The title of this book caught my eye one day in a thrift store in Idyllwild. It was so melodic and enigmatic, with a hint of bitter irony. I flipped the cover open and discovered the splendid black-and-white photographs that grace the beginning and complement the narrative. I decided the book was fully worth 50 cents based on these merits alone.
As it turns out, the book has its own intrinsic value. Agee was sent by the magazine he worked for to the South in 1936, to profile some farmers there. His resulting manuscript was far too long to be printed in a magazine. He was eventually able to acquire the publishing rights and find a publisher. What the book is, is hard to categorize. Agee details every element of the lives of three tenant farmer families- from the nature of their liveliehood, to the foods they eat, the houses they live in, and the clothes they wear. But more than this, he delves into the psychological aspects of the desperate poverty in which they exist.
Interspersed between the intricate descriptions and intimate discussions of the farmers' lives, are Agee's musings on the essential nature of existence in general. It is all a fascinating window into his philosophies and beliefs, and though the book purports to be about tenant farmers, it is truly about Agee. He has a fierce regard for humanity, and it pervades his work. He has a fixation on sexuality, and this too permeates his writing. It is not uncomfortably prominent, though.
Despite some objectionable metaphors and peculiar agnosticism, Agee's narrative held me fully spellbound. I actually enjoyed reading this book, and so I know it was due entirely to Agee's adept handling of the English language. His prose was truly masterful. The fact that I was held rapt from beginning to end is testament to this.
The beauty of this book was its greatest merit. Agee's words mesmerized me in this sort of literary splendor. I've never had a reaction quite like this to a work of literature. Often for me the content obscures the quality of the writing, but this time the technique surpassed the subject, rendering it rather incidental. I felt as if I could say to Agee, "Okay, I can get with you on this one. I'll suspend my disbelief for you. I can dig it." It was an unparalled experience.
Saturday, July 29, 2006
Thursday, July 20, 2006
Raise High the Roof Beams, Carpenters and Seymour, An Introduction
I'll admit it; I'm a bit of a bibliophile. I was in a thrift store in Idyllwild and I saw this beautiful worn navy clothbound book with delicately ivory-aged pages and barely discernible gold lettering on the spine, and I impulsively emptied my wallet of its change. I try not to be so shallow, but sometimes my book-love gets the better of me. The typeset is gorgeous.
The text itself wasn't too bad, either. I did Catcher in the Rye, failing to be scandalized by the language and coming away from it merely with a strong sense of pity for Holden Caulfield. This book was rather different. Salinger crafted essentially a lengthy character study, the view of a man through the eyes of his brother. The first section introduces Buddy Glass, a young soldier on leave during World War II attending his brother Seymour's wedding. Seymour never shows at the ceremony, and Buddy finds himself in a traffic jam with unfamiliar wedding guests. They abandon their taxi in favor of Buddy's apartment, have a drink, and disperse. All throughout the story, Buddy reminisces and muses over his brother.
This strain is continued in the next section, the official "introduction" to Seymour. The Glass family had a history in entertainment, and all the children appeared regularly on a radio quiz show. They were rather precocious, with a penchant for languages. Seymour was in college at sixteen and teaching at twenty. He was a prolific poet and philosopher, with the typical Oriental sympathies of the mid-twentieth-century intellectual. He ended up eloping with the bride whom he stood up that same day, and he committed suicide six years later.
Buddy is in his forties as he narrates this second section. Hr adores his deceased brother to a point of excess. He considers him an unparalled poet and a foremost thinker of his generation. The reader, or this reader anyway, has little upon which to form an agreement with him. Buddy's rosy rememberances are nice and witty, but involve perhaps too much telling, and not enough showing. Interesting about their relationship, though, is the way Seymour would write notes to Buddy critiquing his writing. They were so very literate, these brothers. Prentiously, delightfully, literate.
Salinger tried very hard here to create a fascinating, memorable character or two, but the sum total left only the slightest impression on me. It was all just so inconclusive. Why is committing suicide so profound? What exactly were Seymour's beliefs, and upon what did he base them? Why did Salinger write this book? The quasi-philosophical meandering intellectualism begins to sound like so much white noise.
The text itself wasn't too bad, either. I did Catcher in the Rye, failing to be scandalized by the language and coming away from it merely with a strong sense of pity for Holden Caulfield. This book was rather different. Salinger crafted essentially a lengthy character study, the view of a man through the eyes of his brother. The first section introduces Buddy Glass, a young soldier on leave during World War II attending his brother Seymour's wedding. Seymour never shows at the ceremony, and Buddy finds himself in a traffic jam with unfamiliar wedding guests. They abandon their taxi in favor of Buddy's apartment, have a drink, and disperse. All throughout the story, Buddy reminisces and muses over his brother.
This strain is continued in the next section, the official "introduction" to Seymour. The Glass family had a history in entertainment, and all the children appeared regularly on a radio quiz show. They were rather precocious, with a penchant for languages. Seymour was in college at sixteen and teaching at twenty. He was a prolific poet and philosopher, with the typical Oriental sympathies of the mid-twentieth-century intellectual. He ended up eloping with the bride whom he stood up that same day, and he committed suicide six years later.
Buddy is in his forties as he narrates this second section. Hr adores his deceased brother to a point of excess. He considers him an unparalled poet and a foremost thinker of his generation. The reader, or this reader anyway, has little upon which to form an agreement with him. Buddy's rosy rememberances are nice and witty, but involve perhaps too much telling, and not enough showing. Interesting about their relationship, though, is the way Seymour would write notes to Buddy critiquing his writing. They were so very literate, these brothers. Prentiously, delightfully, literate.
Salinger tried very hard here to create a fascinating, memorable character or two, but the sum total left only the slightest impression on me. It was all just so inconclusive. Why is committing suicide so profound? What exactly were Seymour's beliefs, and upon what did he base them? Why did Salinger write this book? The quasi-philosophical meandering intellectualism begins to sound like so much white noise.
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
What to Eat by Marion Nestle
Marion Nestle was the nutritionist in Super Size Me who knew what a calorie is, so when I heard her on NPR promoting her new book, I knew I had to read it. What to Eat was as comprehensive as the title would require it to be, but my attention rarely flagged. Nestle's comfort with and command of language surprised me- the book was published in 2006, and my experience with contemporary prose thus far has been less than satisfactory- and buoyed me through to the end.
Nestle's admontion to focus on "fruits, vegetables, and whole grains" has become a mantra of sorts for me. In the book, she examines the various sections of the typical supermarket, and also the supermarket system as a whole. She exhorts the reader to eat food that is as minimally processed as possible. Addressing the usage of pesticides and hormones, she acknowledges that many people cannot afford organically grown products, and so considers buying organic a political rather than health-motivated choice.
Nestle traces the journeys our foods make, and emphasizes the advantages of buying locally grown products. She always bears in mind the cost to the consumer, and insists it is cost-effective to eat healthily. She weaves in anecdotes and personal experiences expertly, and mentions her own preferences often. She devotes a substantial section to hydrogenated oils, and underscores the detrimental effects of consuming such.
The book is altogether quite arresting, and exhaustive. Few areas affect us so broadly as that of the supermarket, and to have its contents delineated is fascinating. It is also comforting to have Nestle assert there are no "superfoods," and that as long as one gets adequate amounts of key nutrients and focusus on fruits, vegetables, and whole grains, there is nothing to worry about except calories. Low-carb, et al. diets work only because calories are restricted. There is no other way to lose weight.
I was delighted overall. Nestle is an excellent writer, not some random person who sat down to write something. Moreover, she is primarily a nutritionist, not a professional writer. If only all authors by trade could write as well as she.
Nestle's admontion to focus on "fruits, vegetables, and whole grains" has become a mantra of sorts for me. In the book, she examines the various sections of the typical supermarket, and also the supermarket system as a whole. She exhorts the reader to eat food that is as minimally processed as possible. Addressing the usage of pesticides and hormones, she acknowledges that many people cannot afford organically grown products, and so considers buying organic a political rather than health-motivated choice.
Nestle traces the journeys our foods make, and emphasizes the advantages of buying locally grown products. She always bears in mind the cost to the consumer, and insists it is cost-effective to eat healthily. She weaves in anecdotes and personal experiences expertly, and mentions her own preferences often. She devotes a substantial section to hydrogenated oils, and underscores the detrimental effects of consuming such.
The book is altogether quite arresting, and exhaustive. Few areas affect us so broadly as that of the supermarket, and to have its contents delineated is fascinating. It is also comforting to have Nestle assert there are no "superfoods," and that as long as one gets adequate amounts of key nutrients and focusus on fruits, vegetables, and whole grains, there is nothing to worry about except calories. Low-carb, et al. diets work only because calories are restricted. There is no other way to lose weight.
I was delighted overall. Nestle is an excellent writer, not some random person who sat down to write something. Moreover, she is primarily a nutritionist, not a professional writer. If only all authors by trade could write as well as she.
Friday, July 14, 2006
Evelina by Fanny Burney
Evelina is so old, Jane Austen considered it a classic.That is, in fact, why I actually read the book. What did the illustrious Austen read? What inspired her? I was curious. And now I know, more or less. Evelina is composed entirely of letters written by characters. The eponymous girl is a functional orphan, dismissed by her father before her birth and raised by a kind reverend after her father's death. When she is seventeen, a friend invites her to come to London, and the protective reverend reluctantly acquiesces.
Adventures ensue. Evelina has the misfortune to be considered by all outrageously beautiful, and so she draws all sorts of unwelcome attention. She gets some welcome attention, too, from one Lord Orville. Though he initially finds her insipid and silly, a deeper intimacy with her shows him she is actually quite sensible and upright, any misunderstanding having stemmed from her awkwardness and unfamiliarity with the ways of the eighteenth-century world.
But an interesting qualification comes into play. Evelina writes to the reverend detailed, detailed accounts of everything that transpires (how would we the readers have a story otherwise?), and he advises her as to the path of propriety whenever he can. When Evelina receives an immodest letter ostensibly from Lord Orville, the reverend minces no words in his degradation of the man, and Evelina's regard for him is rendered merely a rose-colored view of a charlatan.
But later on, it is revealed that the letter was forged, Lord Orville is returned to everyone's good graces, and the two marry. It is the intemittent change of opinion that intrigued me. Instead of remaining a paragon of virtue throughout the course of the novel, Orville momentarily becomes almost a villain. It was an excellent twist to the formulaic romance.
But how can I even speak of formula? I have so little experience in literature pre-nineteenth-century, and all my ideas of plot and style have been formed by later works. Evelina could have been wildly pioneering in the field. Perhaps, though, the archetypal romance form is an inherent one, present from the beginning. That would lend me more credibility upon which to pass judgment.
At any rate, Evelina was delightfully readable. I wasn't sure if the prose would be more Shakespearean than Austenian as far as my comprehension went, but my fears were unfounded. The story was exceeedingly decent, and full of excellent asides: "She is not, indeed, like most modern ladies, to be known in half-an-hour..." (Letter LXXV)
Adventures ensue. Evelina has the misfortune to be considered by all outrageously beautiful, and so she draws all sorts of unwelcome attention. She gets some welcome attention, too, from one Lord Orville. Though he initially finds her insipid and silly, a deeper intimacy with her shows him she is actually quite sensible and upright, any misunderstanding having stemmed from her awkwardness and unfamiliarity with the ways of the eighteenth-century world.
But an interesting qualification comes into play. Evelina writes to the reverend detailed, detailed accounts of everything that transpires (how would we the readers have a story otherwise?), and he advises her as to the path of propriety whenever he can. When Evelina receives an immodest letter ostensibly from Lord Orville, the reverend minces no words in his degradation of the man, and Evelina's regard for him is rendered merely a rose-colored view of a charlatan.
But later on, it is revealed that the letter was forged, Lord Orville is returned to everyone's good graces, and the two marry. It is the intemittent change of opinion that intrigued me. Instead of remaining a paragon of virtue throughout the course of the novel, Orville momentarily becomes almost a villain. It was an excellent twist to the formulaic romance.
But how can I even speak of formula? I have so little experience in literature pre-nineteenth-century, and all my ideas of plot and style have been formed by later works. Evelina could have been wildly pioneering in the field. Perhaps, though, the archetypal romance form is an inherent one, present from the beginning. That would lend me more credibility upon which to pass judgment.
At any rate, Evelina was delightfully readable. I wasn't sure if the prose would be more Shakespearean than Austenian as far as my comprehension went, but my fears were unfounded. The story was exceeedingly decent, and full of excellent asides: "She is not, indeed, like most modern ladies, to be known in half-an-hour..." (Letter LXXV)
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