Hello friends! A wet day outside and so alas no walk this Friday evening. But I suppose that means perhaps a few thoughts on a few books? I shall be brief, as I’d rather more reading time and more time with the Dani!

33. Looking for Alaska by John Green. Right, so I remember reading this book probably about 10-12 years ago? And I know I much enjoyed it then. Now? Well, less so. I wonder if that’s due to growing up or finding the book pretty fundamentally depressing or just finding certain things less amusing now than previously. Whatever the reason, this book didn’t do it for me this time. I found the author’s voice a bit annoying – narrator’s voice I suppose but it felt authorial – and while some of the adventures of the gang were fun to read about, all the rule-breaking, smoking, drinking, havoc-causing got a bit old by the end of it. Then of course, this book does take a turn later on that hits brutally and never feels like it really resolves, as much as the author tries to show the growth of his main character. I believe this book is slightly autobiographical (at least the author is pulling a bit from his past) and so it’s hard to criticize what I didn’t like over-much. There are some great set-pieces in this book and the author knows how to spin a story for sure! But at the end of the day, as much as the characters are vivid and well drawn and the writing is very serviceable, I didn’t enjoy this one like I remember enjoying it way back in the day. Maybe if you’re a teen or in your twenties, this will resonate or twinge your nostalgia positively. For me, reading this just made me a bit sad. I think there is some veiled commentary on self-destructive behaviour and what it can lead to, yet this book felt more self-indulgent than introspective. I’m probably being a bit harsh as not every book needs to be moralistic and I certainly don’t want preachy. Yet this book felt pretentiously haughty without a moral core supporting such. Ah well.

34. The City of the Sun by Brian Stableford. Another Daedalus mission book that I apparently forgot I had purchased! Found it hidden on my bookshelf before a trip and eagerly grabbed this for a plane read. It was serviceable but sadly is probably the worst Stableford I’ve read. The core mystery on the planet visited by the Daedalus crew was pretty easily sussed. Not many surprises here. Though the author still writes a good story, this one felt almost dull by the time it resolved. Also a little anti-Christian/religion message that irked me a bit, though I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised – Stableford’s writings have definitely hinted at his bias against organized religion before. Still for all that hot air, this book wasn’t terrible. Just not great.

35. The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath. Oof. What do I say about this one? Picked it up in LAX to read on the plane and I read it over the course of the next few hours. One cannot go through life without hearing of this book and though I had been led to believe this book was not for the faint of heart, I had read a book recently that had praised it highly and so I felt it was time to give it a go. Worth it? Maybe? It is well-written, no doubt. There is a claustrophobic air about this one – yes you feel trapped as if you breathing the stalest of air. Perhaps as if you were encased in a bell jar. Ha ha. But really, I’m grateful that I read this, though I must certainly warn others that this book is not for the faint of heart. There is much in this book that was disturbing and hard to read. I would like to think that what Esther Greenwood goes through in this book was a rare occurrence, but sadly from what I know of history, that is likely not so.

This book is acclaimed as one of the vanguard works of the feminist movement and I suppose I can understand why that is so. Yet I believe to think of this book as purely a feminist one misses the mark a bit. Yes, this book exposes what it is like to live in a world tailored for men. Yes, this book exposes the overwhelming angst felt by one living in a world that felt as if it could not answer for what one longed. Yes, this book highlights the casual cruelty and wickedness of men who feel as if it’s their right to take what they believe is their due. But also? This book is so deeply personal. From reading a bit of Plath’s biography at the end, it is quite clear how much of this book is modeled after events that took place in her own life. There’s a reason Plath’s mother was so keen to block publication of this book. So this book is one that is Plath’s very own story spun out into literary form. And if anything, this book unmasks the sheer loneliness and confusion that descends upon one who feels as if there is nothing the world can do to relieve her pain. There is an incident in the book right before Esther goes back home that feels almost as if it is an instigating incident for her cracking apart and spiral down. Earlier yet, Esther is confronted with her lack of forward drive and paralysis into mediocrity as she is grasping for all yet holding onto nothing all at the same time. And so Esther is violated from within and violated from without. Her identity is what? A tool to be used and abused without anything of worth to distinguish herself from the plebeian horde. It is probably overly simplistic to say that her breakdown is caused by a simple trauma. Yet Esther was already at the edge, was she not? She needed only a push.

Ah I’m talking about this book far more than I meant to. I’m glad I read this one, but I would very much hesitate before recommending it to others. It’s a tough read. Pick it up with caution. If anything, reading this book just reminded me how fragile we are as humans. We are beautifully and wonderfully made, true. Yet we groan now in these vessels which feel incomplete at times. We are not our own yet we so strive and in this striving we rage and cry. There is a veil between us and the real – shall we not long for its removal just as Esther gloried in the lifting of the bell jar? I pray for compassion and for grace.