I have somewhat mixed feelings about keeping track of my reading . . . or, well, anything I'm not required to . . . but it was rather nice to be able to come up with some titles when everyone else starts posting year in reviews of their books. Like my newfound ability to sort laundry, it may be concrete evidence that the neurofeedback I've been doing really is helping with the ADHD. Nonetheless I'm sure I'm missing some here.
Around the World in Eighty Days by Jules Verne. This was actually back in the summer but I keep forgetting to list it. Chesterton once observed that the stereotype of the "stiff upper lip" British man does not appear in history--back when men were men they were always falling in each other's arms and weeping. Nor does he appear much in literature--Shakespeare's men are not emotionally repressed, not even Dickens'. However, here he is at last. His name is Phileas Fogg. Wow, is he boring. He can travel around the world without disrupting his whist game. His assertion that this feat can be done by mathematics is wrong; it is done by spending a ridiculous amount of money at every obstacle, which, unsurprisingly, can accomplish quite a lot. This is an unapologetically imperialist book. At the same time, it is impossible not to be infected with wonder at the possibilities of a whole world opened up. But Phileas Fogg is the exception. He does not care. He will go back to playing whist. Aouda should have run off with Passepartout.
Ten Tomatoes that Changed the World by William Alexander. As recommended by Ordinary and Oblique, this was a fun read and definitely the one to do if you want to regale your helpless family with obscure tomato facts.
Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston. Emily Dickinson once described poetry as feeling as if the top of one's head has come off, and that's how I felt throughout this book. Intense, vivid word pictures and dialogues. "Every morning the world flung itself over and exposed the town to the sun. So Janie had another day." "Janie, Ah done watched it time and time again; each and every white man think he know all de GOOD darkies already. He don't need tuh know no mo'. So far as he's concerned, all dem he don't know oughta be tried and sentenced tuh six months behind de United States privy house at hard smellin'." Janie herself is a kindred spirit to Dorothea from Middlemarch--a woman who wants not to be an ornament to some man's grand plan for life, but a fully loved and seen partner. Someone who is willing to throw away (relative) wealth in pursuit of that but must deal with the (not inconsiderable) risk that she will throw it away and get nothing in return.
The House in the Cerulean Sea by T. J. Klune. This was a book club pick which I only finished because I felt guilty about not finishing the previous selection. It is not really fair to criticize a book that is trying to be predictable and cozy for being trite and cloying, so I will just rant about a modern myth that I find particularly insidious: the myth of "finding your tribe." Somewhere out there, this runs, there is a group of people who will love and accept you just as they are; this tribe, of course, is the exact opposite of any historic concept of tribe--your existing family, neighbors, co-workers are all ineligible, they are all, if not actually terrible people, at least unworthy of notice because they don't "get" you. (You must not, under any circumstance, pause to ask if you have exerted any effort to "get" them.) What this myth fails to mention is that as soon as you change in some small degree from what fits this new "tribe" you will be summarily dismissed from it. It is as transitory as its basis, which is a current blend of stage of life and philosophical alignment, all of which are not only likely, but virtually guaranteed, to change.
What I fear is that the modern pressures of society and technology against community are so immense that it is nearly impossible to form any community for any length of time without an unhealthy element of control or hostility to outsiders. I do what I can by talking to the neighbors but it hardly seems sufficient.
South by Ernest Shackleton: On the other hand, what's always been really good at forming community is shared struggle. Humans are perhaps at their best when struggling against the elements together. But even a century ago people had to travel to Antarctica to get much of a struggle in that regard. Anyway, this has been quite engrossing and it's nice to get it straight from the original instead of retellings--there are a lot more longitude and latitude readings and a lot less second-guessing. We forgot the worming medicine for the dogs. Whoops. Carry on. Mistakes are inevitable but we will get through today and keep trying.
What Monstrous Gods by Rosamund Hodge. This was a fun read with some intriguing philosophical elements. Theological horror, you might call it. I would throw in another Chesterton quote here but one is probably enough per post.
The Way of Kings by Brandon Sanderson. OK now I am finally tackling some serious Sanderson and I've got to admit, it's quite good. Huge world-building and deep character development at the same time. But I've really got to start these closer to when I get them from the library if they are ever to be back on time.
