Erin Reads – Page 72 – Notes on Books & Life

The Odyssey: Books 13-18

Only six books of The Odyssey and one week left of Trish’s readalong! I’ve been listening to Ian McKellen read the epic to me on audio and using the corresponding Fagles translation in print as a supplement. This week, we read Books 13-18.

Same warning as the past two weeks: I like how the story is split into books, which strike me as being sort of like individual episodes in the TV series of The Odyssey. I’m going to structure my summary in the same way. If it’s a little much for you, feel free to skip down to the “Thoughts” section!

When we left off, Odysseus was telling King Alcinous about how his crew had been killed by Zeus’s storm, sent as punishment for killing the cattle of the sun god, Helios. After nine days at sea, Odysseus had washed up on Calypso’s island. For a full summary of previous events, please see my weekly posts about Books 1-6 and Books 7-12.

Summary

Book 13: Ithaca at Last

Odysseus’ tale is over. In the morning, Alcinous and the other men shower Odysseus with gifts and prepare a ship to take him home. They depart when night falls, and Odysseus sleeps through the journey. The Phaeacian crew carries the sleeping Odysseus to shore, unloads his treasure, and then sets off for home. But Poseidon notices that Odysseus has made it home at last and complains to Zeus. Zeus suggests Poseidon turn the ship into a rock just as it approaches home, then heap rock around the Phaeacian port, both of which Poseidon does.

Meanwhile, back in Ithaca, Odysseus has woken up. Because Athena has shrouded him in fog to hide him, Odysseus doesn’t recognize Ithaca and thinks he’s been betrayed; he wonders immediately how he’ll hide his treasure in this strange land. The goddess appears to Odysseus as a woman and tells him that he’s in Ithaca. Odysseus, not recognizing Athena, begins to invent an identity for himself. Athena tells him to cut the crap and reveals herself. After convincing him that he is, in fact, home in Ithaca, Athena helps Odysseus hide his treasure and then updates him about the suitor situation in his palace. She disguises Odysseus as an old man, tells him to go find the swineherd, then sets off to get Telemachus from Sparta.

Book 14: The Loyal Swineherd

Odysseus finds the home of Eumaeus the swineherd. Eumaeus is firmly convinced that his king is dead and will not believe Odysseus that this is not the case. He kills two pigs for their dinner, complaining that the suitors take all the finest animals for their own feasting. He tells Odysseus that many men have come claiming to have news of the missing king in order to win the favor of Penelope and Telemachus when, in fact, they know nothing. When Eumaeus asks Odysseus to tell his own story, Odysseus invents a false one that’s just as grand and complicated as his true tale. (Since it’s all lies, I’m not going to summarize it here!) When Odysseus’ story is finished, Eumaeus lends him a cloak. Odysseus sleeps while Eumaeus tends to the pigs.

Book 15: The Prince Sets Sail for Home

Athena turns up in Sparta and tells Telemachus it’s time to go home, and quickly. She warns him about the ambush but assures him the gods will keep him safe. Once he arrives in Ithaca, he is to go first to the swineherd and stay a night there. The next morning, Telemachus asks Menelaus to send him home. He goes straight to his ship instead of stopping in Pylos, where King Nestor would undoubtedly delay him. As the ship is about to sail, a man named Theoclymenus approaches Telemachus and asks for passage on the ship, explaining that he’s been expelled because he killed a man. Telemachus allows him to board the ship, and they hit the road…um, sea.

Back at the swineherd’s hut, Eumaeus tells Odysseus he’s welcome to stay on, then tells his guest his own life story. The two men talk late into the night.

Meanwhile, Telemachus approaches Ithaca. He has the ship drop him off and head to port, leaving him to visit the swineherd. He leaves Theoclymenus in the care of one of the other men until Telemachus can get him the next day.

Book 16: Father and Son

Telemachus arrives at Eumaeus’ hut, where he meets the swineherd and an old, unknown beggar. They eat and trade news. Telemachus sends Eumaeus to tell Penelope her son has returned, warning the swineherd not to spread the news around. When Eumaeus is gone, Athena restores Odysseus to his real appearance, and father and son have a heartfelt reunion. They catch up, then begin plotting what to do about the suitors. Odysseus instructs Telemachus (1) not to tell anyone Odysseus has returned; (2) to hide all the weapons except for two; and (3) not to intervene on Odysseus’ behalf when he comes the following day to the castle as a beggar. Telemachus agrees.

Meanwhile, the ship that bore Telemachus home arrives at port and Eumaeus announces the prince’s return. The suitors are confused and annoyed; they realize the ship they sent to ambush Telemachus has already returned home, its mission having failed. Penelope comes in and yells at them as they begin to think up new schemes, then retires to her room. As Eumaeus returns from the city, Athena turns Odysseus back into the old beggar. The swineherd relates the news from town, and the three men eat and then go to sleep.

Book 17: Stranger at the Gates

In the morning, Telemachus heads to town to see his mother, Penelope. He runs into Theoclymenus and brings the seer to his mother, who asks about Odysseus. The suitors are up to their usual feasting.

Meanwhile, Eumaeus is leading Odysseus, still in beggar garb, into town. The pair is taunted along the way. They enter the hall, first Eumaeus, then Odysseus. Odysseus visits each suitor in turn to test their character and loyalty, pretending to beg. An argument breaks out with Antinous, one of the nastier suitors, who is rude and cruel to Odysseus and ends up throwing his footstool at the beggar. Penelope, who has yet to meet the beggar, asks that he be brought to her so she can question him. Odysseus says that he will come later; he does not think it wise for them to be seen together by the suitors. The party rages on.

Book 18: The Beggar-King of Ithaca

A local beggar called Irus turns up and tries to make Odysseus leave. The two swap insults and threats, finally agreeing to fight. Antinous offers dinner as a prize. Athena beefs Odysseus up as the beggars prepare to fight, and Irus gets scared. Odysseus whacks Irus across the jaw, and the fight is over. Odysseus is given the dinner he won.

Athena, in the meantime, inspires Penelope to appear before the suitors to “fan their hearts, inflame them more” (p. 381) as well as to warn Telemachus to stay away from “that pernicious crowd” of suitors. Penelope refuses to clean herself up, so Athena puts her to sleep and goes to work making Penelope extra lovely. Penelope wakes up and heads down to where the men are feasting. The desired effect is achieved:

“The suitors’ knees went slack, their hearts dissolved in lust–
all of them lifted prayers to lie beside her, share her bed.” (p. 382)

But Penelope ignores them and instead scolds her son for allowing the beggar (Odysseus, though she does not know that) to be poorly treated in his house. Then she scolds the suitors for devouring her own goods instead of bringing her gifts. Antinous proposes that each suitor bring her a gift, and each one sends a man to go and fetch something from his house. Penelope and her maids retire with the newly acquired loot while the suitors party on. Odysseus sends the maids away, saying he will tend the torches himself for as long as the suitors wish to stay. Athena wants Odysseus to suffer further insults, so the suitors lay into him again. One of the suitors throws another stool at Odysseus, but Odysseus ducks and the stool hits the wine-steward instead. Telemachus tells the suitors it’s time to go home, and they are so amazed by his decisiveness that they obey.

Thoughts

These six books are certainly different from the six previous ones. Where books 7-12 were mostly linear, relating Odysseus’ tale as he told it, books 13-18 jump around: from Odysseus, to Telemachus, to the palace full of suitors, and back, all in a short span of time. Things are happening on all fronts, and the focus shifts accordingly. In some ways, this different structure builds anticipation. At the same time, though, most of this chunk of The Odyssey is spent on preparations. Nothing particularly exciting happens; it seems it’s being saved up for the final bit of the story.

I did get kind of tired of irrelevant back stories. For instance, Odysseus’ invented life history was unnecessarily long-winded. Yes, I see, he’s clever and quick and a wonderful storyteller. I’d say we learned that when he told Alcinous his actual life story. I’ll admit I didn’t pay thorough attention to that bit. I hope it doesn’t turn out to be vital information to the epic’s end!

I noted in my Week 1 recap that Telemachus seemed to be a gigantic baby. There were suggestions that maybe Athena sent him on his little news-hunting expedition to man him up. If that was the case, I must say, it seems to have worked. The new Telemachus seems much more sure of himself. Just in time, because I’m not sure what heroic Odysseus would’ve thought if he’d returned home and met immature Telemachus.

I enjoyed last week’s reading more than this week’s, just because more happened. I’m expecting a big finish next week, though, so perhaps it will make up for the slower pace of this week!

Thoughts on “Death with Interruptions” by Jose Saramago

Death with Interruptions by Jose Saramago (cover)

I’d wanted to read Death with Interruptions by Jose Saramago ever since I heard about the premise a few years ago. When I found a used copy on the Half Price Books clearance shelves, I snatched it up.

About the Book:

“The following day, no one died.” (p.1)

Thus begins Death with Interruptions, written by Jose Saramago and translated by Margaret Jull Costa. It goes on:

“This fact, being absolutely contrary to life’s rules, provoked enormous and, in the circumstances, perfectly justifiable anxiety in people’s minds, for we have only to consider that in the entire forty volumes of universal history there is no mention, not even one exemplary case, of such a phenomenon ever having occurred, for a whole day to go by, with its generous allowance of twenty-four hours, diurnal and nocturnal, matutinal and vespertine, without one death from an illness, a fatal fall, or a successful suicide, not one, not a single one.” (p.1)

At first the apparent death of death seems like a cause for celebration. Yet as more and more institutions–nursing homes, hospitals, funeral parlors, insurance companies, churches–are affected, the weight of this new deathless state becomes increasingly difficult to bear. Why has death ceased to occur? What are the implications for the structure of society as we know it? Saramago tackles these questions and more as this incredibly unique and creative tale unfolds.

My Thoughts:

I am in love with this book. I want to read everything else Saramago has ever written, because I suspect that at least a few of his other novels must be as clever as Death with Interruptions. It is unlike anything I’ve ever read before, in both plot and writing style.

I’ll begin with the plot. The first half of the book is focused on society at large in the nameless, death-free country. I loved seeing the implications Saramago imagined for the various sectors of society–things I’d never have thought of. I was fascinated to see what problem would pop up next and how the affected parties would solve it. And then, mid novel, there is a turning point, when a powerful man receives a mysterious violet envelope. Suddenly the focus shrinks down to the level of a single person. It almost seems like a different novel altogether, except that the mystery that runs through both halves is the same. I had no inkling of where the story would go, but I greatly enjoyed finding out.

Then there is the writing. Saramago’s style is distinct, and I am quite impressed with how Margaret Jull Costa managed to translate it. Saramago intersperses short, ordinary sentences with sentences that would make Virginia Woolf’s longest appear concise. His paragraph breaks are few; his dialogue shuns quotation marks and even line breaks, opting for simple commas instead. Here’s a sample, a conversation between the cardinal and the prime minister:

“Not half an hour had passed when, sitting now in the official car taking him home, he received a call from the cardinal, Good evening, prime minister, Good evening, your eminence, Prime minister, I’m phoning to tell you that I feel profoundly shocked, Oh, so do I, your eminence, it’s an extremely grave situation, the gravest situation the country has ever had to confront, That’s not what I mean, What do you mean, your eminence…” (p. 9-10)

And so the conversation continues for four more paragraph-and period-less pages. I thought it would be hard to follow, yet somehow Saramago makes it clear who is speaking. There were odd moments when I found myself thinking that this uninterrupted style might actually mirror more accurately the flow of conversation.

There is also a sort of subtle humor that often surfaces in Saramago’s phrasing, such as this one, which references the flaw in a politician’s otherwise brilliant plan:

“It was against this stone, suddenly thrown into the middle of the road, that the interior minister’s strategy stubbed its toe, causing serious damage to the dignity of state and government. Caught between a rock and a hard place, between scylla and charybdis, between the devil and the deep blue sea, he rushed to consult the prime minister about this unexpected gordian knot.” (p. 52-53)

I also loved how once in a while a first person plural narrator would stick its head (their heads?) into the story to clarify some point. For instance, having related an anecdote concerning a family that seems rather irrelevant to the overall story, the narrator comments:

“We are more aware than anyone how unimportant it must seem this account of the relationships in a family of country folk whom we will probably never see again, but it seemed to us wrong, even from a purely technical, narratorial point of view, to dismiss in two lines the very people who will be the protagonists of one of the most dramatic episodes in this true, yet untrue story about death and her vagaries. So there they stay.” (p. 35)

These occasional intrusions didn’t bother me in the least; rather, they added to the delight with which I read this quirky, odd novel.

As for themes, there is much said in Death with Interruptions about death (as you might have guessed), but also about love, as well as sharp insight into our natures as human beings. I’d say my comments, though, are quite long enough at this point, so I will leave you to explore those themes yourself. Needless to say, I plan to work another of Saramago’s novels into my reading schedule soon!

Your Turn!

Have you ever read a book that was so different it actually worked? Do you have a favorite author whose style is extremely unique?

Sunday Salon: Defining “Classic”

As I’ve mentioned in passing, I’m working on a reading project for myself for next year. I want it to focus on a certain sort of book which I have been calling “classics.” The problem I keep running into, though, is how, exactly, to define “classic.”

I used to think of a classic as an old book, though I never set a precise date to separate classic from contemporary. Any book from a long time ago counted. Classics were the sort of book they made you read in school, that you had to struggle through and then dissect, reading far more into the book than you’d ever thought possible. I’ve since realized not all old books are classics, in my opinion; nor are all classics necessarily old. So, I won’t be defining classics by age.

Then I thought perhaps classics are those books of any age which stand the test of time, hold up to rereading, and are universally read. I do think that’s partially correct, but the problem I have with such a vague definition is that it leaves the bestowal of the label “classic” to some hazy cultural opinion. There are books I’m sure I’ll consider classics that others will not, and vice versa. Besides, who decides whether a book deserves to be reread? Really, is there any book that’s universally read?

I spent a lot of time poking around online, collecting definitions of “classic.” By far, the most interesting definitions I found were from Italo Calvino’s essay “Why Read the Classics?” I checked a book containing it out from the library so I could read the essay (translated by Martin McLaughlin) in full. In it, Calvino builds a definition of “classic” in pieces. Here are some of my favorite components:

“The classics are those books which constitute a treasured experience for those who have read and loved them; but they remain just as rich an experience for those who reserve the chance to read them for when they are in the best condition to enjoy them.” (p. 4)

“The classics are books which exercise a particular influence, both when they imprint themselves on our imagination as unforgettable, and when they hide in the layers of memory disguised as the individual’s or the collective unconscious.” (p. 4)

“A classic is a book which with each rereading offers as much of a sense of discovery as the first reading.” and “A classic is a book which has never exhausted all it has to say to its readers.” (p. 5)

“A classic is a book which even when we read it for the first time gives the sense of reading something we have read before.” (p. 5)

“Classics are books which, the more we think we know them through hearsay, the more original, unexpected, and innovative we find them when we actually read them.” (p. 6)

“‘Your’ classic is a book to which you cannot remain indifferent, and which helps you define yourself in relation or even in opposition to it.” (p. 7)

I like that Calvino admits there may be many parts to a definition of classic; no single criterion is really sufficient for him. The more I consider my own definition, the more I think it will need to have several parts.

Calvino also points out what does not determine a classic: “the term ‘classic’…makes no distinction in terms of antiquity, style or authority.” (p. 7) He makes this point after giving the last piece of his definition listed above. I believe I like this take on classics, that age, style, and other people’s opinions shouldn’t define your own personal classics.

But if classics become a personal thing, how does one go about locating potential classics in the first place? It seems you’d have to read a book at least once before determining whether or not you’ll consider it a classic. There must, therefore, be some universal list from which to choose potential classics. And, of course, you could always add your own.

I wonder, too, about the difference between a classic and a book from the Western canon, one with strong cultural importance. Wikipedia says a canon is “A group of literary works that are generally accepted as representing a field.” I do think there are books that have cultural importance, but are they classics? Calvino uses the phrase “fundamental works.” To me, that applies more to the canon than to the classics. I’m beginning to think that classics, for me at least, are more personal, whereas the canon is set by culture. Perhaps the myriad attempts to define what the canon should include would be a good starting point from which to construct a reading list of potential classics?

Calvino has some other interesting things to say about the classics, which I’ll include in a later post. I’ll also be sharing my classics definition as it pertains to my reading project when I explain the project itself; for now, I’m just trying to get all my thoughts in one place!

I know some people don’t like to use the term “classic,” which I completely understand. I’m curious, though, as I’m working on my own classics definition, if you do consider some books to be classics, how do you define such books? What makes them classics? And, if you don’t like the term “classic,” do you have some other way of designating books that stand out from the rest? What’s your take on classics vs. books from a canon?

My Week in Books: November 14-20

My Week in Books

Welcome to my weekly Saturday feature here at Erin Reads, where I highlight new books that have entered my life, what I’ve been reading, and what’s happened on Erin Reads over the past week.

New Acquisitions

I’ve decided to continue with the vlog format for My Week in Books, since it seemed many people enjoyed it. I’ll also include a little more about each book in text form, as several readers don’t or can’t watch vlogs.

I had way too many books come into my life this week to share them all, so I split them into books I bought (this week’s video) and books I won/was given/was sent for review (next week’s video).

If you’re not a vlog person, here’s a summary of the books I talked about. If you watched the vlog, you’ll probably find the rest of this section pretty redundant! Titles link to GoodReads summaries.

Purchased new:

Shakespeare Wrote for Money by Nick Hornby: the third of three compilations of Hornby’s essays for Believer magazine. I adored the first installment (The Polysyllabic Spree) and already own the second (Housekeeping vs. the Dirt), so now I have them all. Don’t you just love the titles?
Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte: I’ve never read this classic! I know…shameful! I plan to read it very soon, and now that I have an edition I really like, I have no excuse.

From a library sale where you paid for your stack of books by the inch (cool!):

Don’t Look at Me Like That by Diana Athill: I don’t know anything about this one except that Athill is supposedly a good writer. The book is very thin, so at $1 per inch, it probably cost about a quarter.
Three Junes by Julia Glass: I’ve never read Julia Glass, but every review that mentions one of her books says “It was good, but not as good as Three Junes.”
The Linnet Bird by Linda Holeman: Recommended by a bookstore coworker and compared to Sarah Waters’s novels, this one is set in Calcutta and England in the 1800s.
The Spy Who Came in from the Cold by John le Carre: Classic spy fiction recommended by The Literate Man, and my first le Carre.
The Anglo Files by Sarah Lyall: Nonfiction written by an American who’s lived in Britain since the 1990s. The back of the book calls it “part anthropological field study, part memoir.”
The Awakening by Kate Chopin: Another classic I haven’t read! It’s on my list for my upcoming, not-yet-revealed classics project, though.
Joy in the Morning by Betty Smith: I loved A Tree Grows in Brooklyn and have always wanted to read Smith’s other famous novel, about a young couple’s first year of marriage.
The Appointment by Herta Muller: When Muller won the Nobel Prize for literature in 2009, I hadn’t even heard of her. This was the first of her novels I’ve come across at a library sale, so I picked it up.

Read This Week

This week has been devoted to getting through The Black Book by Orhan Pamuk for the World Party Reading Challenge and Burning Valley by Phillip Bonosky which I’m reading because it’s set in western Pennsylvania, where I now live. Neither is a particularly fluffy read, so it’s taking me a while. I made it through Burning Valley, but I’m going to need some more time for The Black Book!

On audio, I got through another chunk of The Odyssey for Trish’s readalong. To keep myself from getting too far ahead, I switched to Roald Dahl’s The Witches for the second half of the week. It’s one of the few Dahl novels I hadn’t read, and I thoroughly enjoyed it! Now I’m working on Jean Kwok’s Girl in Translation.

Erin Reads Recap

I started the week with a Sunday Salon post in which I talked about my experience vlogging and asked others to share their experiences. I’d still love to hear more points of view, so feel free to head over and add your thoughts!
On Monday I reviewed the new YA novel Revolution by Jennifer Donnelly. I really liked it, except for one big spoiler-y problem.
Tuesday I posted my second check-in for The Odyssey readalong. The books for week two were the ones that recount Odysseus’ famous adventures, so it was fun to revisit them. (There was also a bonus video at the end!)
I reviewed To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf on Wednesday, which I listened to on audio. I loved the audio production, but I wasn’t too keen on the book itself; I liked Mrs. Dalloway much better.
Thursday I posted my entry for Chronicle Books’ Happy Haul-idays contest. If you leave a comment on the entry post, you’ll be automatically entered to win all the books on my list!
Finally, yesterday, I continued my audiobook miniseries by talking about some of my favorite young adult and middle grade audiobooks.

Your Turn!

How was your reading week? Do tell!

Books for Your Ears: Middle Grade and Young Adult Favorites

A few Fridays ago I introduced a miniseries featuring some of my favorite audiobooks. This week, I’ll be focusing on middle grade and young adult novels, all of which I, as an adult, really enjoyed. I’ve selected three of my favorites:

The Absolutely True Diary of a Part Time Indian by Sherman Alexie (read by the author)

Junior, our narrator, is a Spokane Indian teenager living on a reservation in Wellpinit, Washington. His real name is Arnold Spirit, but no one who knows him calls him that. Early in the novel, Junior realizes that the only way he’ll make anything of himself is if he gets off the rez, which he does by transferring to the all white high school in the nearest town. The switch lengthens his commute immeasurably and puts Junior at odds with his best friend, Rowdy, who sees Junior’s move as a betrayal. Junior is left to find his own way in his new life. There are plenty of hilarious, touching, and heartbreaking moments along the way.

The Absolutely True Diary of a Part Time Indian by (and read by) Sherman Alexie is, hands down, my favorite YA audiobook I’ve encountered so far. When I first started listening to it, I was pretty sure there was no way I’d be able to tolerate Alexie’s odd vocal style for the entire length of the audiobook. However, I quickly got used to it, Alexie’s voice soon became Junior’s, and now I can’t imagine the book being read by anyone else. I know that by listening to this novel you miss all the great drawings in the print version, but it might just be worth it to hear Alexie read Junior’s story!

The Schwa Was Here by Neal Shusterman (read by the author)

Calvin Schwa, aka the Schwa, has an uncanny ability to go about his life completely unnoticed by other people. When our narrator, Anthony “Antsy” Bonano, realizes there could be money in this talent, he becomes an agent for the Schwa, setting up dares that require the Schwa to perform certain activities without being detected. All goes well until someone dares the Schwa to enter the home of the agoraphobic Crawley, a local restaurant owner with a legendary temper, and steal a dog bowl belonging to one of Crawley’s fourteen Afghans. When the dare goes awry, Antsy and the Schwa land in an unexpected situation.

Neal Shusterman reads The Schwa Was Here himself, and his tough NYC accent is perfect for Antsy’s Brooklyn background. Shusterman brings Antsy to life splendidly, narrating his odd little story well. I could never guess where The Schwa Was Here was headed and enjoyed being surprised. It made for a great audiobook!

Al Capone Shines My Shoes by Gennifer Choldenko (read by Kirby Heywood)

It’s 1935, and Moose’s life with his family on Alcatraz Island, where his father works as a guard, is going well. His sister, Natalie, has finally been admitted to a special school, thanks to what Moose believes was a bit of intervention on the part of the infamous Al Capone. Then a note arrives in Moose’s laundry, which the convicts wash: “Your turn.” Is the note really from Al Capone? And if so, what has Moose gotten himself–and his family–into? With Natalie’s school placement and his dad’s job on the line, Moose has to watch his step. And on top of Al Capone, Moose has the normal kid stuff to deal with: his crush, his dueling best friends, his family, and the strict rules of living on Alcatraz.

Al Capone Shines My Shoes is the sequel to Al Capone Does My Shirts, which I read rather than listened to. Though both are engaging, I preferred the sequel for its higher stakes and more complex characters. I don’t feel it would be necessary to listen to Al Capone Does My Shirts before picking up Al Capone Shines My Shoes; the relevant back story is woven into the sequel’s narrative quite well.

Kirby Heyborne, who read the audiobook, does a fantastic job. He differentiates well between characters and is consistent with the voices he uses for each. His pacing and phrasing are easy to listen to and understand. Plus, I could totally hear his voice as Moose’s. Al Capone Shines My Shoes is technically middle grade fiction, but I found it thoroughly engaging and enjoyable.

Your Turn!

What are some of your favorite young adult or middle grade audiobooks? Are there any that surprised you?