"The Magicians" by Lev Grossman

To anyone looking at the dates between this post and the last: this is not the first book I've read since October. I'm as good at maintaining a blog as I was at keeping a journal when I was a kid, but better at it than I was at feeding my goldfish. Some things slip through the cracks.

But that having been said, The Magicians was enough of a pleasure and a surprise that I just couldn't skip getting some thoughts down on paper. The Magicians is probably best summed up in this review snippet from George R. R. Martin: "The Magicians is to Harry Potter as a shot of Irish whiskey is to a glass of weak tea." It is definitely Harry Potter for adults, Narnia rated R.

Which is a good thing- a great thing. It gives you a world of magic and wonder and makes you beg to be taken home. The main character, Quentin Coldwater, is a dysphoric wunderkind-cum-magician who is anything but a hero. It's not that he's trying to be happy and not succeeding; he's miserable and in his misery wonders why he can't be happy, or whether happiness even exists. That kind of struggle is fascinating without magic, but with magic it's downright pyrotechnic.

What I like most about the book (aside from foul-mouthed college students placed in settings formerly reserved for the likes of Ron Weasley and the Pevensie children) is the way it treats the idea of magic. In the book magic is neither a blessing nor a personally transforming force. People still are who they are, with or without magic. And an important question is asked that always seemed to lurk at the edge of Potter-land and Narnia: if magic allows you to do everything, why do anything?

The characters- a motley crew of child geniuses who have all the social graces that child geniuses usually have- are a perverse joy. In unreal settings, they are like real people. Apparently there's no amount of magic in the world that will prevent people from being cruel, or cowardly, or downright twisted.

When I realized I wasn't at Hogwarts anymore: Quentin Coldwater, having just gotten into a fistfight, is lying in the infirmary with his former opponent. The dean comes, warns the boys to behave or face expulsion from the school, and leaves. So far, it's a scene right out of Harry Potter. And then Q turns to his schoolmate and says, "If you ever do anything that gets me sent back to Brooklyn, I will motherfucking kill you."

As I said, the book was a surprise, and it's the first book in a while that I stayed up reading into the wee hours. Some acquaintance with Harry Potter is probably a good thing, and I don't know if you'd get the full effect without having read the Chronicles of Narnia as well.

"A Moveable Feast" by Ernest Hemingway, Revised Edition

I remember being very jealous of Deborah when she picked up her copy of the revised edition of "A Moveable Feast", but it wasn't until I recently read "The Snows of Kilimanjaro" that I actually went out and bought it. I've become fascinated with Hemingway lately, and "A Moveable Feast" is, for me, the perfect way to explore that because not only does the author describe an important period in his life in his own words, but he does so from the perspective of a writer than a biographer. He trims the fat of the stories and changes what needs to be changed because, even though it's not exactly true, he hopes the changes will make it more true. It's written best in one of the Fragments found at the end of this edition, part of an introduction that never was: "This book is fiction. But there is always a chance that such a work of fiction may throw light on what has been written as fact."

The stories in the book chronicle Hemingway's early days of writing in Paris and traveling in Europe. While in Paris Hemingway is exposed the community of writers living there at the time, and in particular he writes about knowing F. Scott Fitzgerald, Gertrude Stein, Ford Maddox Ford, and some other who I did not recognize but enjoyed very much reading about. Upon reflection one can see the hint of a narrative from the beginning of the book to the end, but for the most part the stories stand alone and are as strong that way as they are considered as a whole.

It must be said that it felt strange reading the revised edition without having read the book as it was originally published. But then, even when it was originally published there had been choices and edits to be made, as it was unfinished at the time of Hemingway's death. Of both editions it is safe to say that there is an amount of uncertainty regarding what the finished product may have looked like. This edition claims, of course, to be more complete or true to character than the original, but this is opinion and not fact. Either way it is valuable to have these stories written by a man in his last days (Hemingway committed suicide in July 1961) looking back on his early days.

All of the hallmarks of Hemingway's style are present in the stories, but one aspect I kept coming back to was the beauty and poignancy of the last lines or paragraphs of the stories. Hemingway's descriptions of his day-to-day life and encounters were not spectacular or showy, but matter-of-fact and interesting. But those last lines made me pay special attention, as they usually pulled the concept together, making the story about more than what it was about.

"The Snows of Kilamanjaro" by Ernest Hemingway

I found this book while on a rainy-day walk through downtown Champaign last week. I was enjoying the cold and the spitting mist of rain, but the used book store I passed still looked warm and inviting. Its thickly carpet floors that absorbed every sound and turned everything into a whisper and closely-packed maze of shelves were too good to pass up. I don't know how long I wondered the stacks skimming over handwritten notes and signs that signified obscure categories such as, "British History, 1822-1907, Naval" and "New Age, Aquarius". Eventually I found myself in the section simply marked "Fiction" and I looked over the shelves, judging books by their covers. Hemingway, of course, stood out for me, and I picked this tiny book with its scribbled hand-written notes and strange posterboard binding, to take home. I'm glad I did.

"The Snows of Kilamanjaro" is a collection of some of Hemingway's short stories. Just like their author's life, the stories cover a variety of topics and take place all over the world. The compilation's titular story was written after Hemingway's first trip to Africa, and centers around a man who is near death, berating himself for never having written all the stories he had planned to write, and all the excuses he had for not writing them. It's a great beginning for the compilation as it gives the rest of the stories just a bit more of an underlying meaning: these were written by someone who wanted very much to tell their stories.

One of the things I like most about Hemingway's writing, and which is especially evident after reading a series of short stories, is the way carefully lifts his characters into the light. He turns them slowly and examines them, letting the light bounce off of them how it may, and then just as quietly and carefully, sets them back down into the dark corners, which is where he seems to find most of his characters. Sometimes the stories are nothing more than a brief, but revealing, glimpse into another life.

The last story, however, is different from the others in that it has a well-defined plot. "The Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber" is dependent on the sequence of events as much as it is dependent on its characters. They combine powerfully though and the story stands out from the rest because of this. I haven't chosen a favorite, but "The Short Happy Life" is certainly in the running.

But the small hits of short story have turned me into a junkie; instead of re-reading "The Sun Also Rises" for the 1,985,732nd time, I picked up the restored edition of "A Moveable Feast" today. Hopefully I can get my fill of Hemingway's prose while learning a little more about the man himself. Looking forward to it.

No-Page Books

This is a fun writing prompt from Trisha's blog.

The idea is to come up with titles for books that would have no pages. Here are my five:

1. Doomsday Predictions That Have Come True

2. Harpo Marx: The Monologues

3. The Anorexic's Cookbook

4. Iraq's Best Nude Beaches 2009

5. Hard Work, Determination, and Skill: The Paris Hilton Story

"Outliers" by Malcolm Gladwell

I first became aware of this book when Paul mentioned it on his blog a while back. I picked it up and it sat on my bookshelf for a few months, but finally read it yesterday. I enjoyed the book, and will be reading the author's other books, The Tipping Point and Blink.

Outliers studies all of the factors that lead to great successes (things that lie far outside the normal range) that have nothing to do with the people themselves. The common belief is that there are some people who were born into poverty, for example, and were able to achieve great feats- and wealth- with spirit and determination. While strong spirit and determination are certainly factors, they are probably less responsible than is generally thought.

An example from the beginning of the book states that most (an overwhelming number, in fact) of Canada's upper league and professional hockey players are born in January, February, or March. Are people born at the beginning of the year more innately talented at hockey than someone born in September? Of course not; but it turns out that the cutoff date for youth leagues is January 1. Someone who turns ten on January 2 is in the same league as someone who doesn't turn ten until October or November. That extra year of physical maturity often leads to team scouts picking these boys for higher league teams, where the boys practice more and receive more and better coaching. By the time they're eighteen they actually are better than their later-born counterparts, but it all started with being a little older when the league started.

The book is full of examples and stories that illustrate that the world works on a much larger and more complicated scale than we often consider, but in the end this provides more complete and rational answers. Are Asians better at math by sheer virtue of being Asian? No, but a different number system might be a start, along with rice patties. (You'll have to read the book in order to put all of that together, but I assure you, it makes quite a bit of sense.)

In then end, that's what I took away most from the book: stuff makes sense if you look deeply enough. If you see a pattern, there's a reason. The outliers in the world, statistical anomalies like Canadian hockey players, Bill Gates, the Beatles, and the fact that fourteen of the seventy-five wealthiest people of all time were born in the United States between 1831 and 1840- they all make sense. And to me, the greatest reward of learning is the hope that, eventually, it'll all make a little bit more sense.

"The Old Patagonian Express" by Paul Theroux

One good thing that I did take away from Bryson's Notes from a Small Island was curiosity about an author he'd mentioned once or twice, Paul Theroux. I had never heard the name before, but apparently Theroux is quite prolific and is considered the source for the best travel writing, especially when it comes to traveling overland by train. I looked over a couple of his titles at Barnes & Noble and settled on The Old Patagonian Express.

Theroux, studying a map at his home in Massachusetts, is able to trace a train route from Boston all the way through the Americas into the heart of Patagonia, the southern portion of Argentina. The story begins aboard a Boston commuter train and, sure enough, ends in the dusty backwaters of Patagonia ("Nowhere is a place," writes Theroux). The journey in between the two points- more important, of course, than the destination- is full of colorful characters, adversity, and some danger, all expertly and fascinatingly described by Theroux.

Some- if not most- of the places Theroux visits on his way are not beautiful; the landscapes are often barren and the people who live there are tough individuals, usually living in poverty. Despite all of this, Theroux maintains a narrative tone and though the landscape varies very little at times, he is always able to keep his observation fresh. He does not repeat himself, as Bryson did, but instead keeps a keen eye. The writing itself is often more interesting than the places it describes.

But that is not to say that Theroux does not find himself on some adventures, too. The riotous and frightening atmosphere of a South American soccer match, the border-crossing made in a hitched ride, and his experiences with train travel in general are only a few. My favorites are the story of an Irish ex-priest ("I wish I could, but I can't write. I'll tell you what, Paul- you write it. It would make a good story, wouldn't it?") and Theroux's time spent with the famous writer and poet Jorge Luis Borges.

To say that The Old Patagonian Express is about Central and South America is inaccurate. It's a book about traveling. I often think about the days of travel before the printed word: those who did travel also took on the responsiblity of carrying news and descriptions from place to place. They were welcomed guests who were expected to "sing for their supper", to share their exciting, interesting, and alien stories. Reading this book was like that. It was like inviting someone into your home to tell you about a place you've never been, equal parts entertainment (which is not to say fiction) and education (which is not to say boring).

Na, na na, na na na na, na na na na ...

This is awesome. I would have loved to be there.