Reading update

Earlier in the year I set myself a goal of reading 25 books this year. At times that has seemed like an easy goal, and at others an impossible one.  One of the forces working against me has been my guilty conscience - when I have marking, or proof-reading, or reviewing on my slate at work, then I take work home. This isn't to say I stop reading because I'm working (although that does sometimes happen), but the presence of the work in my unopened bag makes me guilty enough to stop myself reading for pleasure.

Nonetheless, it hasn't been a bad year thus far for reading. The chief reason for this has been Game of Thrones, which has accounted for 5 of the 18 books I've read thus far, and a much greater proportion of the pages I've read. Last night I finished the 5th of the series, A Dance With Dragons, bringing me up to date and into the large group of people waiting patiently for Martin's final 2 instalments, whenever they should arrive. Its a pretty serviceable series, better written than a lot of fantasy, and less closely drawn to the standard fantasy story archetypes (the hero's quest for symbol of power, blah blah blah). Martin's willingness to kill off significant characters gruesomely, and often suddenly, also helps to make the stories less predictable for the rusted-on reader of the genre, which is nice. Having watched the first season of the excellent TV adaptation before reading book 1, and the second at the same time as I read book 2, I now find myself a long way ahead. To date the adaptation has produced one series per book, but I suspect it will struggle to do so as the stories broaden across Martin's world, and as the source books thicken.

I've also read a couple of other books to break up the flow. I started Murakami's 1Q84 while in London, and finished after I got back, but I can't say I enjoyed it much. It moves at a very slow pace, and a number of things about his writing frustrate me - he's obsessed with women's bodies, more than I found reasonable, and his ambition in his prose style outstrips his ability, I thought, with a lot of strained metaphors and distracting detours from the central plot, mixed with excessive exposition and leaps of logic from his characters. It also desperately wanted a severe editor - a 300 page story in a 1000 page book.

At the Lifeline book fair earlier this year, 3 of the books I bought were Kim Stanley Robinson's Mars trilogy. Having read Red Mars, the first instalment, its certainly an impressive piece of work. There is a really strong sense of scientific credibility in his writing, and no lack of depth in the way he has thought out the colonisation and terraforming of Mars. However, the narrative does suffer, and its not always a compelling read in terms of its characters or story, so I found it a bit hard going. I will probably dip into the second and third books at some point, but I'm in no hurry.

At my mother's urging, I have managed to squeeze in a local book as well. Very local, in fact - Over the Top With Jim by Hugh Lunn is set only 4 about blocks from where I live, and a number of the settings for the 1950s coming-of-age story are places I frequent every week - the "state school" (as opposed to the catholic school) next door to me, Ekibin Creek at the bottom of my street (even if its really a park-and-drain now), and various others (alas, not the cinemas, which have all closed in the intervening years). The book itself is a decent enough yarn, with enough geographical and historical familiarity to keep me interested even if the cultural and temporal settings didn't resonate particularly with me, not having grown up either catholic, in the fifties, or more importantly in a time when religion was a conspicuous cultural discriminant.

The other book I've read recently was another I picked up at the Lifeline book fair - Cry, the Beloved Country by Alan Paton. Its a fairly simple story about a black South-African reverend who comes to Johannesburg to seek people from his village who have run afoul of various of the social issues which burnt South Africa through much of the 20th century. Its a fairly grim tale at times, but Paton writes very well, with what felt to me like strong influences from Steinbeck, in the way he uses individual characters to represent larger social movements, and Hemingway, in the way he uses cross-language dialogue.

negligence in reading

It has been months since I blogged about my reading. However, this indicates a negligence of blogging, rather than a negligence of reading. In fact, I've gotten through a pretty decent pile of books since I last wrote, about A Moveable Feast. As I've done in the past following such periods of silence, I'll fall back to a list of brief summaries rather than trying to cover the backlog a post at a time. So, in chronological order ...

• Rabbit, Run (John Updike): Updike tells a nice portrait of the American mid-life crisis, or perhaps really early-life crisis, of a middle-American man struggling with the prospect of an ordinary life with an alcoholic wife and a second baby on the way. He picks up and leaves, but struggles with his sense of duty to his past life, and ends up going home, which has its own problems. I felt like this book had a lot in common with Continental Drift, but with a sharper focus on the protagonist rather than the time, although it certainly does have commentary on the evolving nature of community and the relationship with the church. It won't go on my list of really great books, but its certainly enough to make me go back for the others in the 4-book series at some point in the future.
• His Dark Materials (Philip Pullman): This was an anthology of the 3 books in the trilogy (Northern Lights, The Subtle Knife, and The Amber Spyglass), which I bought on a whim, having seen it a list of significant books and not having read it during my teenage years, during which this genre was my bread-and-butter (so many years wasted reading David Eddings and Robert Jordan). I'd seen the movie, which was actually pretty good, but unsurprisingly, the books are better. Their extra length lends the opportunity for more depth and breadth of characters, which both expand as the series progresses (although the first book was probably still my favourite). Some of the comments I'd read had lead me to fairly strong atheist/anti-religious themes, but they weren't there, or at least were subtle and strongly focussed on the narrative and not on an external agenda, and I think in this case the books are stronger for it.
• Down Under (Bill Bryson): My mother had given me this book while I was in France, as a gift for someone, but for one reason or another I never gave it. To be honest, I was slightly apprehensive about reading it, and only picked it up because I wanted something light to pass the time on a bus trip. Despite that, I have to confess I quite liked it. I like to think I know a fair bit about Australia already, but I still found lots of things in the book I didn't know about, and I enjoyed it for that. Having said that, it really was the Australian content I liked, and I can't see myself going out of my way to chase more Bryson stuff. There were parts of this book where he made generalisations that really annoyed me, and generally I had a sense that his way of looking at the world would become increasingly annoying. Still, no real regrets.
• One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich (Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn): It has long been on my list to "read some of the Russians". There are some great Russian names in literature: Tolstoy, Dostoyevsky, Chekhov, Nabokov, and many more, and to date I think my only foray into their work had been an aborted attempt at Crime and Punishment (against which I still hold a grudge). I found this novella on my parents' shelves, and like so many of the "big names" in 20th century literature (Steinbeck and Hemingway come to mind), I found it really very easy to read. The story does what it says on the box; Denisovich is a prisoner in a Russian gulag, and the book tells the story of his day from waking up in the cold, through a day spent laying bricks on a power station, to his return to camp. Its very matter-of-fact, and doesn't wallow in his situation, which I suppose is instructive in itself, but it does paint a good picture of Denisovich and various other prisoners, how they came to be in the prison and how they pass their time and interact.
• Eucalyptus (Murray Bail): I had read another Murray Bail book, Holden's Performance, last year, and enjoyed it a lot, but it is Eucalyptus for which he is probably best known, so it had been on my list. To be honest, I probably didn't enjoy it quite as much as the previous one, but it certainly is an interesting read. Bail is a very elegiac writer - his stories kind of float, and at times tread the line between this world and another, more whimsical world, and this is more true in Eucalyptus, which is at times part novel and part fairy tale. I actually bought this book as a present for my mother; like the father in the story, my mother's block is littered with eucalypts, and part of the book's structure is a series of descriptions of different eucalypt varieties. For me, though, without my mother's knowledge of native Australian flora, this was no barrier; as much as these descriptions guide the structure, they in no way dominate the text or affect the story, of a father who promises the hand of his beautiful, cloistered daughter to whoever can name all of the eucalypt varieties on his property. I didn't find the ending 100% satisfying, but it was certainly an interesting read.
• A Room With A View (E.M. Forster): Forster is another of those many names that I've seen on great books/authors lists - typically for this book, or Howard's End, or A Passage To India, but had never read. I had seen him written off in one or two interviews with other authors - possibly Nabokov in his Paris Review interview, although the overwhelming impression from that review is not of Nabokov's opinions, but of his opinionatedness - but I went into this book with a fairly open mind. I wasn't excited by its first half, of Lucy and the other expats and their time in Italy (most Florence). The picture of an expat community living alongside, but apart from, the local Italians, rang false with my expatriate experience. I don't doubt its authenticity, but it represents for me the "wrong" way to go about living in another country. As the story moves back to England, Forster develops more his themes looking at class and propriety, and the English reserve, but although I'm sure at the time these were valid and pointed criticisms, for me it all seems a bit tame and tentative. By the end, as much as Lucy seemed to attain her liberation from these things, I couldn't help but feel like she hadn't really moved that far. I also felt like Cold Comfort Farm, admittedly a very different kind of book, made some of the points better.
• In The Winter Dark (Tim Winton): I've read a few books by Tim Winton, and not yet been disappointed. Even those without the reputation of a Cloudstreet, I've found pretty satisfying, even just as an easy read, so I was pretty comfortable picking this one out from the library. The story is of 4 people living besides one another in the Australian country - not farmers per se, but by no means in a town - and the way they react to the arrival of a beast, never revealed, preying on livestock. Its somewhat darker in tone than Winton's normal fair, but after a slow start - the stuff about seeing other people's dreams never really worked for me - it picks up pace, and reaches a nice climax, before finding an unexpected but not incongruous conclusion.
• Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy (John Le Carré): The only other John Le Carré book I have read was The Constant Gardener, back in 2005. In that case I went on to see the movie, which was an interesting experience - an important one, even, in terms of the way I think about movie adaptations. This time was not dissimilar. Although I had heard of this book - along with The Spy Who Came In From The Cold, it is perhaps Le Carré's best-known - and despite an enthusiasm for Le Carré, it was the book's recent adaptation into a feature film which prompted me to pick it up. The story follows the recently, but not voluntarily, retired intelligence officer George Smiley, as he investigates a report of a double-agent inside the British secret service, which leads generally to a retrospective investigation that lead to his retirement. Le Carré does such a nice job of weaving details, and mixing in enough jargon to really immerse the reader in the spy milieu, and the result is a very compelling story, and entirely befitting its reputation.
• Camouflage (Murray Bail): Perhaps it wasn't the size of this book that made me pick it up, but it didn't hurt. At just 85 small-format pages, this is a curious edition of 2 short stories, the first about  a piano-tuner who is drafted to work on camouflaging a WWII air base in the red centre of Australia, and the second about a boy's memory of the development of a relationship between his sister and a neighbour. The latter story, in particular, reinforced my impression of Bail as a fantasy writer, as it manages a lovely little transition from a real-world scene into what feels a dream sequence.

Wow, so there's that. A few years ago I set myself a resolution of reading more, and since then my annual reading has risen from 8 to 12 to last year's 21. The number is not the end-game, obviously, but I feel its been successful because I've really broadened my reading horizons, and I've enjoyed discovering new writers and new styles. Using a number has probably inadvertently pushed me towards shorter forms like novellas, but I'm entirely comfortable with that - it's a format I like, and if it leads me to a broader range of storytellers and stories, then that's a good thing. This year I've set myself a number of 25 over on goodreads, which I don't think will be a barrier numerically (I read 5 in January). Hopefully it will bring me the joy that last year's endeavours did.

Reading, 2010

At the beginning of last year I set myself a very vague, non-binding and unambitious target of reading 12 books. I think I'd set the same target the previous year and only achieved it courtesy of a burst of 3 or 4 books in the last 2 weeks of the year (coinciding, not surprisingly, with the only leave I took that year). Not one to break with tradition, I did a similar thing this year, excepting only that the burst period was more like 6 weeks, and coincided instead with some discussions about books.

So, the books I read in 2010 (with links, were appropriate, to what I wrote about them) were:

• The Sound of One Hand Clapping (Flanagan)
• The Big Sleep (Chandler)
• The Quiet American (Greene)
• Heart of Darkness (Conrad)
• Love in the Time of Cholera (Marquez)
• The Beach (Garland)
• Lonesome Traveler (Kerouac)
• Breath (Winton)
• Bike Snob: Systematically and Mercilessly Realigning the World of Cycling (BikeSnobNYC)
• The Tree of Man (White)
• The Mating Season (Wodehouse)
• Cold Comfort Farm (Gibbons)

My favourites were probably two of the Australian entries - Breath and The Tree of Man -although Cold Comfort Farm was also very good.

As to this year, I would like to think I'll read more, and have in my mind a vague, non-binding and unambitious target of 15 books. Last year was better in terms of having more Australian entries than previous years, so I'd quite like to continue that, and I wouldn't mind if I saw a couple of non-fiction entries this year. I haven't finished any books yet this year, but I'm probably 75% of the way through two.

2009, I hardly read you

One of my resolutions for 2009 was to read more than I had in the preceding year. Looking back now, I think I accomplished that, albeit marginally (I think I read maybe one or two more books), although it bears mentioning that I did achieve the difficult constituent ambition of reading a novel in French. I'm a little unsure as to which books I had read by the end of 2008 and which I read in 2009, but a best estimate puts the list as follows:

• I, Claudius (Robert Graves). This historical dramatisation/embellishment was recommended (and indeed given) to me many years ago by either or both of my mother and my sister, but it took me a long time to get around to it. I am glad I did - the characters, though numerous, are interesting, the research impressive, and the stories captivating.
• Underground (Andrew McGahan). This book was given to me when I left NICTA at the end of 2007. The story and writing are diverting enough, although not of the standard of some of the other books I read this year. Significantly, it reminded me how few Australian novels I have read.
• Le Lion (Joseph Kessel). This book, en francais, was given to me by a french girl from a french conversation group that I was going along to. Although not particularly long, it took me many months and countless hours to read. I read it assiduously, trying to understand every word, dictionary in hand. This attention probably detracted from my opinions of the characterisation, but the setting of the story was interesting, and it is by far the best french-language novel I have read ;-)
• FreeDarko Presents the Macrophenomenal Pro Basketball Almanac (The FreeDarko Collective). I have been a FreeDarko reader for many years now, and although my enthusiasm for the blog waxes and wanes over time, my opinion of their significance in what might be a new age for sports writing, does not. The book is a lovely distillation of their manifesto, and beautifully presented. Anyone with a love of ambitious writing, and of the zen of sport, should read this, if for no other reason than to reassure themselves that these two can be reconciled.
• Cloudstreet (Tim Winton). I suspect this might be the first significant adult Australian novel I had read in my life. I got it from Lee, and have since passed it on to Mum. Winton's evocation of place and time reminded me of Steinbeck, and the quality of his writing and storytelling has given me a desire to better explore my country's body of literature.
• Great Expectations (Charles Dickens). I have a strong skepticism of things both British (courtesy in no small part of my national broadcaster's infatuation with British content) and of writing more than, say, 150 years old. I refuse to read Austen, for example; I find her characterisation of both men and women to be infuriating, even if it was an accurate reflection of the times. Dickens, though, holds a stature only a rung down from the Bard in english literature, and my exposure to his works through film adaptations had given me faith that he dealt with bigger and more timeless issues. This book, of which I had seen 2 adaptations (by Mills and by Cuaron), vindicated that faith.
• All the Pretty Horses (Cormac McCarthy). Lee lent me this book, too. I am considerably less skeptical about both American 20th century "classics", and I greatly enjoyed this one. Again, I had seen a film adaptation of this (by Billy Bob Thornton), which probably makes for a different reading experience (I knew what was going to happen), but like Cloudstreet, the writing was very good, and it had a very strong sense of place and time.
• Anathem (Neal Stephenson). I've been a Stephenson fan for a while now, so I bought this before heading to NZ for a holiday. While it is neither as ambitious nor as good as Stephenson's preceding books (The Baroque Cycle, and Cryptonomicon), he does a pretty good job of both spinning a good fantasy yarn, and of imparting to the reader his enthusiasm for the philosophical and mathematical history that he analogizes.
• Mother Night (Kurt Vonnegut). I am rapidly becoming a Vonnegut fan. I read one of his more recent books many years ago, but reading Cat's Cradle, this book, and more recently Slaughterhouse 5, I am learning to appreciate his succinctness, the humanity of his characters (including his remarkably passive "protagonists"), and his lightness of touch in dealing with weighty issues. I have hopes, too, that I will succeed in introducing his writing to my sisters.
• Of The Farm (John Updike). This was one of a pile of books I borrowed from the library for the summer holiday. Updike is a big name to which I had no associations of style or subject. Although I did enjoy this novella (a format I'm coming to like), I will look for more of his stuff not because I found this a great book, but because I did not.
• Slaughterhouse 5 (Kurt Vonnegut). What a great way to end the year. We unearthed this (among other books) from our late uncle's remarkable collection, while visiting Mullum, and I can see why it has its reputation as Vonnegut's most significant book. It is a remarkable story that led him to write this, and it is equally remarkable that the story lead to this book, which deals with Dresden in a truly unexpected, and yet very genuine way. I really like the way he can tell such strange yet very telling stories, in so few pages of seemingly very simple writing.

A good year's reading. I hope to read more novels again in 2009, and will hopefully blog about the first of them soon.

resolutions

Last year I set myself a new year's resolution of getting back into physical activity, and for the sake of measurement put 3 metrics down: 1000km of cycling, 12 games of tennis and 12 games of golf. As I've blogged before, I met those pretty comfortably; the final numbers were 2162km of cycling, 12 games of tennis, and 18 games of golf (the latter two numbers might be a little fuzzy). In addition, I played beach volleyball every week (probably 40-odd times, I guess), which gave me an opportunity to play a new sport and to dive around a bit once a week.

I was at a bit of a loss for resolutions this year. Having played two bad games of golf in the week before new year's eve, I set myself a goal of playing a game of bogey +18) golf, but I met that on January 2, so perhaps it was conservative. As my parents will insist, one of my concrete aims will be to get my driver's license, but to be quite frank, that isn't something I anticipate offering any great succour to my soul.

I have a bunch of things I want to do, but I'm loathe to put them down as resolutions, because I can't see myself getting all of them done, and a lot of them might be pie in the sky:

• read more, including more in french. I reckon I read 8 books last year, mostly in the second half of the year, and that's down on what I'd like to be getting through. I've started a french novel (Le Lion, by Joseph Kessel), but its very slow going, and I'm having trouble finding time to devote to reading
• write something. I've always thought, and some people have occasionally told me, that I have the facility of words to be able to write something decent, and I'd love to find something to write - perhaps a short story or something. All I need is a story to tell, and time to devote to writing it.
• holiday more. I am grossly overdue for holidays, and I have a lot of vague plans: getting down to Canberra to see family, getting back to Europe to see friends (as they have scattered across a half dozen countries, this will require at least 3 weeks, I think), getting over to Vancouver to see Liz, cross-country skiing in New Zealand with Diana, snowboarding somewhere with Jez & Mick, a golfing holiday somewhere, perhaps the Murray river or Victoria somewhere.
• get back into music somehow, either resuming trumpet or learning guitar
• meet new people. My current peer groups are fantastic, but haven't changed much in quite a long time. It would be nice to broaden my horizons.
• continue my physical activities. As much as I'd like to commit to trying one of the sports I'd like to play - football and cricket - I'm physically ill-suited to the former (with my history of breaking bones and my lack of bulk to protect them), and I don't know a way into the latter.

As you can see, these are all very vague, and I'm not sure to what extent they are realistic - it would be quite a miraculous year if I were to get to all of them - so I don't want to put them down as resolutions so much as aspirations.

I'll continue to jot down whatever I feel are significant achievements in my sidebar, including last year's criteria, and any emergent ones that I feel are significant.