Tag Archives: fiction

ABANDONED BOOKS, 2017

For someone who starts and abandons projects all the time, I have a very hard time quitting a book once I’ve started, even if I don’t like it. Especially if I don’t like it. Part of me feels like I can’t criticize a thing that I’ve given up on. Part of me is afraid of missing out on something beloved by others. And, of course, part of me is a sucker for a challenge.

It only ends up hurting me, though. It puts a huge roadblock on all of my productivity. I feel like I can’t do other leisurely activities until I’ve first dedicated time to this task. But reading shouldn’t feel like a job at all – it should make me happy. I’m trying to get better at putting books aside that I’m not enthusiastic about. Here are the books that didn’t maintain my interest this year.

 

Sense and Sensibility, Jane Austen
austen

I want to be the sort of person who reads and enjoys Jane Austen. I’m not. This book bored me to tears. Sorry! I’ll try again in another few years.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Eye of the World, Robert Jordan
jordanFantasy nerds rave about this book! There was an entire episode of Judge John Hodgman dedicated to it. So when I saw it in a bookstore in Whidbey Island, I thought it was a great opportunity to see what all the hype was about.

I really wanted to become immersed in an expansive fantasy series again, and the Wheel of Time series is certainly qualifies as huge: 14+ books with an average page count surpassing 800. But I only managed about 150 pages in the first book before I had to put it aside. The writing was too stiff, the characters too one-dimensional, the portrayal of women too… well, let’s say the Male Gaze is strong with this one. I’ve heard that the story and the system of magic in particular makes this series worthwhile, though, so someday I’d like to pick it up again.

 

 

Believe Me, Eddie Izzard
izzardEddie Izzard is one of my favorite comedians. Every time I mention him, I end up falling down a YouTube rabbit hole, watching video after video of his stand-up comedy. I didn’t get a chance to see his documentary, so when I saw his autobiography at the library, I grabbed it immediately.

I have the same complaint for this book that I had with the collection of stories published by The Moth this year (All These Wonders): sometimes stories spoken aloud don’t translate well to the page. Believe Me is written just as Izzard speaks. To do it justice, I think this story deserves to be heard in his own voice, with his characteristic tone and cadence. I will listen to this book on audio instead.

 

 

 

The Underground Railroad, Colson Whitehead
whiteheadI put it off and put it off until suddenly it was due back to the library. I returned it. There is a good chance I will give this book another go in the future, but this year was not the right time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Attack on Titan (series)
attackI consider this abandoned because I lost interest after reading three of the ten manga available at the library. It was very exciting at first and a lot scarier than I was expecting. But the plot became very transparent by the second manga, and I felt like it was positively dragging along by the third. Those two – the obvious and the slow – really diminished the horror aspect of the story. I will probably pass on the anime, too.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Some books I completed which I should have abandoned:
The Rise and Fall of D.O.D.O., Neal Stephenson
I love Neal Stephenson, but at 750 pages, that is many hours of my life I will never get back, and this story was not engrossing or memorable.

Georgia, Dawn Tripp
A romance novel thinly veiled as historical fiction. No shade on romance as a genre, I was just expecting to learn more about Georgia O’Keeffe as an artist and a person, and I didn’t.

Finally, some books that I almost abandoned and was glad I didn’t:
A Gentleman in Moscow, Amor Towles
What started off as slow and meandering quickly became incredibly charming, especially the voice of the narrator. This story about the rapidly changing Russian social and political structures across one aristocrat’s life was filled with some of the best characters I’ve read in a while.

The Stars Are Legion, Kameron Hurley
This story is one of a kind: an all-woman space opera. It was a little hard to follow at the start, and it deals with some very gorey and gritty subject matter, but was an incredibly fun ride and rewarding in the end.

 

You can follow all of my reading on my Goodreads page here!

Advertisements
Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

FEAR AND IMAGINATION

I came home after dark last night. A flat tire turned a 30-minute bike ride into an hour-long walk. Sweaty, hungry, I kicked off my shoes at the door, eager to shower and make dinner. I was still listening to my audio book when I flipped on the bathroom light and leaped backward in surprise. A beetle or cockroach – I didn’t get a good look – scampered under the sink.

I poked my head out from behind the door, using it as a shield. The insect didn’t reemerge. I skirted the edge of the bathroom, practically pressing myself against the wall to get as far away from the sink as possible. I undressed quickly and conducted a ten-point search before entering the shower. My gaze never left the bottom of the shower door, lest the bug try to sneak up on me while I was slippery and naked and vulnerable. What if it had friends, poised and ready to attack when given the signal? What if it took flight and launched itself at me like a creepy little missile? What if it crawled on me?

The evening transpired as usual: cooked dinner, watched Netflix, folded laundry, and no tiny trespasser to be seen. I was, however, extra careful when making my way up to the bedroom, shaking out my sheets and peeking under the mattress. I awoke with no evidence of having been devoured while I slept.

This morning, when I continued to tread cautiously around my own house, I realized I was being ridiculous. This little bug could have been under the sink the entire time I’ve lived here and I never worried about it. I see a single insect one time and suddenly no part of my house is safe? What was I so scared of?

We might be able to cohabitate peacefully. I gave him a name: what else but Kafka? Now that he had an identity, I started to imagine him with sentience, and then with a life of his own.

Kafka, wearing a police hat and wielding a baton, patroling the darkened house, shining a little flashlight into the house’s tiniest nooks and crannies and, snapping his mandibles, telling the spiders to scram! (I wish he wouldn’t do this. The spiders and I are now on fair terms.) After his rounds, he sits at his post by my front door, drinking a steaming cup of coffee and unfolding yesterday’s paper. Occasionally, he looks down at his wristwatch, ensuring he is ready at the top of the hour for his next round. Time moves slowly through the dark and cool and quiet of the night.

Kafka, sensing that he has overstayed his welcome, packing a tiny knapsack. He takes one last look at my house before crawling to the train station in the light of a humid September dawn. He is on a journey around Japan to discover himself, but he takes the time to put photos in the mail: at the peak of Mt. Fuji, leaning against his walking stick; dressed in a samurai costume and brandishing a little katana with historic Kyoto in the background; holding up a cup of sake in a Sapporo onsen, surrounded by steam and mist. He returns to my house, almost a year later, and realizes there is nothing left for him here. Wordlessly, he turns to leave. Though there is a tear in his eye, it is not enough to extinguish the spark of hope in his heart.

Kafka, transforming into a human. He becomes handsome senator with a passion for justice and equality. He is immediately captivated by my charm and intelligence and begs to take me away from this life. One morning, he strides into the White House and demands that I be released from the military. The president, of course, has heard of my daring naval exploits and is hesitant to terminate my contract. Eventually, after much negotiating, he relents. I go on to become a brilliant and well-published professor of philosophy. Meanwhile, Kafka balances his political career with raising half a dozen foster children. Not once do I suspect that he was once a creepy little bug. In our twilight years, he, too, forgets, recalling only the enormous joys and miseries of a thoroughly human life.

Is this silly? Yes, clearly. But so is sleeping with one eye open and tip-toeing around my own house because of an insect the size of a tootsie roll. His little presence hasn’t affected my life at all. I can’t control under whose sink he decides to hide. So, in my own imaginings, why not choose laughter over fear?

Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , ,