Okay, looking back at these four books, I know see that they are all odd. Might say something about the mood I’m in.
I like J.M. Coetzee immensely. And Elizabeth Costello is wonderful, though not his best book by far. It is weighty–even more so than standard Coetzee-fare. Costello is an elder novelist making a variety of public speeches in which she discusses her extreme animal rights views, explores Franz Kafka, the Holocaust, reason and realism. For whatever reason, as I was reading and enjoying this novel, I wondered whether my distaste for Cormac McCarthy is too harsh or totally unfounded. By the end, I decided that I was still right.
Snuff is the latest novel by Chuck Palahniuk. This is my least favorite Palahniuk novel that I have read. All of his novels have odd storylines (really, where does he come up with this stuff?), but this one never intrigued me. The story is well told in his normal concise style. But I never really cared. (And no, I’m not going to discuss the plot since it’s NSFMP (not safe for my parents).
A while back, Trench suggested I read The White Album by Joan Didion. My response was, “Huh? Joan Didion? Seriously?” But I read it anyway, and my low expectations were thoroughly exceeded. It’s a collection of essays from the late 60s and 70s told in the New Journalism style, which I like very much. She details Black Panther meetings, a Doors recording session, California politics, Georgia O’Keefe, among many other essays. Amazingly, this is my favorite out of the four. Even more amazingly, Trench got this one right.
I’ve only read a couple of William Faulkner novels, The Sound and The Fury and As I Lay Dying, but neither impressed me that greatly. But given that I went to the French Quarter bookstore that now inhabits the house in which he finished his first novel, Soldier’s Pay, I felt inclined to purchase a copy and read it. Having now done so, I think I’m ready to lay Faulkner aside for several more years. The novel tells the story of a young man returning home to rural Georgia after being severely wounded in the First World War. His return is a surprise to many including his father and his fiancee, who is torn by her unfaithfulness and the severity of his injuries. Lots of people love Faulkner; I am not one of them.
I’m glad you liked it. Even a blind squirrel finds a nut sometimes. And Didion is a good nut.
My favorite essays, looking back, are the ones about that California traffic “pilot project” and the one about the movies (which gives this line: “They have heard the phrase ‘independent production’ and have fancied that the phrase means what the words mean.”)