Dan Simmons, "The Terror".

c. David Grim (taken 8/6/10)

I make it a point to avoid most mainstream culture because, in my experience, it hews too closely to expectations that I find cliché and uninspiring. It just so happens that the average US citizen yearns for the comfort of formula. If (s)he can't place what (s)he is consuming into a previously defined category, (s)he is ill at ease. While I find that lamentable, I've now lived long enough not to let my desires for something different cloud my judgment about what is popular.

So when I see a book that is advertised as a "National Bestseller", I tend to discount it out of hand. I'm sure that means that I miss some of the quality exceptions, but there is only so much time within one single life, and there is so much to choose from that it would be silly not to establish some parameters. Still, once in while the buzz seems to suggest that something has made it through to the masses that is actually a quality read. I got that feeling reading reviews for Dan Simmon's "The Terror".

"The Terror" is a historical fiction account of a doomed arctic expedition in the mid 19th century. Several missteps cause two great wooden steamships to be trapped in the ice for a period of years. The tale of how the crew finds itself in increasing discomfort and danger is described in picturesque detail, and builds to a genuinely menacing denouncement. Despite being written entirely in the 3rd person, different chapters focus on the thoughts and perspectives of various crew members... notably a few of the expedition's lead officers and a surgeon. This technique keeps things moving and heightens the tension and mystique about the events in the story.

The sailors in Simmons' retelling of the stranding of the Franklin Expedition are put through the wringer, and their trials and tribulations are described in sometimes excruciating detail. Have you ever wondered what happens to the human body when afflicted with scurvy? To hear Simmons tell it, it's pretty damned disgusting. Starvation, mutiny, cold, and boredom all present challenges that are fairly fascinating. But remember the title of the book (SPOILER ALERT) - there is a monster stalking the crew upon the frozen wastelands, along with Eskimos that have some sort of weird relationship to "the thing" on the ice.

No doubt the true account of the Franklin Expedition would have been absorbing enough. The addition of a supernatural presence truly put this reader on edge. At least at first, until the author revealed more about the monster. I prefer my horror to lurk on the edge of consciousness, and Simmons achieves this for hundreds of pages. But by page 700 or so, I'm about done with the whole Eskimo folktale angle. Unfortunately that's what it all comes down to. The story of one officer "going native" ends up preoccupying Simmons at the story's conclusion. I could have done without that particular trajectory.

The Literature of Male Aging.

c. David Grim (taken 4/4/10)

A couple of days ago I finished my reading of Richard Ford's "Independence Day", an installment in a trilogy concerning a middle-aged man named Frank Bascombe. Ford's book won the Pulitzer Prize- a fact that helped me finally overcome my resistance to reading his work. The author just didn't seem to jive with my interests. He'd written about (and actually been) a sports writer, and set much of his output in the suburbs. It wasn't so much that I believed that Ford had nothing valuable to say, but rather that I had plenty of other stuff on my list that demanded my attention. Eventually I found a copy of "Independence Day" on a shelf at Half-Priced Books for a dollar, and that circumstance pretty much ensured that I would get around to working my way through it.

The timing of all of this makes more sense in retrospect. Bascombe may be a wealthy man listlessly making his way through his 40's in a second career in real estate, but he does share a few commonalities with my life. He lives in New Jersey, which is an environment very close to (and with much in common with) the area in which I was raised. And he is divorced from his wife, and trying to forge a relationship with his teenaged son.

While my own son is not even three years old yet, I can anticipate negotiating some of the same types of issues that Frank Bascombe must contend with. How does a father contribute to the growth of his offspring if he lives separate from them? What arrangements work best in forging a parenting partnership with someone one was once intimately involved with, but who now exists as a virtual stranger? And how does a man in the second half of his life find satisfaction through a career that he may be stuck with, while balancing his energies in such a way that he can pursue meaningful relationships outside of it?

It's too easy to be cynical when one realizes his major life decisions have yielded less than the desired results. And at the gateway to middle age, there's a risk of becoming seriously disheartened at the prospect of several decades of steady decline. We live in a culture that's obsessed with youth and its possibilities. Perhaps it is too easy to fall into the traps of self-pity and regret, even if one can count achievements in a reckoning of the past. How do we avoid a weary resignation and/or the malaise that accompanies a close analysis of ones's own record of action?

While Ford (and his proxy Bascombe) may actively be searching for some answers, this reader was largely left discouraged by his conclusions. That's not an indictment of the author's style or ability, but IS an indication that I'll likely avoid delving further into his work. Ford is a bit too disjointed for me to overlook his flippant despair. Maybe if he was as funny as Richard Russo, I'd feel different. But I don't think I'll be returning to this particular emotional well.

Isak Dinesen, "Seven Gothic Tales" (1934).

c. David Grim (taken 8/19/08)

Somewhere among the piles of books I've read over the last decade or so, I think there's an Isak Dinesen title. But I'm not 100% sure. That's strange, because after completing her first published work, "Seven Gothic Tales" (1934), I'd have to say she had an extremely vivid and unique voice. Her facility for establishing setting is occasionally overwhelming. I'm not typically that excited by voluminous description of the sky and trees, but she certainly has a penchant for it.

In fact when I first picked up this book I was expecting something altogether different. I thought there would be more creepy ghost stories and chilling encounters with the supernatural. Instead there are stories of wealthy European aristocrats located plumb in the middle of the 19th century. Her characters are intensely mannered, if not above some romantic shenanigans. It was a bit difficult for me to relate to the lifestyles of her creations, but at the same time her expository powers are evocative enough to keep me interested.

The other distinguishing feature of her writing is that she embeds story within story until the reader has to stop for a minute and remind himself where he's been. Everything does eventually come around, but only after accruing so many plot points that it's difficult to see the forest for the trees. That's a bit of a shame too, because there is some fairly complex symbolism to her work. Unfortunately I'm not at the right place in my life to give over too much time or energy sifting through it. I'm sure there have been plenty of graduate level papers written about her books.

Perhaps I'll return to Dinesen when I have more time to reflect on her meaning.

Book Review: "State by State: A Panoramic Portrait of America" (2008)

c. David Grim (taken 3/7/09)

I haven't much felt like posting the lengthy book reviews on here that I used to write for my previous blog. I always thought that it would be nice to be able to look back on them and remember my experience with, and my thoughts about, the stuff I read. But I haven't revisited any of it yet, and I don't know if I ever will. For now, at least, it's not going anywhere.

This past week, though, I read something I'd like to recommend- "State by State: A Panoramic Portrait of America", edited by Matt Weiland and Sean Wilsey. It's a diverse mix of highly personal essays about our 50 states (and a bit about DC as a bonus). I can't imagine that anyone could pick it up without learning a lot that they didn't already know. Plus, many of the individual anecdotes about the experiences of the authors are entertaining, and occasionally moving.

The project was inspired by a WPA initiative that saw some of the greatest writers of Depression-era America comment on our national heritage, and write guides for both edification and travel. The combined output exceeded 5000 pages, and constituted an effort representing a scale that far outstrips what the contributors of "State by State" have tried to accomplish.

Still I was astonished by the rich detail and quality writing of many of the authors, some of which I was already well familiar. With an anthology like this, you are bound to find your favorites, and be offended now and again. But that shouldn't put you off from finding this, and reading it as soon as you can.

Baby Krishna

c. David Grim (taken 8/27/09)

I'm in the middle of reading Felipe Fernandez-Armesto's "Truth", which to be completely honest, is a bit of a slog. Armesto's operating assumption is that such a thing as truth does exist external to individual human beings.

It's been a long time since I've made my way through a philosophical treatise, and I wouldn't have initiated such a task if I knew what it would entail. The author is a historian by trade and habit, but he seems to be stepping a bit out of his depth on this one.

More than anything else, the book seems to be an attack piece on postmodern relativism. But instead of presenting a reasoned argument against it, he seems rather to revel in his nostalgia for a lost time when things were more clear-cut. His professed affiliation with the Catholic Church seems to weigh heavily with him. He is clearly lamenting the erosion of moral authority in our society.

On the plus side, he also argues against a pro-Western bias that suggests the cultural superiority of Europe and its legacy. Still I have a hard time when he insists that it is folly to measure the maturity of a society, while simultaneously decrying a widespread absence of a moral anchor.

Anyway, it's in that spirit that I offer today's image.