the Right Time to Read

I recently finished reading the Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera. This is actually the second time I’ve read it; I first read it about five years ago.

That may not sound surprising to people, that I’m reading a book for a second time.

But actually, I didn’t really like it at all the first time I read it.

The writing is incredible. Stylistically, Kundera is a first-class writer, all the way. But I wasn’t wild about the plot – or the characters – at all.

And yet here I am, just having finished reading it again.

There is actually a very specific reason I pulled it out of the box it was buried in to give it another shot. That reason doesn’t really matter right now; I’d like to get at a different point for now.

This time around, I liked it quite a bit more than the first time. I’m still not too thrilled with some of the plot points and character quirks, but I found them much more forgivable this time. Originally, I’d have given it a 2/5. Now, it’s probably more of a 3.5/5 or so. It’s still not perfect, but there are a lot of things to admire about it.

This is actually the second time I’ve done this, though – re-read a book that I didn’t like the first time around.

I also did this with Till We Have Faces by C. S. Lewis. I first read it many years ago (probably about 10 years ago or so). It wasn’t bad, I guess…but it was terribly boring. Or so I thought.

When I had occasion to read it again (like Unbearable, there was a very specific reason I revisited Faces), I realized that Till We Have Faces is actually INCREDIBLE. Very possibly in my top 10 favorite books now.

Why would I dislike a book so much the first time around, and yet grow so fond of it the next time?

Considering these two little tidbits, I can imagine this means that perhaps there is a “right” time to read a book, so to speak. I wonder if, when I first approached Unbearable or Faces, I had simply come to them at the wrong time – too early, in these cases.

If this is true, I can’t help but wonder: What makes it the “right” time or the “wrong” time to read a book?

Obviously the books themselves don’t change. It can only be something in me that has changed in between readings. But what was the thing that changed in me?

Am I more mature now than I was then? (hopefully, yes)

Am I wiser? (again, I hope so)

Do I pay more attention to the words? (meh – it’s hard to say)

Am I looking for different things in books now from what I looked for then? …

…actually, there might be something to that last question.

The first time I read each book, it was just a book I had recently picked up that I thought sounded interesting. There was really nothing more to it than that. And I didn’t like them.

When I returned to each of the books some years later, I had a very specific reason to read them. And now I like them.

I wonder, then, if our motives for reading a certain book actually affect how we feel about the book as a whole.

This sounds like a reasonable assumption. In fact, I see no reason not to assume this is the case.

That said, though, here are the next questions:

What other books could get the same treatment as Unbearable and Faces?

How many books have I read (just once) and liked, that maybe I would not like now?

How many books have I read (just once) for a reason and liked, which I may not have liked in a different circumstance?

And, most importantly of all:

What specific reasons for reading a particular book would make me like that book more? And what specific reasons for reading a particular book would make me like that book less?

There’s really no way to know the answer to these questions, of course. But they’re fun to think about.

November and December 2015 Reading List

For some reason, I’ve been really into reading recently. That may sound obvious coming from me. But I mean: really into reading.

The weird thing, though, is that almost everything I’ve read recently has been very out-of-character for me. (Not every single book, but most of them.) Many of the books I’ve read are not books that I would normally ever have considered reading before. Since Halloween, I’ve foregone the high quality I usually aim for in literature, and just devoured some much more silly/just-for-fun books. I guess I’ve just being reading…guilty pleasures(?) Something like that, at least.

Oddly, since Halloween, I haven’t read any books unless they were mass-market paperbacks (with the exception of manga, which have their own size to them). Even books that sounds appealing to me right now, I won’t read unless they’re in mass-market-paperback form. Weird. I can't explain it.

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So then. Since Halloween, I have read:

Novels & Novellas…

Shutter Island by Denis Lehane - 5/5

Of all the books I’m listing here, this is the first I read. And, at this point, it’s still by far the best of them all. I had already seen and loved the movie. The movie is actually very faithful to the book—rare. The book is very well written. Strong, believable characters. Absolutely great pacing—something you really don’t want to put down. And, of course, it remains a twisty, wonderfully psychological story.

Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut - 4/5

Congo by Michael Crichton - 3/5

The Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad - 4/5

I actually read this once before, I believe about 8 years ago. I don’t remember having much of an opinion of it back then, but I thought it was rather interesting this time around. Very eerie. Good use of setting, and, of course, Mr. Kurtz remains a deeply interesting character.

Batman Arkham Knight: the Riddler’s Gambit by Alex Irvine - 2.5/5

Lost Horizon by James Hinton - 3.5/5

I was attracted to this because it takes place in Tibet. It’s nothing at all like the real Tibet, but it was still a cool, unique story. And the main character is one of the most well fleshed-out characters I’ve encountered in quite a long time (definitely the strongest character from all the books in this list, at least).

47 Ronin by Joan D. Vinge - 4.5/5

Now here’s an interesting one…this is, in fact, a novelization of the recent Keanu Reeves movie, which was universally panned. Keep in mind that this means the book came after the movie. I, on the other hand, actually read this book before seeing the movie. (I’ve since watched the movie.) That said, the book was GREAT. Very strongly written. Despite being the longest book out of this whole list, I breezed through it in about two days. A cool story, all about honor and integrity. Good emotional impact. The movie was...pretty bad. It didn’t go into the characterizations nearly as well as the book, and much of the emotional impact was lessened, or absent altogether. The movie was just an excuse for action; the book was a powerful story. Definitely—perhaps surprisingly—the second best book (after Shutter Island) in this list.

Dawn of the Planet of the Apes: Firestorm by Greg Keyes - 1.5/5

Not very good. Also, it had more typos than possibly any other published book I’ve read. My goodness, that editor should have lost his job over this.

Batman Arkham Knight by Marv Wolfman - 2/5

Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption by Stephen King - 3.5/5

The writing is good. The story is good. But, surprisingly, the movie is actually better. Much more satisfying, and the arrangement of the scenes is a bit better structured. Still a good plot though, and the characters are probably equally strong (in both the book and the movie).

Manga…

Final Fantasy Type-0 - 3.5/5

Final Fantasy Type-0: the Ice Reaper 1 - 4.5/5

Final Fantasy Type-0: the Ice Reaper 2 - 4.5/5

These are pretty fun, but if you’re not a fan of the Final Fantasy games already (or of manga), then there probably isn’t much here to appeal to you. I’m excited to continue the Ice Reaper series though.

Wolf Children by Mamoru Hosoda - 5/5

Absolutely, positively wonderful. Beautiful. Not much to say about it beyond that. A great manga for people who may not really care for manga.

Another by Yukito Ayatsuji - 4.5/5

Books I started but didn't finish...

Mortal Kombat by Jeff Rovin

Yes, this is a novel based on the video games. Bizarre tidbit about me: of ALL the books I own, this is the book I’ve owned the longest. Very weird, I know. Of all books, why this one? I read it when I first bought it (1993), and remember liking it. I dug it out of the closet last month, gave it another go, and, after about 60 pages, decided I’d rather just leave it as a fond memory.

The Thousand and One Ghosts by Alexandre Dumas

Read about half of it. Pretty interesting and well-written, just not what I’m currently in the mood for. 

Northanger Abbey by Jane Austen

Read the first 30 or so pages. Even for Jane Austen, this one is especially well-written. Rather humorous, too. I only set it aside because, like Thousand and One Ghosts, it's not what I'm in the mood for right now.

Borderlands: Unconquered by John Shirley

Read about 30-40 pages. Horrible. Just…horrible.

Vampire Hunter D 3: Demon Deathchase by Hideyuki Kikuchi

Read about half. Meh.

Coin Locker Babies by Ryu Murakami

Read about 30-40 pages. The setting is very visual, eerie, and well-developed. However, there are a few things about it that bother me, of which I will only mention two:

1)      Personally, I don’t like biographical fiction. I don’t want to read about a fictional character’s entire life. Just isolate the days/months/years most relevant to the overall story and give me those.

2)      If you’re ever going to read it: absolutely, whatever you do, SKIP PAGE 1. Just start on page 2. It’s okay; you won’t miss out on anything important to the story. Trust me. The images described on page 1 are just…not okay. I really wish I could unsee them.  I sort of feel angry that Murakami included them at all; I haven’t quite forgiven him for that yet—hence why I decided to set this aside for now.

Down the Rabbit Hole by Peter Abrams

Read 30-40 pages (I guess that’s about how long it takes for me to come up with a basic opinion on a book…) Fun and quirky. Well written, but a little too cutesy for me right now. 

Again, this is everything I’ve read just since Halloween. I’ve been very, very busy.

Currently, I’m reading…

The Strain by Guillermo Del Toro & Chuck Hogan

A little over halfway through so far. Interesting, intense story. Different spin on the vampire mythos. Not very well written though. The characters aren’t terribly well-crafted. And Chuck Hogan likes his thesaurus a little too much. I’m interested enough in the story to check out the other two books in the trilogy, but I’m not in a hurry to do so. (And no, I haven't watched the TV show based on these books.)

And, finally, my next book will (probably) be…

Shogun by James Clavell (I just ordered it though, and it’s possible it may not arrive until a few days after I finish the Strain. In which case, I may read one other book in the meantime. Not sure what…)

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So there you have it. :) 

Tibet

A few nights ago, Michelle came over for awhile. We started talking about a book I had just recently started reading (The Open Road by Pico Iyer), which is a sort of biography of the Dalai Lama. Michelle started asking me about the Dalai Lama—who he is, what he does, how the role of “Dalai Lama” becomes assigned to him, etc.

Emily was in the next room putting Emerson down for the night. When she came back, the conversation naturally--obviously--drifted into a discussion about the "Tibet Question" (you know: all those “Free Tibet” bumper stickers you see, what they mean, why it matters).

Michelle and Emily continued to ask questions, and I answered them the best I could. I’ve researched quite a bit about the Tibet Question and certainly have an opinion about it; I was able to answer most of the questions with at least moderate confidence.

But of course there are always other truths out there, other stories I haven’t heard, other perspectives that I haven’t considered.

About a year and a half ago, I became deeply interested in Tibet. Certainly it’s become my "dream trip" to go there.

But I’ve become a bit worried about taking that trip. Not because it’s particularly unsafe—Tibet has a very good reputation with handling foreign tourists. Rather, it’s because I’m worried Tibet won’t be what my mind has painted it up to be.

When I first started learning about Tibet, it was this land of old ways, of mysticism, of a deep reverence for the universe. The more I read about it, however, the more I come to understand that those things are slowly disappearing, that the old ways, the mysticism, the reverence are all fading, nearing the end of their millennia-old lives.

I’m not really interested in taking a political stance on the Tibet question. (Actually, I am rather interested in that—but not here, now, in this context.)

What I am interested in, however, is that the Tibetan past is losing its place in history. We can blame this on the Chinese, or on the Tibetans, or on any number of other people or things or forces. But no matter who is doing it, or how, or why, the fact is: to erase the past is to erase pieces of the present. Isn’t it?

If this moment is the total sum of every single other moment before it, then you cannot remove pieces of the past without removing pieces of the present as well.

Yes, I still very much want to visit Tibet. And in my imagination, Tibet is still in sync with its history. But in the books I read, Tibet is losing touch with its past. In my imagination, visiting Tibet is possible. In the books I read, this is not possible—at least, it is not possible to visit that Tibet.

Or perhaps I should say: time is running out. Because once that Tibet loses its place in history, there is no recovering it.

There is a difference between progress—which is the stated goal of the Chinese—and reverence—which is the goal of the Dalai Lama and Tibetan Buddhists. Which is better? Which is more important?

Each has their pro’s and con’s; there is no doubt of that. To deny progress is to move backwards. As Joseph Campbell said, “By going backwards, you throw yourself out of sync with history.” But then again, to deny—or to erase, or to belittle—history is to deconstruct the present.

Either way, it is clear that the Tibet that interests me, that I fell in love with from a distance, is slipping away.

Thomas

First of all, a tiny preface:

Yes, I like playing video games. Despite this, I’ve tried to avoid the topic of video games in my blog here. I know they simply don’t interest everyone, and, anyway, I have plenty of other things to talk about besides nerding it up and talking about whatever cool new game I played recently.

However…

Thomas Was Alone is a masterpiece.

The narrative structure presented in the game Thomas Was Alone is truly exceptional, easily on par with some great post-modern pieces of literature.

The plot is extremely simplistic: some lines of computer code become self-aware, including the little red rectangle Thomas, who finds himself inside a set of geometric cells. There is portal which leads him out of one cell and into another, and along the way he meets several friends—other quadrilaterals of various sizes and colors—all of whom have distinct personalities.

Yes, rectangles.

The official website for the game describes it as “a minimalist game about friendship and jumping and floating and bouncing and anti-gravity.” This sums up the gameplay, sure. But the characterizations are brilliant, evoking personalities that go deeper than many popular movies and books out there.

If a game can make you care about sentient rectangles—make you anxious about if they’ll achieve their goals and learn to work together and overcome their self-esteem issues—then it must be doing something very right.

Thomas Was Alone could have easily been a children’s picture book (except, perhaps, for a single use of the word “damn,” a few minor pop-culture references, and the highly-conceptual nature of various ideas here and there). On the printed page, however, we would have lost the British narrator, Danny Wallace. A word on Danny Wallace: I’d even consider listening to Twilight if Danny Wallace narrated it; he was that good.*

Throughout the 100 levels of the game, each includes 1-4 sentences/lines of story, many of which include the thoughts of the various quadrilaterals—let’s average it to about 250 narrated lines.

All this to say:

Utilizing only about 250 lines of text (in other words, about 4-6 Microsoft Word pages) and a few variously-colored rectangles, Thomas Was Alone achieves more with its structure and its characterizations than many feature films or full-length novels out there. It is a brilliantly told story that any writer should take seriously, regardless of his/her impressions of video games.

Really, it’s nothing to me if you play it. But it might be something to you if you do.

http://www.mikebithellgames.com/thomaswasalone/

*Actually, this probably isn’t exactly true. I don’t think anything could make me want to listen to the Twilight audio book. But Danny Wallace is as good as they come.

A Thought on Romeo and Juliet

I think that one of the problems with our society is that we have this intense focus on romance. We have thousands and thousands of books and movies and songs all about romance, its ups and downs and inspirations and shortcomings. It doesn’t help that we’re barraged with the Romeo and Juliet story—or allusions to it—every which direction we turn, in our English classes and in the movies and by approximately half of all Taylor Swift’s songs and in books about vampires and their pedophilic, forbidden love with human girls.

This single-mindedness when it comes to romantic love, however, causes us to lose sight of any other sort of love that is out there. Love has many faces. There is not only one type of love, one highest type, one most fulfilling type. And the longer we continue to look at only the once face of love, the more we allow the others to slip away from us.

And so it is that the loss of a romantic love is considered and felt to be such a tragedy. If you have boiled your entire love experience down into only this one type of love, then of course it feels like a tragedy; you have not allowed yourself to become familiar with any other face of love.

The real tragedy with Romeo and Juliet is not that they couldn’t be together, or that their love was forbidden, or even that they died. No, the real tragedy is that they willingly closed their eyes to anything but each other. Romeo mistook Juliet’s face as the face of love—as if love couldn’t look like or be anything else. And Juliet did the same of Romeo—as if love could only come from him and from nowhere else.

This isn’t sweet or heart-melting, and it certainly isn’t a good example of what love can and should be.

Rather, this intense focus on romance is much more harmful than anything else. We feel unfulfilled if a romantic love is not in our life or in our present circumstances, because it is the only type of love that we fully accept, the only type that we choose to let in, to make us feel satisfied. And so we don’t allow ourselves to see or to feel all of the other loves that are out there, pressing in on us. We feel as though we are no longer loved once our boyfriend or girlfriend or spouse leaves us or dies or disappears or betrays us, even though there are a great many other faces of love ready to show us how important we are, and how much of a light we bring into the darkness of the world. Surely all love is a light, a sun. But we only allow ourselves to see the small flicker that is romantic love.

Please, forget about Romeo and Juliet. Their tragedy is their own; it does not need to be yours and mine.

Know that you are loved. Every moment of every day you are surrounded by love. Of course it might not always be romance. But it is love, of one sort or another, and it is enough. At least, it should be—we are the ones who choose to not let it be enough.