Books: And What Are You Reading?

I gave up on Neal Stephenson's Seveneves.

The first two parts were brilliant bordering on boring - his constant desire to drone on and on about travel in zero G gravity was spoilt by his total lack of applying real life thought as to the population of the space station.

Then the whole nonsense of the 7 Eve's all maintain the exact same 'strengths' over 1500 years felt very antiquated to me.

And the whole attempt to describe the space station 5,000 years alter - a station that once described is never seen of again, seemed laborious at best.


A shame because I've thoroughly enjoyed many of his other works.

Now on Stephen King's Mr Mercedes - a quite different tale from a man who also sometimes likes to drone on and on. Thankfully this story feels much lighter in comparison and I'm finding myself enjoying it more.
 
Reading for the second time a New Yorker piece on yet another of poet Anne Carson's considerations of Herakles / Hercules, in her latest offering, H of H Playbook. Just the review is fascinating. I swore off book buying this fall but have to admit this one made the list for next time I succumb to temptation, and it will be because of Casey Cep's review.


The language sounds more Carsonian with every syllable, both in its wit and in the way it ignores eras as easily as genres, as if recognizing that the whole of history exists in our minds simultaneously with whatever happened yesterday and what we think might happen tomorrow. That is why Herakles wears overalls—OshKosh B’gods, basically. His divinity is draped over him protectively but not entirely, a provocation reminding us that the problem of Herakles is the same as the central problem of Christology: Is he fully man, fully divine, or fully both? But he also wears overalls because the present and the past intermingle freely here; the ancient hero steals a Corvette, misquotes Percy Bysshe Shelley, and uses a G.P.S. to navigate both the world and the underworld.

In addition to “Grief Lessons” and “H of H,” Carson has told [Herakles'] story on at least two other occasions, in “Autobiography of Red” and its sequel of sorts, “Red Doc>,” in which Herakles is known as Sad But Great, or Sad, for short. “H of H” opens on Amphitryon exiting an Airstream trailer, and the Theban general delivers a monologue that makes plain right away that we aren’t in Athens anymore: “By a thread hangs our fate. / H of H is late. / We are suppliants at an altar / being hounded by the totalitarian cracker / who’s seized power.” The rest of his lines spill across a few pages, tiny scraps of pasted text that seem to slow down, as if the words were pacing the way the actor might onstage. “What’s it like to wear an eternal Olympian overall” appears on the verso side; “held up by the burning straps of” on the recto side; then, on the next set of pages, a handwritten question—“mortal shortfall?” This appears opposite a drawing of a pair of denim overalls, charming in its rough simplicity and incongruous against the meta text beside it: “Dumb rhyme / for a complexity more sublime / than the self can ordinarily bear.”

When Theseus finally arrives, he sounds alternately like Harold Bloom and Andy Warhol, quoting Melville on the sperm whale and then trying to convince Herakles that his penance can take the form of a lion-print T-shirt: “You wear it, you shoot yourself, I sell it, say Sotheby’s, bullet hole and all.” No modern interpreter has better understood Herakles’ role in his culture, or has offered a more striking rendition of the enduring problem of fame.
 
All this talk of Florida in assorted other threads has brought me to a closer look at a couple of books languishing in the "samples" category in my Books app for awhile now. One is Kent Russell's In the Land of Good Living: a Journey to the Heart of Florida -- an account of his and two buddies' intended film docu of a walking adventure through the state in all its variety of terrain and culture-- and the other is a collection of short stories by Lauren Groff simply titled Florida. I'm more likely to pick up the Groff book rather than the other one, when done w/ the samples, but I've heard that Russell's book is both hilarious and heartbreaking. Hope I can find them at the library.

Both these escapes will become part of my annual plod to the return of the light, through yet another late November and early December. It's a time of year that makes me wish I could beam myself to Ecuador or Northern Brazil for just those few weeks of the year. I grow impatient for longer days already. 5pm pitch darkness makes me crazy.
 
All this talk of Florida in assorted other threads has brought me to a closer look at a couple of books languishing in the "samples" category in my Books app for awhile now. One is Kent Russell's In the Land of Good Living: a Journey to the Heart of Florida -- an account of his and two buddies' intended film docu of a walking adventure through the state in all its variety of terrain and culture-- and the other is a collection of short stories by Lauren Groff simply titled Florida. I'm more likely to pick up the Groff book rather than the other one, when done w/ the samples, but I've heard that Russell's book is both hilarious and heartbreaking. Hope I can find them at the library.

Both these escapes will become part of my annual plod to the return of the light, through yet another late November and early December. It's a time of year that makes me wish I could beam myself to Ecuador or Northern Brazil for just those few weeks of the year. I grow impatient for longer days already. 5pm pitch darkness makes me crazy.

I love reading stories about - or set in - countries (and cultures) with warm climates, especially in winter, for some strange, inexpicable reason. Probably to do with a desire to escape to these climes.

Have you ever read "My Name Is Red" by Orhan Pamuk?

I recall that I loved it, when I first read it almost twenty years ago.
 
I love reading stories about - or set in - countries (and cultures) with warm climates, especially in winter, for some strange, inexpicable reason. Probably to do with a desire to escape to these climes.

Have you ever read "My Name Is Red" by Orhan Pamuk?

I recall that I loved it, when I first read it almost twenty years ago.

I didn't start with that one by Pamuk but went to it later after reading some of his other works. I almost set it aside at the very beginning, but glad I persevered or else would never have discovered the fine chapter not too far along from that, the one called "I Am a Dog". Wow. Tangents on tangents like a kaleidoscope of ideas. Then of course I could not put it down. But he writes often of the cold in Istanbul, so aside from countless references to warming up with a coffee, not sure I'd fancy his novels in winter!
 
I didn't start with that one by Pamuk but went to it later after reading some of his other works. I almost set it aside at the very beginning, but glad I persevered or else would never have discovered the fine chapter not too far along from that, the one called "I Am a Dog". Wow. Tangents on tangents like a kaleidoscope of ideas. Then of course I could not put it down. But he writes often of the cold in Istanbul, so aside from countless references to warming up with a coffee, not sure I'd fancy his novels in winter!

In fairness, "cold", or the concept of cold, is relative, especially in Istanbul.

I think - in all of the many missions, years, trips, and travels, I experienced, and I have travelled through that city a lot (all of my trips to Georgia, when I worked there with the EU, and Afghanistan, and Somalia/Kenya - when I also worked with the EU, and observing elections in places such as Kyrgyzstan - all transited through Istanbul) - and over-nighted there a lot - over the past decade and a half, though not in the past two years, alas - through that city, I have only once, ever, seen snow (and that so surprised the authorities at the airport in Istanbul, that it took them a little longer than expected to set up the machines, and consequent queue, for de-iceing the wings of the planes, something I had a stunning view of, as I had treated myself to Business Class and watched, rapt, as the machines - and planes - were put through their paces; it was wonderful.)

Granted, I hadn't visited Istanbul when I first read Pamuk; but, it remains one of my favourite cities. And my parents loved it, too.
 
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The Mystery of the Exploding Teeth by Thomas Morris. The way the book is written took a bit of getting used to. I’m 30% done and finding it fairly interesting.
 
The Name of the Rose / Il Nome della Rosa (1981) by Umberto Eco.

The Name of the Rose is probably my favorite novel, and it’s certainly one of my “comfort” readings. Written in Italian (which I can read) by Doctor Umberto Eco, a leading expert in semiotics, this lengthy book might be considered one of the most multi-angled novels ever written. Just to give you an idea, this book about books that talk about other books, spawned quite a few books that try to explain many of its layers. Almost an impossible task if you ask me, rendered more difficult by the extreme quantity of Latin phrases which deeply interlace with conceptual points within the plot.

The main plot is deceptively easy to understand. In 1327 a British Franciscan monk, William of Baskerville, and a novice, Adso of Melk, are invited to a Benedictine monastery in Italy to supervise a meeting about the great question on the Church’s pauperism. On their arrival by horse, they find out that the Benedictine monks are shocked by the death of one of their peers. Hence, the mystery starts.

The novel is written with the pretense that it’s a manuscript written by Adso of Melk that has been found in the 1900’s. The similarities with Sherlock Holmes and his friend Watson are not random, including the Baskerville reference.

The novel, however is not a murder mystery. I mean, it is, but the mystery is just the upper layer of this work. Underneath it, there are more subjects that are integral to the novel and, with it, Western philosophy and thought in general.

Also interesting are the levels of abstractions with it. I mentioned earlier that the book is about books that talk about other books. I mentioned that the book is written with the pretense of being an old manuscript. The result is that the reader is holding a book that talks about a book, and that book talks about other books. The referenced books talk about other books. This is obviously a play on Borges’ abstractions and a reflection of our own personal knowledge.

The book obviously discusses also the Church, its goodness and its sins. Its history and its dreadful behavior. It goes into the topic of love, sex, sexual desire, and more and more.

Ultimately the book touches on existentialism; take it as you see fit but the great Question of existence is meant to stay with us. However, that “us”, will not stay with the Question as we will inevitably die. And one day, even the mere memory of us will die. At most, what will remain of us, or of the next leaders, emperors, kings, presidents, will just be the name. That name will be completely naked of any sign of existence. That name will be just an ethereal abstraction re-interpreted through the ages.

One word of note. As the writer explains in his addendum, the first 100 pages or so are meant to eliminate readers. They are long, with long setups, with long explanations. Only those that will get through the 100 pages will have a chance to enjoy the rest of the book and even love it, as I do.

Further note, each time I read this book I recall memories of the past - like the characters of this book, now gone. I used to see Dr Umberto Eco relatively often as he had a house in my old neighborhood. He was always kind and I was sorry about his passing.
 
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The Name of the Rose / Il Nome della Rosa (1981) by Umberto Eco.

The Name of the Rose is probably my favorite novel, and it’s certainly one of my “comfort” readings. Written in Italian (which I can read) by Doctor Umberto Eco, a leading expert in semiotics, this lengthy book might be considered one of the most multi-angled novels ever written. Just to give you an idea, this book about books that talk about other books, spawned quite a few books that try to explain many of its layers. Almost an impossible task if you ask me, rendered more difficult by the extreme quantity of Latin phrases which deeply interlace with conceptual points within the plot.

The main plot is deceptively easy to understand. In 1327 a British Franciscan monk, William of Baskerville, and a novice, Adso of Melk, are invited to a Benedictine monastery in Italy to supervise a meeting about the great question on the Church’s pauperism. On their arrival by horse, they find out that the Benedictine monks are shocked by the death of one of their peers. Hence, the mystery starts.

The novel is written with the pretense that it’s a manuscript written by Adso of Melk that has been found in the 1900’s. The similarities with Sherlock Holmes and his friend Watson are not random, including the Baskerville reference.

The novel, however is not a murder mystery. I mean, it is, but the mystery is just the upper layer of this work. Underneath it, there are more subjects that are integral to the novel and, with it, Western philosophy and thought in general.

Also interesting are the levels of abstractions with it. I mentioned earlier that the book is about books that talk about other books. I mentioned that the book is written with the pretense of being an old manuscript. The result is that the reader is holding a book that talks about a book, and that book talks about other books. The referenced books talk about other books. This is obviously a play on Borges’ abstractions and a reflection of our own personal knowledge.

The book obviously discusses also the Church, its goodness and its sins. Its history and its dreadful behavior. It goes into the topic of love, sex, sexual desire, and more and more.

Ultimately the book touches on existentialism; take it as you see fit but the great Question of existence is meant to stay with us. However, that “us”, will not stay with the Question as we will inevitably die. And one day, even the mere memory of us will die. At most, what will remain of us, or of the next leaders, emperors, kings, presidents, will just be the name. That name will be completely naked of any sign of existence. That name will be just an ethereal abstraction re-interpreted through the ages.

One word of note. As the writer explains in his addendum, the first 100 pages or so are meant to eliminate readers. They are long, with long setups, with long explanations. Only those that will get through the 100 pages will have a chance to enjoy the rest of the book and even love it, as I do.

Further note, each time I read this book I recall memories of the past - like the characters of this book, now gone. I used to see Dr Umberto Eco relatively often as he had a house in my old neighborhood. He was always kind and I was sorry about his passing.
Ah, I loved that book, a brillliant book.

And, as you so rightly say, the murder/mystery thriller format was a vehicle for the deeper philosophical (and theological) discussions and explorations that this format also allowed.

But, and this is also important in light of its extraordinary reputation, the book works exceptionally well on both levels.

That is, it works as a series of (sometimes quite challenging, quite provocative, and quite compelling) philosophical explorations, and as a genuinely intriguing murder mystery/thriller, - a narrative architecture, a framework that allows for it to work on several levels, and for the tale to be tied together - and this is something that is not altogether easy to achieve.

Actually, the chapters where William and Adso finally manage to gain entrance to the library are absolutely gripping, some seriously superb, nail-biting writing.

I have the original (first edition) English translation in hardback; it is still on my shelves, and some of the leaves are loose (that book was read a number of times).

Anyway, I was an undergrad at the time it was published and I recall the book having been recommended (passionately) to me by a German boy with whom I was friendly during a spell in Germany the summer it came out, which meant that I kept a close eye out for the English translation when it finally appeared.

Actually, I also remember that this was 'the book' of the year among some of my professors, who would tease one another over coffee with languid questions of the lines of, "Well, how's your Latin, old boy? Been able to brush it up sufficiently to tackle The Name of the Rose?"
 
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I loved The Name of the Rose. Umberto Eco is one of my favorite authors and I've read all his novels as well as some of his non-fiction. That's amazing that you got to meet him.
Ah, I loved that book, a brillliant book.

And, as you so rightly say the murder/mystery thriller format was a vehicle for the deeper philosophical discussions and explorations that this format also permitted.

But, and this is also important in light of its extraordinary reputation, the book works exceptionally well on both levels.

That is, it works as a series of (sometimes quite challenging, quite provocative, and quite compelling) philosophical explorations, and as a genuinely intriguing murder mystery/thriller, - a narrative architecture, a framework that allows for it to work on several levels, and for the tale to be tied together - and this is something that is not altogether easy to achieve.

Actually, the chapters where William and Adso finally manage to gain entrance to the library are absolutely gripping, some seriously superb, nail-biting writing.

I have the original (first edition) English translation in hardback; it is still on my shelves, and some of the leaves are loose (that book was read a number of times).

Anyway, I was an undergrad at the time it was published and I recall the book having been recommended (passionately) to me by a German boy with whom I was friendly during a spell in Germany the summer it came out, which meant that I kept a close eye out for the English translation when it finally appeared.

Actually, I also remember that this was 'the book' of the year among some of my professors, who would tease one another over coffee with languid questions of the lines of, "Well, how's your Latin, old boy? Been able to brush it up sufficiently to tackle The Name of the Rose?"
@Scepticalscribe very true! The novel touches so many subject (faith vs reason, history, economy etc) that the reader will discover new things after each reading, all while the mystery remains interesting and a nail biter. (Oh yes, the library and how I’d love to visit such a place…)

@TBL same here. I’ve read all his novels. The only one I didn’t like is The Island of the Day Before, however I’ve read it once over twenty years ago so I might give it another try. On the other hand, Baudolino is one of the finest, craziest novels I’ve ever read. However, I think that Foucault’s Pendulum is one of the most ingenious novels ever written… and one of the most brutal novels to read. I plan to read it again, especially since now we live in this age of conspiracy theories / earth is flat / and the book deals with them in a fantastic manner.
 
Rethinking Prokofiev: A book that's a wonderfully collaborative effort to look anew at the life, music and writings of Sergei Prokofiev, from his earliest Russian influences through his times of exposure to western European and then American music and culture, then back to the then Soviet Union. There he was unfortunately denied further visas and so had to work out ways --sometimes only with the assistance of politically well placed contemporaries-- to walk the fences between his creative explorations and political pressures of the times behind the Iron Curtain. The contributors have managed to avail themselves of research materials (some relatively recently released) managed by the composer's estate or by archival entities in the USA, Russia, Paris and elsewhere. The materials include musical fragments and previously unpublished versions of some of Prokofiev's own works along with voluminous diaries maintained by the composer.

In reading a preview of the book, I went through the extensive notes about the credentials of the 20 contributors, and decided I could not pass this book up. Thanks to some of the references (for better or worse per Prokofiev's often very bluntly stated views on the works of other Russians as well as more western influences) I am ending up doing some listening with new ears too, not just to Prokofiev but to the likes of Shostakovich, Diaghilev, Scriabin, Tchaikovsky, Borodin, Rachmaninoff, Stravinsky, Poulenc...

Apple Music and Spotify are coming in handier than ever as I could never afford to buy some of the recordings just to understand better some of the points made in the book: about older and newer views of Prokofiev's own works, views held by Russians and by Americans -- in not only music but theatre and film. The book offers newly reactive and exploratory takes of younger people looking at the fresh research material, the original works, the older reviews and recordings, all set in context of the ever shifting worlds of the arts and politics up through current times.

cover art - Rethinking Prokofiev.jpg
 
Ordered "Principles for Dealing with the Changing World Order" by Ray Dalio. It should be here in a few weeks.

I’m attracted to big picture economic and political analysis books, even though I’m just a normal guy with no hands on any levers of power.

Left ebooks and am recreating my library slowly with real books, usually using Thriftbooks, but this one is brand new.
 
I just finished William Gibson’s Cyberpunk Sprawl Trilogy, Neuromancer, Count Zero, and Mona Lisa Overdrive. Yes, it took me forever as usual with my book reading these days. :oops: I recommend this series with caveats, it is well written, but not monumental, but it is intriguing, especially when considering when it is written and my understanding it is regarded as by the father of cyberpunk, even though at the end the story fizzles, leaving you wanting more, like a real ending.
 
I’m reading ‘The Dark Hours’ by Michael Connelly, it is Ballard/Bosch series. It is a good read which I expect from Connelly.
 
I just started the Mistborn Trilogy and it off to a very promising start.

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Currently revisiting the start of our national nightmare with Midnight in Washington by Adam Schiff. Always fantastic to read about the turd that was president of these here United States.

From the congressman who led the first impeachment of Donald J. Trump, the vital inside account of American democracy in its darkest hour, and a warning that the forces of autocracy unleashed by Trump remain as potent as ever.

“If there is still an American democracy fifty years from now, historians will be very grateful for this highly personal and deeply informed guide to one of its greatest crises. We should be grateful that we can read it now.”—Timothy Snyder, #1 New York Times bestselling author of
On Tyranny
I actually forgot some of the batshit crazy shenanigans by Mango and his sycophants. Currently reading the part about Devin Nunes carrying water for Mango weeks after he soiled the assumed office.
 
I just started the Mistborn Trilogy and it off to a very promising start.


An excellent trilogy, but, to my mind, the first book is brilliant.

By itself, it - that is, the first book - stands alone, - for, one major narrative arc has been completed, or come to a natural conclusion, - and it is a genuinely gripping, well-paced tale, with terrific world-building, some great ideas, an amazing (and entirely original) system of magic, some wonderful characters, evil but elegant aristocrats, an appalling and powerful pseudo-divinity as the (primary) antagonist, and a fantastic - a truly superb - female protagonist.
 
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I just started the Mistborn Trilogy and it off to a very promising start.



I love the contrast between the elegance of the dinners/dances in the aristocratic "keeps" and the skulking, planning and plotting - not to mention the teaching and mentoring - of other parts of the story.

And, an aside, Sanderson does good fights, - actually, excellent fights - a sort of Baroque burst of pure violence - as well.

And, the heroes aren't improbably unscathed, either.

To my mind, the first book is by far the best of the trilogy.

I'll be interested to read your reactions.
 
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