.

So yeah, I wasn’t expecting all of the main characters in the book to see through the hypocrisy of the War so soon, so that was a good surprise. One thing I figured would be difficult for me would be the treatment of Black people throughout the book. It is, suffice it to say, somewhat regressive, especially coming in the wake of my having read The Confessions of Nat Turner and Beloved earlier on in this project. I’m going to try and talk about this subject at more length in my next post on Gone With the Wind, though.

Gone With the Wind Movie poster

I’d also like to compare the film version of Gone With the Wind to the book next time. I’ve actually been surprised, almost shocked a few times while reading the book by some of the things that happen, so I’d like to see if a Hays code-era film was able to bring some of these things to the screen. From what little I know about the movie, it’s that Clark Gable gets some pretty sweet lines and that the burning of Atlanta sequence is pretty well done, so right there that’s two things the movie and the book did equally well. I hope that the film version of Wade Hamilton is better than he is in the book, because I’d like nothing better than to smack that kid every time he shows up in the text. He’s annoying, and makes me think that Margaret Mitchell never came in contact with a real human child before deciding to write about one.

“Then you aren’t a nice girl, Scarlett, and I’m sorry to hear it. All really nice girls wonder when men don’t try to kiss them. They know they shouldn’t want them to and they know they must act insulted if they do, but just the same, they wish the men would try … Well, my dear, take heart. Some day, I will kiss you and you will like it. But not now, so I beg you not to be too impatient.” (p. 301)

- Rhett Butler

For the second part of my review of Gone With the Wind, go here.

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