What book(s) sit on your nightstand? I’ve got a pile of six best sellers right now: Leo Tolstoy’s “Anna Karenina,” Gabriele D’Annunzio’s “Pleasure,” Michael Ondaatje’s “The English Patient,” Plutarch’s “Parallel Lives, Vol 1.” On my Kindle, I recently finished Andy Weir’s first novel “The Martian” and Daniel Brown’s nonfiction book, “The Boys in the Boat.”
OK, some of those are research for my own novel.
First Prize: I started “The Martian” after bogging down on the others and totally blew through it, two nights in a row staying up well past midnight. Many times I laughed out loud at the wry humor or shook my head in wonder at the hero’s creative problem solving. Even more times I felt myself holding my breath wondering how the protagonist – Mark Watney, an astronaut left for dead after an accident on Mars – would survive the newest disaster. Many kudos to first-time author Mr. Weir, and I highly recommend the book.
What’s on your nightstand? I need another contemporary novel to read for fun. What do you suggest?
As for the others: D’Annunzio’s book is part of the research for my work-in-progress novel. My novel’s antagonist appears incredibly strict and disciplined, but he uses that discipline to keep a lid on passions inflamed by D’Annunzio, channeling that passion primarily into politics aligned with D’Annunzio and occasional attempts at romantic poetry written for his wife.
I tried to read “Pleasure” in Italian (“Il Piacere”) a year ago and became exhausted. While it’s much easier in English (and I think it’s a pretty faithful translation of D’Annunzio’s flowery and sensual style), I got bogged down just the same. While there’s suspense in the romance, I can’t connect with the protagonist, Count Andrea Sperelli. He comes across as an effete dilettante obsessed with the physical beauty of everything from his drapes to the presentation of his food to the women he courts. He lives in the silk and brocade world of high Roman nobility of the late 19th century, completely disconnected from the real world.
Aside from his incredibly deep knowledge of Italian art, Count Sperelli offers no redeeming qualities – no knowledge, no skills, no education, and no ambition other than to surround himself with the most beautiful things (including people) and get the most pleasure possible out of every moment.
D’Annunzio gets lots of literary credit for radically reshaping how to write about life and passion (and sex). In “Pleasure,” he writes beautifully, the style reflecting the thoughts and character of his protagonist. While Sperelli exhibits many of D’Annunzio’s values and life experience, the author – agree or disagree with his politics – had far more substance and I’ve enjoyed his biography, poetry and short stories more than his novels. From a craft standpoint, this book is masterful, especially in the context of its time and place. But after 100 pages, I can’t go on. Back to the shelf it goes.
Plutarch’s “Parallel Lives” is also part of my homework. My novel’s protagonist, Amedeo, is a historian, with some exposure to the classics, and a rationalist. Amedeo’s thoughts about contemporary politics and economics reflect a deep reading of history, even deeper than mine. When I discovered “Parallel Lives,” I knew intuitively it would have been a big influence on Amedeo. So I figured I’d better read it. But it’s a history; it’s well written narrative, it is at times fascinating, but it doesn’t have the kind of drama of a novel, so I can only read it a little at a time. But I’ll get through it.
The other non-fiction book I’ve just read is “The Boys in the Boat,” about a University of Washington crew team’s epic quest for Olympic Gold in 1936. Author Daniel Brown builds his story around one of the young men, Joe Rantz, giving the book a strong narrative arc tracing Rantz’ early life, his experience as a nearly penniless student at UW, and his development as an oarsman. All leads to a thrilling finish – even though we know the outcome before we even open the book – at the Berlin Olympics as the boys navigate through a series of setbacks and at least two examples of outright cheating. A great read, and it just might inspire me to try rowing.
Now, “Anna Karenina.” I listened to an audio version years ago, much of it on a long drive from San Diego to Seattle. I would sometimes sit in the car at my daily destination just to listen to the rest of the chapter. A fellow writer suggested I take another look. The rationale: I write historical fiction. Tolstoy writes historical fiction. Just do what Tolstoy does. Hah!
I read – well, actually, studied — the first chapter of this massive novel and then stopped. I figured out I can’t read it in bed and get any craft learning out of it. I have to study it at my desk.
Finally, “The English Patient.” I have very vivid memories of the movie, many of the scenes embedded in my brain and able to be called up instantly, in great detail and with intense emotion. Perhaps that experience ruined the book for me. I got in about 100 pages and became frustrated with Ondaatje’s structure. It jumps around time and place in a way that made it hard for me to keep track. Jess Walter’s “Beautiful Ruins” (covered in a previous post) does a fair amount of jumping around too, but I never felt lost or frustrated. Was having seen the movie the difference?
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