“we can’t turn back…”

15 07 2011

I recently read Look Homeward, Angel, by Thomas Wolfe (not to be confused with Tom Wolfe, of Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test fame). It’s the one and only book I’ve ever read of his, and while it took me a little while to get into it, I ended up really enjoying it. Wolfe was from North Carolina, and died at the early age of 38. He was a contemporary of Faulkner and Hemingway, with Faulkner reportedly calling him the best writer of their generation. His writing is lush and wordy, so it doesn’t surprise me that Faulkner would be a fan.

Look Homeward, Angel is heavily autobiographical. It’s pretty much the story of his childhood and his family and at times I found it hard to read because I knew that. I simply couldn’t divorce what I knew the reaction was to his book when he published it from what I was reading. He had some harsh words and indictments for just about everyone around him and he didn’t shy away at all from writing what he really thought of people in this book.

The other book I own of his, but have yet to read, is You Can’t Go Home Again, which is all about this reaction that his family and friends had to this book being published while he, and they, were still alive. As someone who’s thought from time to time about writing similarly barely disguised “fiction,” it’s an interesting cautionary tale. Wolfe was ostracized after Angel was released. Lucky for him, I guess, You Can’t Go Home Again was published after his death, so any lingering resentments would have had to be taken up grave-side.

Here’s one beautiful passage from the book, in a section about the death of one of his brothers:

“… we can’t turn back the days that have gone. We can’t turn life  back to the hours when our lungs were sound, our blood hot, our bodies young. We are a flash of fire — a brain, a heart, a spirit. And we are three-cents-worth of lime and iron — which we cannot get back.” — Thomas Wolfe, Look Homeward, Angel, p. 461





“part of a greater certainty”

18 09 2010

A paragraph from the beautifully written book I’m reading right now…

“Your cold mornings are filled with the heartache about the fact that although we are not at ease in this world, it is all we have, that it is ours but that it is full of strife, so that all we can call our own is strife; but even that is better than nothing at all, isn’t it? And as you split frost-laced wood with numb hands, rejoice that your uncertainty is God’s will and His grace toward you and that that is beautiful, and part of a greater certainty, as your own father always said in his sermons and to you at home. And as the ax bites into the wood, be comforted in the fact that the ache in your heart and the confusion in your soul means that you are still alive, still human, and still open to the beauty of the world, even though you have done nothing to deserve it. And when you resent the ache in your heart, remember: You will be dead and buried soon enough.”

– From Tinkers, by Paul Harding





Read: Zeitoun, by Dave Eggers

15 09 2010

So it has now become obvious to me that I dealt with the 5th anniversary of the hurricane by reading 5 books about it, one right after the other, starting the weekend of the anniversary and ending last night. It wasn’t something I really planned out, but just felt compelled to do. And no, the “5″ thing wasn’t on purpose either. I had one of the books and bought the other 4 at a book signing on Saturday, August 28th. I enjoyed and would recommend them all, especially Zeitoun, which I’ll talk about first.

1. Zeitoun, by Dave Eggers
Zeitoun is much more than a book about Hurricane Katrina. It’s a book about human rights and compassion and being open to understanding one another, and it’s a book about doing the right thing. The story of Abdulrahman and Kathy Zeitoun is a true one, rendered beautifully and heart-wrenchingly by Eggers into a tale I literally could not put down. More than once, I looked up, shocked by what I was reading, tears in my eyes. Knowing it’s real makes it all the more painful, and all the more necessary for as many people as possible to read it.

Abdulrahman Zeitoun is from Syria and has lived here in New Orleans for years (and is now an American citizen), running a successful house-painting and construction company. He’s a father of 5 (4 at the time of the hurricane) and a good-hearted, hard-working man. His wife, Kathy, is from Baton Rouge and helps run the company with him. They are both Muslim. This shouldn’t matter, but apparently it does.

Kathy evacuated with their children before the storm hit. Zeitoun, as he is known to everyone, stayed behind to watch over their home and business and rental properties. When the flooding began, he used a canoe to rescue several elderly neighbors, and he helped everyone he could, including going into houses across the street from him nightly to feed and water 4 dogs that were left behind to fend for themselves.

His thanks for this, for his unselfish acts of heroism? He is arrested on suspicion of terrorism in the chaotic days after the storm and locked up for a month in a maximum security jail, where he is repeatedly denied a phone call, he isn’t read his rights once, and he is never told of the supposed charges against him. I won’t say more so as not to give anything else away, but this is by far one of the most compelling books I have read in a long, long time. Read it.

2. Nine Lives, by Dan Baum
This is also a book about much more than the hurricane, and is also based on the lives of real New Orleanians. Dan Baum is a journalist who was in town to cover the storm and its aftermath and found himself wanting to tell the story of this strange place and its citizens. This book is his attempt to do so, and I think it’s a damn fine one.

Cleverly using Hurricane Betsy in 1965 as one sort of bookend to the story, and Hurricane Katrina in 2005 as the other, he fills in the in-between gaps in time by talking about the lives of, yes, 9 people. We learn about them as they go through the years and face challenges, experience joy, change, and grow. They are as varied as a Mardi Gras Indian Chief, the Orleans Parish coroner, an NOPD cop, a worker on the streetcar lines, an Uptown lawyer who becomes King of Rex, and a downtown high school band leader.

I learned so much about New Orleans history, culture, and people from this book. He covers immense ground here. I love, too, that the characters don’t necessary know one another or interact. He didn’t choose them for that reason. As this is such a small town, though, it is inevitable that some of their paths do cross, but it’s not one of those contrived things. It just happens, as does so much of life here.

3. 1 Dead in Attack, by Chris Rose
Now, unlike the first two, this is purely a book about the hurricane and what it was like to live here in the days, months, and years afterward. And let me say, Chris Rose paints a picture at turns sad and horrific and at others surreal and amusing. A columnist with the Times-Picayune at the time of Katrina, he was back in the city right after the storm and he documented it all in his columns for the paper. This book is a collection of those columns.

He talks about the challenges of being away from your family (his then-wife and children stayed in Maryland that fall with his folks), and he talks about the challenges of living in a war zone. He also lays himself bare and raw, talking about the difficulties he had dealing with a lot of it — difficulties many here after the storm faced. He is colorful and funny and has a voice all his own. He makes you feel, as much as is humanly possible, what it was like to be here back then. His title refers to one of the markings he saw on a house that had been searched after the storm. It’s poignant and painful, just as his book often is.

4. A.D./New Orleans After the Deluge, by Josh Neufeld
This a graphic novel about the hurricane — the first graphic novel I’ve ever read, actually. And it was incredibly moving, much more so than I’d expected. Using drawings to tell the stories of several residents, some who evacuated, and some who stayed, he created scenes that I’d only imagined but had never actually seen myself. And what a remarkable job he did. With dignity and care, he recreated something horrible and turned it into something beautiful and touching.

5. Why New Orleans Matters, by Tom Piazza
This book was written shortly after the hurricane, in part as a response to those stupid and short-sighted enough to say things like, “Why should we rebuild New Orleans?” It’s also a love letter to the city and its special culture. You can learn lots about the history of New Orleans music and food from this book, as well as about other cultural touchstones like our love for a parade.

Whew. This was some pretty heavy reading, all in all, but they were all good. On to some fiction for me now, though…





“it’s that it was so much lighter”

7 07 2010

“We danced something out, god knows what, but I was earnest, earnest, wanting out and up so badly. All this weight we get in time. It isn’t that childhood was any better, it’s that it was so much lighter.”

From High Lonesome, by Barry Hannah (p. 71, from the short story “Carriba”)





Bukowski

10 06 2010

I’ve loved Bukowski since I first stumbled across his work in high school, and I suspect I’ll love him until the day I die. While enjoying two delicious Lazy Magnolia “Indian Summer” beers late yesterday afternoon, I read from Mockingbird Wish Me Luck. It was published in 1972. Again and again, I smiled and laughed and marveled at his ability to so easily and convincingly express himself without worrying about prettying things up. Always raw, always real. Always for me.

Here’s one I especially like:

ha ha ha ha ha, ha ha

monkey feet
small and blue
walking toward you
as the back of a building falls off
and an airplane chews the white sky,
doom is like the handle of a pot,
it’s there,
know it,
have ice in your tea,
marry,
have children, visit your
dentist,
do not scream at night
even if you feel like screaming,
count ten
make love to your wife,
or if your wife isn’t there
if there isn’t anybody there
count 20,
get up and walk to the kitchen
if you have a kitchen
and sit there sweating
at 3 a.m. in the morning
monkey feet
small and blue
walking toward you.





Read: “Mating,” by Norman Rush

7 06 2010

Whew, I finally finished the opus that is Mating (by Norman Rush) this morning. That’s not to say I struggled through it, but I’ve just not had time lately to devote to reading as much as I’d like. I enjoyed the book a lot, though, and am sad to say goodbye to the neurotic narrator.

Mating won the National Book Award back in 1991, and the little shiny emblem on the front of the book is likely what attracted me to it in the bookstore. I’d never heard anyone talk about it, never had anyone tell me to read it, nada. I’m just a sucker, a veritable magpie really, when it comes to those little “prize” emblems. Maybe I shouldn’t admit that, but hey, it’s true.

Mating is, not surprisingly perhaps, about love — about finding someone you like, about that first burst of seemingly limitless euphoria, where you’d give up anything and everything to be with that person, about the act of getting to know someone and the natural, normal tempering of the euphoria, and about the reality that is the fact that despite loving and knowing someone, there is always some part of them you can’t reach, always some part of them you can’t fully know. You can get close, but people surprise you again and again.

At its heart, this is what Mating is about. But it’s wrapped in this expansive text that covers so much ground it can be nearly overwhelming. The book is set in Africa in the 1980s. Our narrator is an unnamed American anthropology grad student who has become disconnected (both emotionally and academically) from her thesis and is trying to figure out her next steps.

The fact that a male writer so convincingly writes in the feminine first person for this entire book is astounding. Her voice is one I related to — she’s smart, funny, obsessive, self-critical but also proud, and driven nearly nuts by the love she feels for the main male character, a sort of retiring star on the stage of theories about developing world economies. The book addresses economics, geo-politics, feminism, culture, and yes, the state of the human heart at the beginning, middle, and perhaps end of love.

There’s a lot going on here, but throughout it all, the narrator is there, guiding you through, at times frustrating you, at times making you realize you’d have done the same exact things she did. And her vocabulary? Well, I had to keep a dictionary handy, which hasn’t happened for me with a piece of fiction in quite some time. It doesn’t come off as trite or false, though. It’s believable that she would talk and write that way.

This book has set on my shelves for years, made it through several moves, without being read, poor thing. I’m happy I finally was drawn to it and put the time in to appreciate it. Highly recommend it.





James Carville, I heart you

2 06 2010

The oil continues to flow unabated into the Gulf of Mexico, and now here we are facing hurricane season. Oh joy. I’ve appreciated James Carville’s and Mary Matalin’s fire and fury over this, their true honest emotion on national TV. They get it. And I like that Carville called the President out. He was right to rattle the cage like he did. I have to say I think Anderson Cooper gets it, too. Say what you will about “baby Vanderbilt” (as one of my friends calls him) — the guy sticks with a story and ferrets out lies down here for us. I appreciate that, too.

I came across a letter my hero Hunter S. Thompson wrote to Carville during the 1992 election season and it seems apropos today, thinking about the oil polluting the gorgeous Gulf and all the lying and dirty deeds that went on pre-spill and continue on today. It’s just sickening. I wish Dr. Thompson was around to comment on it. I can only imagine his well-written fury over this mess.

Here’s an excerpt from the letter:

“Cheer up, James. This is the passing lane, and on some days it gets real narrow… Hell, the scum always rises when the water gets hot. They are mean and rich and greedy and bloated with hate and fear after 12 years of power and excess profits. And they will rage against the dying of the light. This is a bad crowd, James, and too many of them would kill to be winners… We are coming down to some very fast days, no matter what happens… They are liars and thieves and forgers and fixers and pimps and slick-living power-junkies who are suddenly confronted with the end of the world as they know it.”





Some Faulkner for a Monday

24 05 2010

From Absalom, Absalom!:

“That was all. Or, rather, not all, since there is no all, no finish; it is not the blow we suffer from but the tedious repercussive anti-climax of it, the rubbishy aftermath to clear away from off the very threshold of despair. You see, I never saw him. I never even saw him dead. I heard an echo, but not the shot; I saw a closed door but did not enter it…”

and

“I was one of his pall bearers, yet I could not, would not believe something which I knew could not but be so. Because I never saw him. You see?  There are some things which happen to us which the intelligence and the senses refuse just as the stomach sometimes refuses what the palate has accepted but which digestion cannot compass — occurences which stop us dead as though by some impalpable intervention, like a sheet of glass through which we watch all subsequent events transpire as though in a soundless vacuum, and fade, vanish; are gone, leaving us immobile, impotent, helpless; fixed, until we can die. That was I.”

 





A little Barry Hannah and a little Yann Martel

19 05 2010

Two passages of writing I just love and could read over and over again. And, in fact, I do read them over and over again. Hope you like them, too.

“Let’s get hot and cold, because, darling new thing, we’re going through the weeds and the woods and just the sliver of the moon comes in through the dead branches, and the running rabbits and squirrels are underneath and above. Henry David Thoreau is out there thinking, loping around. Louis Pasteur is out there racing with the bacteria.”
– From Ray, by Barry Hannah

“All living things contain a measure of madness that moves them in strange, sometimes inexplicable ways. This madness can be saving; it is part and parcel of the ability to adapt. Without it, no species would survive.”
– From Life of Pi, by Yann Martel








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