The Only Book That Matters

As a general rule, I'm in favor of literacy, and I certainly have a vested interest in people buying books (actually reading them is nice, too), so I was excited when I saw this post (click on it once or twice to enlarge it) on Buzzfeed.com yesterday, originally posted by one Dorsey Shaw at thefrisky.com.

Pretty utilitarian, I'd say, and kind of cute. Although I've only read Jane Eyre and A People's History of the United States from this chart, I know most of the other books, and I wouldn't really quibble with the selections. But, as usual, I've got issues. First of all, flow charts, when they're not being cute, remind me too much of meetings, and ultimately I don't know which is worse, cute or meetings. Also, most of the questions that keep the chart flowing are kind of simplistic, and since there are too many books to read and too little time, one needs more than a simplistic question to answer in order to determine the next book one might spend his or her precious time reading. Finally, as I studied the chart more closely, I realized that every question could be answered with, "Read Moby-Dick."

Which, I realize, is kind of a cop out, because just about every pertinent question confronting any human being could be answered quite efficaciously with, "Read Moby-Dick." You scoff? Well, a couple years ago for Lent I decided that for the forty days I would respond to any- and everybody's questions with, "Read Moby-Dick." I don't know if such an endeavor scored me any points in Heaven (though if there's a book written by a human that might impress God, can it be anything other than Moby-Dick?), but I must say I had the most enjoyable Lent of my life, and despite some initial bizarre looks, some talk among some close friends about an intervention, and a slap in the face from a mohawk-wearing woman who asked me where the bathroom was, the overall response was fantastic. People I don't even remember ever interacting with still come up to me on the street, kiss my hand, and say, "Thank you. You once told me, 'Read Moby-Dick,' and I did and my life is so much richer."

So, let's play the game my way. You say, "What should I read next?" I say, "Okay, I don't do flow charts, but do you want to read a book that's fiction, non-fiction, mystery, horror, dramatic, humorous, philosophical, that will make you laugh out loud and sob quietly, that will put you to sleep and keep you up nights, that contains no whiny spoiled British girls desperately trying to get married, that will make you ponder questions that ultimately will help you see yourself more clearly, that will give you a huge sense of accomplishment, that will help you discover how a person can arrive at the wise conclusion that the only necessities are 'time, strength, cash, and patience,' that will help you quench your thirst to learn all there is to know about cetology, that you can read with beautiful and intelligent teenaged girls in a summer park, that you can pick up anytime and read any three pages and get a better life-affirming jolt from than any morning pot of coffee, that will wow you with its prose and poetry, that will challenge/deepen/confirm your beliefs in the multifariousness of human nature and the awesomeness of nature nature, a book that will thrill you kill you spill you, chastise baptize fortify multiply sustain drain brain cuddle befuddle daze amaze tickle fickle prickle you?"

If yes, read Moby-Dick and be blessed.

If no, repent, get a life, and then read Moby-Dick. 

What To Wear When Reading (Men's Edition)

This tidbit from David Markson's This Is Not A Novel, page 134:

The editor of Novy Mir began to read a prepublication copy of One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich in bed.

And then found himself so impressed that he not only got up but put on a suit and a necktie to finish with what he felt to be the requisite respect.

Now there's a courteous reader. I can't say I've ever considered what to wear when doing some reading (or really, doing just about any other activity), but I like the idea of dressing appropriately when bending the spine on a given book. Now admittedly my sartorial acumen is next to nil, but I'm a pretty decent reader (although I did come to it a bit tardily; my mother recounts the anecdote--which despite my steel-trap memory I don't recall--that once as a young boy, bored, I asked her what there was to do; she told me to read a book; I--allegedly--replied, "But I've already read ONE!"). And so, as best as I can, I will try to provide a fashion guide (for men only, God knows I could never presume to suggest what a woman should wear, for any occasion) for the appropriate reading of various authors.

• Wiiliam Faulkner--bourbon-stained jeans, a workshirt with cigarette burns, and boots carrying the faint stench of barnyard animal manure
• J.D. Salinger--khakis and a button-down Oxford shirt untucked in the back
• Ernest Hemingway--essentially, and at least, a jockstrap
• Dan Brown--an EPA-approved Haz-Mat suit
• Edgar Allan Poe--an ill-fitting shirt with ruffles
• David Foster Wallace--baggy shorts, flip-flops, and your favorite t-shirt
• Jane Austen--a thong
• Emily Dickinson--the suit you plan to be buried in
• Thomas Pynchon--camouflage pants, Chuck Taylors, a Dead concert t-shirt, and one of those propeller beanies
• Gabriel Garcia Marquez--a pair of eccentric, open-flyed boxers
• Vladimir Nabokov--a Pith helmet, a butterfly net in one hand, and jailhouse coveralls
• Gertrude Stein--some flannel and a pair of steel-toed workboots
• Herman Melville--swimming trunks, or, if you would prefer not to, go naked
• Marquis de Sade--vinyl
• Virginia Woolf--an overcoat of one's own
• Mark Twain--second-hand overalls
• F. Scott Fitzgerald--a tailored green shirt
• Dr. Seuss--Geranimals
• Sigmund Freud--a cocktail dress
• spitoutyourgum--something, please

Ready To Set Sail Again

We're jumping for joy here in Cleveland: the forecast calls for temps in the mid-30s and no snow in the days to come. Not much, I admit, but after the last two weeks, we'll gladly take it. It's not enough, though, to start booking tee times, pulling shorts out of the drawer, and slathering on the sun screen. No, it's a great time to hibernate with a good book, which is what I'm going to do as soon as I finish this. I'm starting a new one tonight, a 700+ page epic I've had my eye on for years, and have been itching to get to in a big way for the last couple of weeks. The last two books I've read, Swann's Way and Madame Bovary, were terrific, but as nice as 19th century France was, I'm looking to get out of that love-mad world. I can't reveal what book I'm starting tonight in case my reading of it fails and I have to face the McGwire-like infamy of having to admit it here--you'll have to wait a few weeks at least for my report, given its length and the author's notorious penchant for writing "difficult" books. Needless to say, this time of the year in these parts is the ideal time to dive into such a lengthy and demanding book--it makes not shoveling the snow that much more enjoyable.

I love this precise time--the minutes before opening a new--to me--book. The mind somersaults with delicious questions: will I be enraptured within the first few pages?; will I need to work at it, slowly?; who are the characters I'll become enamored with and can't wait for them to re-appear in the book?; will this be one of those books that will obsess me, sending me to look up obscure facts, words, places, and people, distracting me from electronic devices, playoff football games, and personal grooming, making me eschew nights of full sleep, propelling me to tell everyone I meet about it? or will it be a chore, one of those reads I feel obligated to finish without really enjoying it all that much? will it be one of those unfortunate few books I like but from some reason after getting half-way through I never pick up again, its bookmarked presence haunting me from the table next to my bed until months from now, buried under other books and magazines, I finally capitulate, dig it out to make room for others, sadly pluck the bookmark out and stuff it on a shelf with a half-promise to give it another go in due time? will it open my eyes, rack my brain, upend my sensibilities and prejudices? will it become a totem, or just another notch? Who knows, but I can't wait to find out the answers to these and hundreds of other as-of-yet unformulated questions. So sayonara, and keep it down, please, I'm trying to read here.

Bo Carter-Ants In My Pants