Books I Have To Read

A little while ago, I got caught out by a colleague during a conversation in which I was forced to admit that I've never read The Catcher In The Rye by J.D. Salinger. I say 'forced', which implies I was reluctant to admit it, but in fact I was quite happy to - until my colleague told me she was surprised I hadn't read it. Immediately, I felt a little bit embarrassed; it's a well-known modern classic, and yet not only have I never picked it up, I've never even felt a vague interest in reading it. To be perfectly honest, until about 3 years ago, I suspected it was something of a horror book, of a Freddy Kreuger-type; it's the whole, there's something in the rye, it's coming to catch you thing, and I'm not a fan of horror books. Obviously I know differently now, but it didn't change my feelings towards it - I simply wasn't interested. But since then, it has got me thinking about all the books I kind of should read, but haven't, and recently I've been pondering the idea of finding a list of the Top 100 books, and working my way through it - as a blog-related challenge, but also in an effort to broaden my own literary horizons.

There's no question that I love books, but sometimes I do find myself reading for the sake of reading, just for something to do, and not noticing what's on the page. Of course, there will be times when I don't want to read something clever; I had a moment like this just this week, when, after what can only be described as a monumentally awful working-week, involving all kinds of crap, I flung aside Catch 22 - another modern classic - in a fit of pique and picked up The Song Of Achilles by Madeline Miller, which I bought last week but wasn't letting myself read out of respect for finishing Catch 22. The Song Of Achilles is really enjoyable, well written and yet another intriguing take on the Trojan War story, but it's not great literature. So, in the most pathetic rebellion known to man, I said 'screw it!' to cleverness, modern classics and mind-broadening, and went for comfort-reading. Sometimes, you don't want to read except for the sake of reading. But, nonetheless, there are thousands of brilliant books out there that will make me think, question, discover and learn, and all the while I will be doing one of the things I love doing most - reading (and drinking tea at the same time - heaven). So, give me the list, and let's get cracking!

Except, of course, nothing is that simple - such is life. A quick Google of 'ultimate top 100 books' (I like the word 'ultimate' - it's so powerful) lead to more results than I'd care to look at. There's the BBC's collection, compiled about 8 or 9 years ago from nominations for their Big Read campaign; then there's a list from The Guardian, from 10 years ago; then there's all the fan-compiled lists, such as thegreatestnovels.com's Top 100, and thebest100lists.com's Best 100 Novels. I myself have previously been checking novels off a list that I found via an app on Facebook - in fact, when I Googled 'ultimate top 100 books' I was intending to find my list, and link it to this here blog, but I can't find it. Now, with so many options, I find myself a bit stuck; how do I pick which list I am to use as my guideline? What really are the best 100 books? (That, by the way, is not a question I am even going to bother attempting to answer. Call me lazy, but let's face it, if there's that many options out there, you could be there forever. Maybe one day - who knows? - I will compile a list but it will not be today.)

Looking through these lists, several names seem to crop up in each one, a bit like London socialites at swanky events. John Steinbeck, for example, and C.S. Lewis. Salman Rushdie occasionally puts in an appearance but can be a bit unreliable, but George Orwell's always there and so is Fyodor Dostoevsky - they even turn up twice on a few occasions. Shakespeare and Harper Lee are often there, and there's usually something by Jane Austen and Margaret Atwood. These, it would seem, are some members of the hardcore gang, the authors of the books you really must, must read - although there sometimes seems to be a bit of indecisiveness about which novel of theirs is the One to Read. As I perused these lists, I did start to get a bit concerned about why some of these books are on the lists; not because I doubt their worth, but I do sometimes wonder - are they on they just on the list because to miss it off would be noticed? War And Peace, by Leo Tolstoy, for example - that's a title everyone knows, and yet, I myself haven't got a clue of what the plot is. Simply, it's reputation precedes it, and it has become so well-known that it's inclusion on any Top 100 list is almost like a free pass; it's War And Peace, so it has to be on there. Other ones, however, I do find surprising; The Time Traveler's Wife, by Audrey Niffenegger is one such title. Now, I love this book; it's a heart-breaking romance of fantastical proportions, it's beautifully written and it's a brilliantly unique, clever idea - but I'm not sure I would include it on a Top 100 list. Personally, I'd swap it for Miss Pettigrew Lives For A Day by Winifred Watson, and that's not just because Pettigrew is my favourite book, and I'm biased, but because it's a little lost piece of history, it's charming, it's delightful, it's funny, it's hopeful, it's a classic fairytale. Books shouldn't be included on Top 100 lists just because they're cleverer or more well known than other books.

I think the list I'm going to use will be the Best 100 Novels; it just seems like a more concise list of titles, both modern and pre-20th century, and there's actually quite a few titles on the list that I've been wanting to read anyway, which obviously makes it more appealing! There are, however, quite a few I have no interest in reading - The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini, for example. My sister read that one quite a while ago, when the film came out, and gave me the basic rundown of the plot, and I can't say it appealed to me - as frequent readers of this blog will know, I prefer my novels to be more about escapism; the less realistic or political, the better. But then, I was positively dreading reading 1984 by George Orwell, and I actually really enjoyed it, so what does that tell you? However, they have included The Twilight Saga by Stephenie Meyer on this list - now, I know that, culturally, these books are quite significant, given it's fanbase, the revival of interest in vampires it caused and just the general hype surrounding both the film and book series, but I'm a bit disappointed to see it. But then it is the only duff title on the list, so I guess I can let it slide.

If I'm going to work my way through this list, I'm going to have to commit to it, and that's that. I'm actually quite excited really; I've usually been a bit of a book nomad, reading what I like, when I like. Now I feel like I have a bit of a sense of purpose with my reading. I'm sure at times it'll be a hard slog, especially with books I don't want to read, or find hard to follow, but I think it'll be worth it. I'd like to say I've managed to read my way through 100 of the finest novels written. I've already read 22 of them, and I'm currently reading Catch 22 (when I'm not casting it aside in favour of Greek love stories) so I've got a bit of a headstart, but still got 78 to go. Mind you, I'll probably have to buy a Kindle now - can't afford to pay full-whack all these books, financially or space-wise. That's a bit of a bummer.

The Lost Art Of Re-Reading A Book

I've been a bit slow with my blogging lately, which is down to two things. Firstly, work has reached one of it's even-busier-than-usual points in the year, when around 80% of my time is spent either working or thinking about work, 15% is spent sleeping and the rest of the time I'm eating. Not a hugely healthy lifestyle, nor one that allows for a lot of anything fun (although eating and sleeping are two pursuits of mine that I usually enjoy immensely). As a result - and this leads to the second thing - I've been severely lacking in time to read. This has been made worse by the fact that I am attempting to read two books at the same time, which are  both incredibly different to each other, and both entirely new to me: Catch 22 by Joseph Heller, and The Time Traveller's Guide To Medieval England by Ian Mortimer. I have to say, I'm mostly enjoying this dual-reading; when I tire of Yossarian deeming everyone to be crazy except himself in Catch 22, I can turn to a hugely entertaining book on the normal, every day aspects of medieval life that you tend to forget about, what with all the wars and plagues - what people wore, how they got themselves from one part of the country to another without a map, and so on. They both have their merits, and are both, in their own ways, really funny - so, considering one is a modern classic, and the other is a history book, I should be in my element, right?

No, no. I cannot relax with these books. This is not because they are not good books. It is because they are new to me, and so I have to concentrate on every page. I have already slipped up a few times with both - I got a bit bored learning about medieval currency in Time Traveller's Guide, and now I have no idea what the author means when he says such-and-such will cost you 7s 2d. Similarly, in Catch 22, I  had to read one conversation between two characters four times, because my mind kept wandering to things like, 'did I send that email on Friday?' 'I mustn't forget to do that on Monday!' and 'I'm so, so sleepy...' I just can't quite let myself get as absorbed as I usually do, no matter how much I want to. Instead, my mind keeps turning to an article on The Guardian last week, on the merits of re-reading books. The more I think of it, the more re-reading a book becomes a far more attractive possibility at the moment.

This is a subject I have touched upon before myself, in my own entry for World Book Day, in which I explored some of the elements that contribute to making a book a good one. I concluded, rather diplomatically, that it doesn't matter what you're told makes a good book, but what you feel is a good book, and that 'good books are the ones on the shelf that are dog-eared and battered, and they'll be different in every home.' Obviously, to batter and dog-ear the books, they have to be read and re-read time and again. So what brings a reader back to the same book? There's billions of books out there, in a myriad of languages and genres, books you've never imagined, subjects you've never explored, characters you've never encountered. There are bookshops and libraries all over the country, e-books all over the internet, and any number of websites who will send any book you like direct to your house - some will even recommend some new ones for you. Why not reach for a new one every time?

I can't speak for others, but I can speak for myself. A new read is thrilling; even before you've opened the book, what you're holding could well be your new favourite book. I'm quite flighty in my choices - ask me my favourite book in the morning and I could well have a different answer by the evening - but for me, precious little beats reading that first page for the first time, becoming immersed in the story, becoming familiar with a new world. Regular readers of this blog (hi, you two - thanks guys) may have seen that I did not get on very well with American Gods, by Neil Gaiman, but one thing I did enjoy hugely was the fact that I had absolutely no clue about what was going to happen next - the plot was entirely unpredictable, and it kept me on my toes. I love that about a new book, the discovery of it - both in terms of it's plot and my relationship with it, be it positive or negative.

However, I did say 'precious little' beats a first-time reading of a book. That 'precious little' is re-reading a book. You might know the plot, you might think you know the characters, you might think you know every little event that occurs - but the fact is, you don't. An English teacher of mine once said that you can never know a book cover to cover, because every time you read it, you'll discover something new - a word to describe a character that changes your perspective of them, a scene you've managed to dismiss as unimportant during every previous read, even a witty comment you've never found witty before. Most importantly though, if you've read a book several times over a long period of time, you yourself will change, and so will your views. A character who was once despicable to you, suddenly is one you sympathise with. That scene that seemed so superfluous, you suddenly connect with a later event in the novel which increases the earlier scene's importance. An event in your own life may suddenly connect you to a book in a way you never anticipated. Suddenly, just knowing how it ends, and how the characters get there, is not important; it's what you learn as you travel the same road. It's a bit like Bill Murray in Groundhog Day - eventually, he becomes so familiar with his surroundings, he is able to see things that, the first time around, he was blind to. When you re-read a book, you already know the important bits, leaving your mind free to explore the subtler elements of the plots and characters.

Of course, this is the 'clever' way of looking at it. The reason why re-reading a book has become such an attractive option to me right now is because I can do it for the sheer pleasure of indulging in a creature comfort. With a re-read, I know where I stand; there will not be any unexpected surprises, and I will know when I can put it down, because I know the main plot back to front already. If my mind wanders a tad, I will not be missing anything I don't already know - no crucial plot points, no essential information, will be missed. I can sit back, relax, and know that, no matter what happens, this person will travel to this place with this person, where such a thing will happen, and this will result in this particular conclusion. No guesswork, no extra attention required. If I want to learn more from it, I can, by paying more attention to the text. Alternatively, if I'm just needing something to help me drift off to sleep at night (in the same manner as a whale-song CD does for others, or nightlights, not because it's boring) then a re-read is the thing I need.

The trouble at the moment is, I've re-read all my books so many times, I don't particularly want to read any of them. How's that for a catch 22.

Review: 'American Gods', by Neil Gaiman

This was, quite possibly, the strangest book I have ever read. It was recommended to me by a few people after I reviewed the Troy trilogy, by David and Stella Gemmell, so I freely admit that, when I borrowed the book, I was expecting something, if not similar to a historical romp, at least in the same vague area (as it happens, American Gods is to the Troy trilogy what Anchorman is to Citizen Kane). One quick look at the blurb and endorsements, however, was enough to stop me in my tracks: the novel is described as 'deeply unsettling', 'some kind of miracle' and 'dark'. Immediately, I was intimidated. Here was a book that already felt like it was bigger than me, somehow, like it confronted issues and thoughts I could never dream of having. It gave me the same feeling The Grapes Of Wrath by John Steinbeck did: like I was going to embark on a journey that would force me to question things I've never had to consider before. I'd also noted that it was the winner of the Bram Stoker award, from the Horror Writers Association, so, naturally, I steered clear of it for about two months. I don't want you to misunderstand me; it's not that I didn't want to read this novel, it's that I found myself a bit scared by it - not by it's content, but by what was implied to be lying within it's pages. For me, it was a bit like going into a room where I think there's a spider, but I'm not sure where.

To give a brief summary, the story focuses on a young man, named Shadow, who has been released from prison a few days early because his wife has died in a car crash. Whilst trying to deal with his reinstated freedom and the death of his wife - including the circumstances in which she died - he is pursued, rather ominously, by an older gentleman going by the name of Mr Wednesday, who is determined to hire Shadow as his new errand-boy. Shadow eventually agrees, as it is clear from his first meeting with Mr Wednesday that his enigmatic new boss is a force to be reckoned with. As the novel continues, Shadow is increasingly exposed to a world he has never dreamed of, figures he believed imaginary, and forces that are more powerful than any he has ever known.

As novels go, this is a slow-moving one, though when it comes to climactic scenes, they occur so suddenly, and with such force, that at times I felt almost like I had been punched in the face. Revelations were casually dropped into the text, so casually that a wandering mind might not realise at first what had been said, suddenly notice that the tone had changed, and be forced to backtrack, frantically scanning the pages to find the crucial line, paragraph, speech, word that had caused this shift. You may have guessed already that my mind was prone to wander in this; it certainly was. The trouble I found was that the novel moved so languidly at times that I was thoroughly unprepared for the sucker-punch moments; however, I like to think that Gaiman did this intentionally, because it certainly increased the emotion of the scenes - not only was I privy to those feelings of Shadow, which at times would've been emotional enough, I also had my own feelings to deal with, like the panic I felt when I suddenly realised I may have missed something crucial. This novel taught me to not be complacent.

Shadow, however, was too mysterious for me. I understand that this was intentional; he is, by the very definition of his name, fluid, unknowable, at times there, at times not. He's also an 'everyman' character, deliberately vague and hazy around the edges to allow the reader to project themselves onto him, thus increasing the emotional attachment to events of the novel. However, I was startled by his characterisation; at times he was so silent it was painful, at others he was laugh-out-loud funny - I'm thinking of a conversation he had with a crow as I write this - and at others someone I felt so little sympathy for him that I wasn't particularly fussed about what happened to him next. That's not to say he is an unlikeable character - he really is - but he is unrelatable; we know so little about him that at times I couldn't really get to grips with him as a person, and so consequently couldn't get to grips with the events surrounding him.

I mentioned before that this book gave me the same feeling The Grapes Of Wrath did, and the comparisons I made didn't stop there. It's true, I've read The Grapes Of Wrath recently, and it has stayed with me after finishing - a sign of a good book - but there are many parallels to be drawn (but I don't want to bore you, so I'll only stick with the main ones that have occurred to me). For example, the long-drawn out, descriptive style of writing - Wrath moved very slowly, with sudden moments of action and life that caught me off-guard. Gaiman also adopted the technique of filling in the back story to events and characters through aside-chapters, designed to increase your knowledge of the world and the characters, whilst also drawing you further into the story. Finally, of course, this is a great American novel, dealing with an issue that maybe some modern Americans would like to forget; that the nation is founded on the backs of immigrants, that to start with, this was a country with many religions, borrowed and brought over by those few who hoped to make a new life in the new land, and the age-old question; can different religions, founded on different principles and beliefs, ever get along? This book provided me with an answer, but I imagine someone else reading it would come to a different conclusion.

This is one of those novels where you do have to suspend all rhyme and reason, and just follow the path it takes you; trying to rationalise it would not only ruin the experience, but would also distract you, and you do not want to be distracted. It's a brilliant thing to behold; everything, from Shadow's 'chance' encounters with homeless gods who eke out a living in this modern world - it's both enchanting and upsetting, seeing these fallen gods living our lives - to the sheer banality (at first) of the sleepy town of Lakeside is written beautifully. It's also unpredictable; there's some books where you know, almost from the first page, how it will end, and there's others where you can guess at the general direction the plot is going to take, but American Gods was one where I had absolutely no idea what was going to happen next - every twist, every turn was wonderfully played out, both surprising me, and yet making sense within the overall plot.

However, I must be brutally honest now - I can't say I enjoyed it. I did find it difficult to concentrate, owing to the meandering pace, and the sheer size of the story did, at times, make me feel a bit stupid; I felt like I wasn't quite grasping the purpose of the novel, and this did impact upon my experience of it. It's difficult to feel warmly towards a novel when you feel like you're failing a test, somehow. I would, however, read it again; it's the kind of book you must read more than once, because the first read leaves you a bit startled, like you're not quite sure that what you think you've read is actually what you've read. I didn't enjoy it, but I will read it again, and who knows? Maybe, now I'm a bit more prepared for the story, I'll be more prepared to enjoy it.