Run-Down on the Past Couple Books I've Read:

I need to get my ass back in gear. You took it outta me, JD. I think I've recovered my affection for literary review, but not completely (hence the title). I don't have the fortitude (or one of the books, for that matter) to quote, thus rendering my critique a "reader response." Plus, these past two were non-fiction - Ewwww. It squishes when I touch it.

First up: Blink by Malcom Gladwell. Mr. Gladwell argues the merits of split-second decision-making. I should have done more than flinch at Malcolm's best-seller status - this never fails to be a red flag. But I felt an after-flinch about three paragraphs in and an estimated five I thinks. Really, it's a novel on science; you don't think, you research. Somebody wasn't listening in freshman psychology. Tsk tsk. But Malcolm does research, and praise be to Jesus for that. Everything but his commentary is bearable, and on occasion, interesting. Unfortunately, the way to connect studies is through authorial guidance. Although Gladwell is an eager captain, we readers lack direction. As an aside, I apologize - the lack of quotation makes my argument more of a disgruntled opinion. To hell with it. It's my blog; I've already proliferated my opinion throughout. Blink reads like a college research paper, which surprises me. I thought a journalist of New Yorker caliber would have this point-proving thing down. But Gladwell lacks assertion, ever the necessity when asserting. He lacks organization, necessary when presenting ideas. And it's clear that the book is too ambitious for its size. His argument requires more comprehensive support, and I end Blink thinking: "That's a nice idea."

Second up: Songs My Mother Taught Me by Marlon Brando. I'm not going to review this book, because, well, it's an autobiography. My interest in Brando extends from his work in film (inspiring). How is one so familiar with the motivations of other people? My question is never really answered, though Brando asks this himself frequently. But I am certain after all 468 pages that Marlon devoted his life to mastering human impulse. The book is indulgent and pretentious, as autobiographies are. But Brando's charade is a mocking spit in the face, not a product of affectation. My theory is that he's so ashamed of his willingness to do most anything for money (Example A: Publishing his autobiography) that he sells out to the nth degree. "Fine, if you want an autobiography, I'll give you an autobiography" (not a direct quote). Brando was a master manipulator. If he didn't agree with a director, Marlon delivered such a horrible performance that the director would finally relent. Every word is so affected that the autobiography defeats its own purpose. We can no longer consider it an autobiography, because hardly any of it is believable. Brando proves to be stubborn and manipulative, but only because he has to be. These are his defense. Although I take most of Songs with a grain of salt (forgive the cliche), I feel more acquainted with Brando at its close.

Analysis: Nine Stories by JD Salinger

For those like me who couldn't find any insightful analyses about this collection on the Internet: You're welcome. I have finally figured out what this is about (I think).

So the fancy book club met a couple weeks ago to discuss Nine Stories by JD Salinger. Much despair was had because of our varied and confused insights into Salinger's stories. Was Seymour a pedophile? What's up with the random last line in "Just Before the War with the Eskimos?" How should we interpret Nine Stories? And although I haven't answered most of these questions, I can at least answer the last. So for those of who don't know how to absorb the collection, here's a little solace:

All of these short stories are about the loss of innocence and the attempt to gain it back. The characters are stuck between innocence and adulthood. And, interestingly, nearly all of the stories feature an interaction between a child and an adult, the child generally being an ideal or a tool for the adult to regain innocence - but not always. In some, even the child is struggling with the loss of ideals.

Seymour Glass is the main character in "A Perfect Day for Bananafish," and he's recently returned from the war with mental wounds serious enough to require psychiatric help. The first half of the story shows a telephone conversation between his new wife, Muriel, and her mother. Their discussion revolves around Seymour's problems, and - when compared to our firsthand experience with those problems - we realize how little they grasp and how little either of them has invested in his well-being. In the second part of "Bananafish" Seymour speaks with a young girl named Sybil about catching (mythical) bananafish - a fish whose quest for food leads to its a demise. The encounter is a bit disturbing - sexual language abound - and we get a feel for Seymour's anguish, although specifics are murky. Salinger uses every word to his advantage - in a very subtle way - and, needless to say, the encounter is quite unsettling. We have that distress confirmed when, at the end of the story, Seymour retires to the hotel room - where his wife is sleeping - sits next to her, and shoots himself.

The significance of the bananafish is, of course, Seymour's alignment with it. The fish's quest for food translates to Seymour's quest for innocence. His quest, like the fish's, ends in death. Sybil represents Seymour's ultimate goal, which is why their interaction is so unnerving. It seems, on the outside, like he's preying on her (like the bananafish does its food), but he's actually after what she represents: innocence. He gets his fill and bloats so that he can't fit back into a world where people like his wife and mother-in-law rule. They are Sybil's antithesis, and Seymour is caught between the two different existences. It's in this limbo where Seymour - and many of Salinger's protagonists in Nine Stories - perish.

Eloise and Mary Jane are former college roommates who reconnect in "Uncle Wiggily in Connecticut" (my personal fave). Mary Jane visits Eloise at her house, and thus ensues a night of drunken revelations. Immediately, Eloise appears unhappy to the point of severity, and Mary Jane takes a back seat to Eloise's readily apparent issues. We learn that Eloise lost the love of her life in the war (a common villain in Nine Stories) and has resigned herself to a lackluster, unwanted marriage. She's so unsatisfied with her life and her past that she takes it out on everyone, especially her daughter Ramona who has an imaginary friend - symbolic of dreamy innocence and also indicative of a void she's trying to fill (the lack of compassion from her mother). In one poignant scene in "Uncle Wiggily," Eloise berates Ramona with incredible rage. In the end - after a LOT of alcohol - Eloise admits her weakness: transposing her anger onto others. She resents the loss of her first love, resents her loss of innocence, and resents the people who still have it. It's really an agonizing story about lost hope, the recognition of no longer having hope, and the desperation to - if nothing else - remember what it's like to have hope. She's trapped in a sort of external realm, watching herself, aware of her circumstance, and yet not being capable of moving forward.

"Just Before the War with the Eskimos" is about a frugal young girl, Ginnie, who comes into her friend, Selena's home to collect a cab fare and encounters her brother, Franklin, a grubby Holden Caulfield-type of character. "Eskimos" really eludes any obvious meaning, but it's in there ... somewhere. Okay, here goes .... the larger theme is war. It's the backbone of most of Nine Stories. Franklin was not drafted, because he has a bad heart, and he and Ginnie talk about this briefly, but long enough for Ginnie to connect it with what they are subconsciously discussing: rejection. From the get-go - with her demanding to be reimbursed for the cab fare - Ginnie appears to be a girl who takes things for granted; she gets everything she wants. Ginnie's not deliberately mean, but she doesn't accept things as they are, but rather demands that they be how she wants them and easily dismisses things/people she doesn't care for. She wants to throw the furniture in Selena's home out the window, for example. Then, in walks Franklin, who is boldly himself. Their conversation begins with his rejection from the draft, then moves to his rejection by Ginnie's sister, then Ginnie's rejection of the sandwich he offers her. Ginnie is connecting with a person who has been rejected his whole life by people like her and the types of institutions that she represents. Unconsciously, Ginnie links her behavior with the behavior of war, and in the end, decides to keep the sandwich - a growth in character. The sandwich is sort of symbolic of the rejection Franklin has experienced in the past(his loss of innocence), and it parallels the dead Easter chick (death=death of innocence/hope) in the last line. I may be stretching it, but the story is so tightly wound that it's hard to unravel. Ginnie is undoubtedly changed for the better because of her interaction with Franklin. Her taking the sandwich may have given him hope for future acceptance, and he gave Ginnie forgiveness and a little child-like compassion. Eh?

"The Laughing Man" - Yeesh. This story is a mind-squeeze if I ever saw one, but I think I've got it figured out. The premise is that a college-aged guy takes a bunch of young boys on little "field trips" - to the baseball diamond, for example (What are his motives? Where are these boys' parents and how do they feel? I don't know, but alas ...) During these outings, The Chief - as he's called - narrates a fable about The Laughing Man, a sort of creepy-roguish-Robin Hood character with a deformed face, a sense of adventure, and an Inspector Clouseau type-of-character after him. "The Laughing Man" may or may not be narrated by Buddy Glass, a member of Salinger's Glass family. The boys-only routine comes to a halt when The Chief's girlfriend, Mary Hudson, starts tagging along, presumably because of dentists' appointments she has in the city. With the entrance of Mary, the Laughing Man's fate takes a turn for the worse. The narrator notices frustration between Mary and The Chief, and in the end, the Laughing Man meets his maker and the boys never see Mary Hudson again.

"The Laughing Man" is primarily a story about lost innocence. The Chief, a college student, spends his afternoons with relatively young boys - questionable, but without a doubt, an attempt to sustain his youth. Immediately, with the entrance of Mary Hudson, the narrator senses stress between her and the Chief. The Laughing Man symbolizes boyhood and innocence, and when Mary Hudson arrives, the Laughing Man's fate becomes less certain. Thanks to Wikipedia, a plausible explanation would be that Mary Hudson is pregnant and is actually coming into the city for doctor's visits, not dentist appointments. (Who has frequent dentist appointments?) This is most likely the case, but it's irrelevant. The moral of the story - and what the Chief is teaching the boys through the Laughing Man's story - is that boyhood ends. Innocence ends. Kind of depressing, but there it is, consistent with the rest of Nine Stories.

"Down at the Dinghy" opens with two house servants discussing Lionel, the son of Boo Boo Glass (their employer). (Another Glass appearance - woohoo!) We gather from their conversation that Lionel has a penchant for running away. One of them is also concerned that Lionel will repeat something she said (apparently, he has a penchant for that as well).Thus, after Boo Boo arrives at the house, speaks with the women for a moment, and goes down to the pier to see Lionel, he's trying to sail away. Where the Wild Things Are? anyone? The rest of the story is devoted to Boo Boo's attempt to entice Lionel back to shore, as it were. She tries to go with him, tries to find out why he's leaving (one of the house servants called his dad a kike), and then finally challenges him to a race back to the house. (Lionel wins.)

"Down at the Dinghy" is so understated that it seems like a "day-in-the-life." But Salinger isn't a "day-in-the-life" kinda guy. Soooooooooo .... I'm gonna squeeze this baby open. Two instances in this story are noticeably darker than the rest: the housekeeper calling Lionel's father a kike and Lionel wearing Seymour's goggles. (Seymour was Boo Boo's brother). Now, Lionel's problem isn't as shallow as "a boy with a penchant for running away." These two instances are more significant than the anatomy of "Down at the Dinghy" would lead you to believe. This young boy has recently (I'm assuming) lost his uncle, and additionally, he believes that other people think poorly of his father. It's a double-blow, and Lionel reacts by running away. What seems like a story about a kid just being a kid, read from this perspective, transforms into a story about a person grappling with the loss of ideals. Lionel is realizing that the world is not as it seems; there's more going on. I believe he feels blindsided. Lionel throwing Seymour's goggles into the water is so significant, because he's disposing of distractions from the truth. Finally, Boo Boo coaxes him back into being a kid, distracts him from his disillusionment. So there is Lionel, another of Salinger's characters who is straddling the line between innocence and adulthood.

"For Esmé - with Love and Squalor" is one of Salinger's more obvious stories. During the war, Sergeant X recollects his brief but impressionable meeting with Esmé, a young girl in a restaurant before the war. "Esmé" is totally simple, thus it doesn't need to be dissected; I don't even need to give you a rundown of their interaction. Basically, Esmé represents innocence for Sergeant X during the war, a time of "squalor" and adult concerns. Innocence and squalor both constitute the sergeant's existence.

"Pretty Mouth and Green My Eyes" relates a phone call between Lee and Arthur. Arthur believes his wife, Joanie, is having an affair, while we're led to believe that the woman with Lee is in fact Joanie. Arthur's life appears to be in shambles (lost a court case, wife cheating on him, etc.), but soon after the two men hang up, Arthur calls Lee back and makes up a story about Joanie coming back home even though she's still with Lee. Arthur is, for all intents and purposes, a man who prides himself on having a trophy job and a trophy wife, two naive ideals. When those ideals are torn down - in a sheer act of childish pride - Arthur pretends they still exist. This would generally go unnoticed, but is readily apparent to Lee and Joanie, hence why Salinger chose to tell the story through their points of view.

"De Daumier-Smith's Blue Period" is about a pretentious young man (De Daumier) who fakes his way into a professorship at an art school. Once there, he reviews his pupils' work and struck by a religious painting by a nun. That's basically it. De Daumier-Smith is a wayfarer, devoid of spirituality and ideals, extremely pretentious and this piece of art forces him to question his convictions. "Blue Period" is about a man who pretends to be a complex "adult" but is stripped of his pretensions through an artist who evokes spirituality and idealism.

"Teddy" is a boy genius/profit who has an existential conversation aboard a ship with Nicholson, a curious grad student. Teddy believes in past lives and karma, and - from what I know about Salinger - represents his spirituality du jour. Salinger, in every one of his Nine Stories, is painting innocence the protagonist and adulthood the villain but is concerned with those characters torn between the two. "Teddy" rounds out the collection nicely, because its main character lives and dies by his ideals. Teddy is the martyr of Nine Stories and he's meant to be the example for its characters, readers, and even its author.

(Dude, this seriously took me like a week *tongue rolls out and eyes turn into little X's*

Middle O' the Week Musical Happenings

Concerts in the middle of the week? I usually say no. I do. But when such a rare occasion as both Muse AND Black Rebel Motorcycle Club coming to town occurs, I say yes. YES YES YES.

So here's the dizzle: I bought tickets to Muse for mis amigas' Xmas presents - I know, good friend, huh? - which took place on Wednesday night. Silver Sun Pickups opened. We jetted over to Ft. Worth after some minor traffic scares, settled into the hotel, walked over for some burgers and beer, then back to the hotel to get ready. Thank God for Deandra, because she booked us this hotel that was within walking distance to EVERYTHING - well, everything we wanted to frequent. Right next to the concert and a couple blocks away from bars. Woohoo!

The concert was pretty cool. Silver Sun Pickups were good, but I'm not a huge fan of theirs. I know a lot of people are. They put on a good show, but I have an inkling they're better-suited for smaller venues. They just don't put on a wow show, and you gots to if you're playing for thousands. Muse puts on a wow show. Insane. See below for ridiculous tower projectors/platforms, nuts-o light show, and just overall badassness. We had fun. Then went out - St. Patty's day, keep in mind. Yeah, so beaut-ee-ful night with my girls. Glad they could come.

Night Two: Black Rebel Motorcycle Club. Kickass, I say, kickass! They are a new favorite of mine. And I was super excited to see them, because I'm just now getting into them. So my style. Anyway, my friends could not come. Not a one of 'em. Busy busy busy. So, I invited people from work. Busy. Invited people on Facebook. No such luck. Finally I had to beg my sister to go with me, and she obliged - she always does. Then her boyfriend came with us. Now, my sister and her bf are NOT rock n rollers. They like country, folk, singer-songwriters. But they still came. What sweetie pies! I've got to say, even though I didn't have my spectacular friends who would have enjoyed the show there, I still think that Black Rebel Motorcycle Club is in my top three favorite concerts. They did their thing. And I liked it. Can't wait to see them again. Hopefully next time, I can bring my lovely friends who would totally get a kick out of these guys (and gal, sometimes). Here is another video for your viewing pleasure:

Oh my, they're cool :) Live long and prosper, boys (and gal, sometimes).

Had a blast this week!

Sean McConnell

March 3 - Went to one of the best shows ever with my sis and her friend .... You guessed it, Sean McConnell. And I bet you've never heard of this guy. You shouldn't have.

One azure day, Kylie (my sister), was listening to the Ranch out of Ft. Worth and heard one of this guy's songs, fell in love, and the rest is history ... Not really ... I'm actually going to tell you the rest of the story. So she looks up some vids, songs, info, the whole she-bang, shares it with me, and we plan to attend this small show at Hat Trick's in Lewisville together.

Good God, this guy is phe-nom-en-al. Sound it out. He can sing circles around anybody. He can play guitar. He's an outstanding lyricist. And his band kicks ass. Those three guys sound huge. It was just an outstanding performance. I can't really give you a good idea of Sean McConnell in writing, so here's a video. Keep in mind, the live experience is a force to be reckoned with.

Critique: Money by Martin Amis (Spoilers)

This book! This book! How fantastic is this book? (Rhetorical question). Awesome! Martin Amis, you are a God. To prove this: Martin Amis puts himself in a book written in somebody else's point of view. And it isn't stupid.

So this is Money: John Self, moviemaker, is living in straight-up debauchery. I'm talking porno, sadomasochistic sex, greed, lots and lots of drink, and as the narrator clarifies, "Unless I specifically inform you otherwise, I'm always smoking another cigarette." But all these things at this particular moment are converging, and John Self is destined for a wake-up call.

There's not much of a plot, save for John trying to make a movie whilst dealing with all the psychos in his circle. He deals with a skeezy girlfriend, a skeezy financier, a skeezy father, skeezy colleagues, and his skeezy self. That being said, he don't need no stinkin' plot. Amis is the thinking man's writer. He delivers ambitious, extravagant prose. You will be doing double-takes through the whole book. You will never catch a break, because he deprives us of our ease of reading. If you don't like or appreciate that sort of writing, don't pick this book up.

I put writing above plot. If you can construct an intriguing sentence, I'll forget about a so-so plot. But let me tell you, mister, I cannot forgive dull, sloppy writing just because you got a great story. Here's the deal with Amis and plot: his writing is so complex, requires so much reader involvement, that it would be too much to have both. Nothing should take away from his talent, which is a clever sentence. I feel as if an intricate, "moving" plot would seem superfluous next to his on-the-fly wit.

Amis has been criticized for depicting the gratuitous and obscene ALL THE TIME. He's the "Bad Boy of British Fiction." But, Christ, he does it so brilliantly. I was reading and thinking, "God, this is such boy fantasy," but I cannot for the life of me find anything remotely cliche about Money. In theory, it should be typical, but it's everything except.

Also, I love the narration in Money. It's in first person (from the point of view of John Self), who talks to us like he would his therapist. Again, in theory, talking to your readers would be totally lame, but Amis turns it into a strength. I will say that, because of the POV, Amis's wit gets the better of him. I love love love it - as stated above - but I don't necessarily believe the wit coming from John Self.

Anyway, this review is all over the place. I told you it would require more thought, and I just don't have it in me. But I want to put down something about this book. It's one of the best I've ever read for sure. Go out and get it - highly recommended. I feel like I can't do it justice; this review sounds like a bunch of gibberish, but just take my word for it. You won't be sorry.

Ideal Banking

Am I more satisfied with a bank when all runs smoothly online? You bet your penny-saving pants I am. Let's face it - I haven't seen the inside of a bank in eight months .... and I'm likin' it. I can deposit and withdraw through an ATM, transfer and check my balance online, all of which constitute most of my banking activity, and thank God for direct deposit. I don't like waiting behind the eighty-year-old who takes five decades just to fill out a deposit slip (What's up with the slow pace, old timer? You don't have all the time in the world. Get to steppin'); I'm tired of the banker asking me how I want my cash (Straight up. Whatever. I'm not selling crack); and I'm tired of that cheeky little teller calling me by name like we've been buds for the past three years.

I don't know. Maybe I'm just anti-social. But I have no illusions about my relationship with the bank. They're nice to your face, then they screw you out of money behind your back. And there's no avoiding it. I'm not about to hide my stash in the backyard. This is 2010, people.

I like where I stand with the bank right now. We have a mutual disregard for each other, and a mutual recognition that we need each other. The less I interact with them, the easier it is to forget how much money they're costing me. I know, I know, I should be spewing, "Screw the bank! It's my money!" But at the end of the day, I still have my dough in their safe, and it honestly doesn't bother me (Shhh!). What does bother me is that cheeky little teller thinking I want customer service. No! I just want my money. You are a piggy bank. Nothing else. I want you to be as invisible as a piggy-bank. House my money and I'll come dump it out of you when I please. I don't need your stupid Dum-dums. They might shut my kid up for five minutes, but I know it's all a conspiracy. Damn you and your candy, your popcorn, your annoying white smiles, and your manager who comes from behind his marble desk to ask if I need anything (another account, perhaps?) No! I just want my money! .... On second thought, can you find some solution to my dilemma? I want to be as unaware of your existence as possible. How do we accomplish that?

Pssst! .... online banking.

Critique: Water For Elephants by Sara Gruen

So, my bestie and I decided to form a book group. I know, cool, right? You can join, too, if you should so choose. Just hit me up and we'll get to crackin'. Anyhoo, the first official read was Money by Martin Amis, but I'll get to that in my next post. Delicious, by the way, but will require a little more critical thought on my part. Thus, I have decided to critique our second book, Water for Elephants by Sara Gruen. I've had immediate reactions to this puppy.

So, Sara, dawg (Sorry, I've been watching too much Idol), it was okay for me. I've got a few small-ish pieces of advice for you -

Number One: DON'T USE PRESENT TENSE! It does not make you cool and hip and different. I know, I know, it seems like a good idea at first, but all you're doing is hindering your talent and creativity. This is the deal: a great story is told in retrospect. It's more believable. There are some creative back roads to present tense, but I did not see them. In reality, the present is hard to follow; everything is whimsical. Most authors use past tense, because that's how we tell stories to other people, and because in the present, we can't delete uninteresting details. For example, one minute, I find out my mother dies, then the next minute I have to pee. You can't put the latter piece of information into your book, so you're forced to splice up the interesting stuff into "flashes." Do you catch my "hindering your talent and creativity drift?" There's so much you can't do, because you're writing in present tense.

I know Jacob is an old man having "dreams" about his past - thus present tense is sort of necessary - but this is my solution:

Number Two: Don't have Old Jacob "dreaming" about his past. The flashback is cliche. It doesn't happen like that in real life, and it's just plain typical. I would prefer Old Jacob telling the nurse or the new-age circus guy about his heyday, a much less annoying cliche. If you want my honestly honest opinion, though, I would axe Old Jacob. I found myself bummed when I'd hit a nursing home chapter. I hate to say it, because I think Old Jacob is light years more interesting than Young Jacob, but Old Jacob doesn't strengthen the story, which brings me to....

Number Three: Your protagonist are B-O-R-I-N-G. Does this guy do anything naughty without feeling guilty? He is a geeber, for real. The worst part of the book: when Marlena and Jacob have sex. She's basically raping him. Marlena is supposed to be this sweet girl, and you have her doing everything. No way in hell am I leaving my paranoid schizophrenic (and much more experienced, might I add) husband to have sex with a virgin (pretty much). I think in reality, Jacob is a queen. No, but really, I think you being a woman and all, ain't helpin' your character's case. And so ....

Number Four: Female writers, do not take on male protagonists ... in first person. Even if you had chopped your name down to initials (ahem, JK Rowling), I would still be perplexed by Jacob. He has all the traits of a woman, except for morning wood. I like how you added that, by the way, just in case I forgot he was a he, proving my point even further. Hardly any male author would insert that into their novel. It's intriguing, yes, to speak for a boy, but it doesn't work. It is impossible for a woman to write like a man. Period. I don't wanna catch you doing that again, sister.

Number Five: Your Depression-era language is a little pushed, slightly off. (The adjectives are killin' me, smalls.) I'll leave it at that. And, I actually think your language dilemma has mostly to do with the whole male-female crux.


Strongpoints: You paint a pretty picture. You think about details. I can visualize everything. I love the environment you threw your characters into. I'm excited about the movie?

Nonetheless, I give you two stars for cognizant yet boring writing.

Signing off