It just seems so amazing and wonderful and, well, a miracle, but I guess it’s just ordinary life, how we all keep going, isn’t it? — Joyce Carol Oates, We Were the Mulvaneys Read more →
EppsNet Archive: Literature
Words
Our words no longer correspond to the world. When things were whole, we felt confident that our words could express them. But little by little these things have broken apart, shattered, collapsed into chaos. And yet our words have remained the same. They have not adapted themselves to the new reality. — Paul Auster, City of Glass Read more →
Short Books
My kid’s got a summer assignment for AP English — select and read two novels from a list of about 20. I’ve been telling him since June that I’d be glad to go over the list with him and recommend books that he might enjoy reading but he’s put it off so long now that I’m limited to recommending short books that he might enjoy reading, and that leaves us with Ethan Frome, Wide Sargasso Sea and All the Pretty Horses. He comes back from the bookstore with Frome and Sargasso, two books about men who marry crazy women. He ruled out All the Pretty Horses because it’s 300 pages long and “I read the first sentence and it had like six adjectives.” Read more →
My Idea of a Good Time
Raising intelligent, loving, sturdy children! Protecting some good woman! Dignity! Health! Love! Industry! Intelligence! Trust! Decency! High Spirits! Compassion! What the hell do I care about sensational sex? — Philip Roth, Portnoy’s Complaint Read more →
Happy Father’s Day
When I was a boy of fourteen, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be twenty-one, I was astonished at how much he had learned in seven years. — Mark Twain A wise son maketh a glad father. — Proverbs 10:1 Sherman made the terrible discovery that men make about their fathers sooner or later . . . that the man before him was not an aging father but a boy, a boy much like himself, a boy who grew up and had a child of his own and, as best he could, out of a sense of duty and, perhaps love, adopted a role called ‘Being a Father’ so that his child would have something mythical and infinitely important: a Protector, who would keep a lid on all the chaotic and catastrophic possibilities of life. —Tom… Read more →
Henderson the Rain King
“There is that poem about the nightingale singing that humankind cannot stand too much reality. But how much unreality can it stand? Do you follow? You understand me?” “Me unnastand, sah.” “I fired that question right back at the nightingale. So what if reality may be terrible? It’s better than what we’ve got.” “Kay, sah. Okay.” “All right, I let you out of it. It’s better than what I’ve got. But every man feels from his soul that he has got to carry his life to a certain depth. Well, I have got to go on because I haven’t reached that depth yet. You get it?” “Yes, sah.” — Saul Bellow, Henderson the Rain King Read more →
Hearty and Fleeting
Photo by melliemels Then, before the rain began, the old place appeared to be, not a lost way of life or one to be imitated, but a vision of life as hearty and fleeting as laughter . . . — John Cheever, The Wapshot Chronicle Read more →
Who You Are
“True culture is in the mind, the mind,” he said, and tapped his head, “the mind.” “It’s in the heart,” she said, “and in how you do things and how you do things is because of who you are.” “Nobody in the damn bus cares who you are.” “I care who I am,” she said icily. — Flannery O’Connor, “Everything That Rises Must Converge” Read more →
Genius Takes a Walk
The Conceptualists would answer: It’s not permanence and materials, all that Winsor & Newton paint and other crap, that are at the heart of art, but two things only: Genius and the process of creation! Later they decided that Genius might as well take a walk, too. — Tom Wolfe, The Painted Word Read more →
Hot Enough for You?
All of us tend to think of our own circumstances in terms of a narrow range and to feel that other pastures are greener. . . . My suspicion is that in Heaven the Blessed are of the opinion that the advantages of that locale have been overrated by theologians who were never actually there. Perhaps even in Hell the damned are not always satisfied. — Jorge Luis Borges, “The Duel” Read more →
The Erasers
The Erasers is a combination detective story and Greek tragedy, about a murder investigation in which the victim, unbeknownst to (almost) anyone, is not really dead. It’s also about multiple perceptions of the same events, all of them perfectly reasonable and all of them wrong. And it’s about the inevitablility of fate, which despite your best efforts can lead you to an unimaginable deed (cf. Oedipus). Highly recommended! Read more →
Ode to a Nightingale
Already with thee! tender is the night . . . . . . But here there is no light, Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways. — John Keats, “Ode to a Nightingale’” Read more →
The Eternal Footman Held My Coat and Snickered
Rep. John Murtha of Pennsylvania, a longtime fixture on the House subcommittee that oversees Pentagon spending, died after complications from gallbladder surgery, according to his office. He was 77. The Democratic congressman recently underwent scheduled laparoscopic surgery at National Naval Medical Center in Bethesda, Maryland, to remove his gallbladder. The procedure was “routine minimally invasive surgery,” but doctors “hit his intestines,” a source close to the late congressman told CNN. — CNN.com OMG I HAD THAT SAME OPERATION I COULD HAVE DIED!!! On a lighter note, how ironic is it that the president loses a pro-ObamaCare vote due to medical error in a government-run hospital? Read more →
Books Etc.
Thanks to the annual Super Bowl Sunday Buy One Get One Free sale at Books Etc. in Laguna Hills, the works of Bellow, Borges, Bukowski, Brautigan, Cheever, Eco, Grace Paley, Dennis Potter, Pynchon, Robbe-Grillet, Philip Roth and Tom Wolfe have found their way onto my bookshelf for a capital outlay of only 32 dollars American. Read more →
Pride and Prejudice
As my son comes downstairs for dinner, he says, “It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune –” I finish it with him: “– must be in want of a wife.” “We spent 45 minutes in class today analyzing that one sentence,” he says. “It’s a very famous sentence,” I say. “The next sentence will probably go faster.” Read more →
Twitter: 2010-01-21
RT @capricecrane: T.S. Eliot: "The world ends not with a bang, but a whimper." Sadly, so do most of my dates. # Read more →
Out of the Turmoil
Which, I wonder, brother reader, is the better lot, to die prosperous and famous, or poor and disappointed? To have, and to be forced to yield; or to sink out of life, having played and lost the game? That must be a strange feeling, when a day of our life comes and we say, “To-morrow, success or failure won’t matter much, and the sun will rise, and all the myriads of mankind go to their work or their pleasure as usual, but I shall be out of the turmoil.” — William Makepeace Thackeray, Vanity Fair Read more →
People and Their Silly Principles
If every person is to be banished from society who runs into debt and cannot pay–if we are to be peering into everybody’s private life, speculating upon their income, and cutting them if we don’t approve of their expenditure–why, what a howling wilderness and intolerable dwelling Vanity Fair would be! Every man’s hand would be against his neighbour in this case, my dear sir, and the benefits of civilization would be done away with. We should be quarrelling, abusing, avoiding one another. Our houses would become caverns, and we should go in rags because we cared for nobody. Rents would go down. Parties wouldn’t be given any more. All the tradesmen of the town would be bankrupt. Wine, wax-lights, comestibles, rouge, crinoline-petticoats, diamonds, wigs, Louis-Quatorze gimcracks, and old china, park hacks, and splendid high-stepping carriage horses–all the delights of life, I say,–would go to the deuce, if people did but… Read more →
Vanity Fair
Reading a few pages of Vanity Fair — the book, not the magazine — before retiring for the evening . . . I say to my wife, “Man, this Thackeray guy is really funny.” “Funnier than you?” she asks. “He must be.” “Why?” “Well, this book is almost 200 years old and people are still reading it.” “Imagine at the time he wrote it,” she says. “People probably laughed till they choked.” “Exactly.” Read more →
An Impersonal Recommendation
I had a 40-percent-off coupon for Borders that expired today so we stopped by to see if they had any good computer books in stock, which they did. At the checkout, the woman asked me if I’d like to get a recommendation for a novel. “Yeah sure,” I said. I was pretty excited about the idea because I thought they’d look at my purchase history and figure out something I might enjoy. Instead she recommended Home by Marilynne Robinson, which was displayed on the counter right in front of me. “Are you recommending that just for me,” I asked, “or you recommend it to everyone?” “We recommend it to everyone,” she said. What a sham! “I’m going to pass on that,” I said. “There really hasn’t been a good female novelist since Jane Austen.” My son, who was standing next to me, added, “And even she was kind of boring.” Read more →