Delta Wedding (thoughts) and Sense of Place

And now to return you to your regularly-scheduled programming...
a book review! and a last-minute entry into Maggie's sense of place contest.
Sense of Place: Mississippi Delta

She rode by the thick woods where the whirlpool lay, and something made her get off her horse and creep to the bank and look in-she almost never did, it was so creepy and scary....There were more eyes than hers here-frog eyes-snake eyes? She listened to the silence and then heard it stir, churn, churning in the early morning. She saw how snakes were turning and moving in the water, passing across each other just below the surface, and now and then a head horridly sticking up. The vines and the cyprus roots twisted and grew together on the shore and in the water more thickly than any roots should grow, gray and red, and some roots too moved and floated like hair. (161)

Since I don't live anywhere near Mississippi (shame), I had to find a picture online. In the one I chose, I think that the lighting, and the crowded trees are right; the creepiness isn't as strong as in the passage, since there're no snakes in the picture. So, I'm bending the rules and adding one more image...


Now, on to what I thought of the book!

Before this, I hadn't even heard of Eudora Welty; when I saw that Maggie highly recommended her, I decided to give her a try. Welty's known for her short stories, but I really wanted a novel for the challenge, and I went with Delta Wedding since it was longer than her other ones.

If I could describe the book in one word, I'd choose languid ("Slow; lacking vigor or force"). I mean that in a good way; the story feels very dreamy, and I can imagine laying on a porch, with a fan going slowly overhead, being too hot to even hold my head up for very long. The story is a portrait of the well-off Fairchilds family, who have gathered at their plantation for Dabney's wedding. It's set in the 1920s, and it feels very natural. Welty uses first-person throughout, but she switches which character we're seeing the world with. Thus, the reader gets a really good look at both family dynamics and how the different members see the world.

The richness of the story lies in both how different Welty can make the internal monologues of various characters and in her gorgeous prose. I felt like I was in Mississippi, and I strongly identified with all of the people, even though my background is nothing like theirs. This is a book that catches you by surprise; it feels like nothing is happening action-wise, but several characters go through emotional crises that feel as active as more traditional plots.

Ok, I'm not really getting my point across. I feel like this always happens with books that I really love! I think everyone who loves being immersed in a book, who enjoys character-driven novels, or who loves the South should definitely pick this book up. Reading it felt like eating ice cream on a hot day; a decadent treat that ends too quickly.

Favourite Passages

Grass softly touched her legs and her garter rosettes, growing sweet and springy for this was the country. On the narrow little walk along the front of the house, hung over with closing lemon lilies, there was a quieting and vanishing of sound. It was not yet dark. The sky was the color of violets, and the snow-white moon in the sky had not yet begun to shine. (6-7)

The girls that were old enough, dressed in colors called jade and flamingo, danced with each other around the dining-room table until the boys came to get them, and could be watched from the upper landing covorting below, like marvelous mermiads down a transparent sea. (9)

They were so filled with their energy that once when Laura saw some old map on the wall, with the blowing winds in the corners, mischievous-eyed and round-cheeked, blowing the ships and dolphins around Scotland, Laura had asked her mother if they were India's four brothers. (15)

The Fairchilds' movements were quick and on the instant, and that made you wonder, are they free? Laura was certain that they were compelled-their favorite word. Flying against the bad things happening, they kissed you in rushes of tenderness. Maybe their delight was part of their beauty, its flicker as it went by, and their kissing of not only you but everybody in the room was a kind of spectacle, an outward thing. (18)

Her brown hair and her dark-blue eyes seemed part of her quietness-like the colors of water, reflective. Her Virginia voice, while no softer or lighter than theirs, was a less questioning, a never teasing one. It was a voice to speak to the one child or the one man her eyes would go to. Tyey all watched her with soft eyes, but distractedly. She was one of those little mothers that the wind seems almost to hurt, and they they needed to look after her. (24)

It was eternally cool in summer in this house; like the air of a dense little velvet-green wood it touched your forehead with stillness. Even the phone had a ring like a tiny silver bell. (51)

It was so hard to read at Shellmound. There was so much going on in real life. Laura had tried to read under the bed that morning, but Dabney had found her and pulled her out by the foot. Now with Volune I of Saint Ronan's Well inside her pinafore, next to her skin, she went tiptoeing in the direction of the library, where no one ever went at this hour. (69)

The dream Ellen told Bluet was an actual one, for it would never have occured to her to tell anything untrue to a child, even an untrue version of a dream. (84)

"Tomorrow's Wind" by Yevgeny Yevtushenko

Preface: this is the second poem for bookwookey's challenge. See the caveat from the post below re: my lack of analytical skills!

Tomorrow's Wind" by Yevgeny Yevtushenko

Why am I without joy,
                     achieving everything,
but grasping
            nothing at all?
I dream of the wind
                   that has overtaken me,
the wind
        that has leaped over me.
It shreds
         all the telephone lines that sag
from unending chatter,
and all that’s wasted,
                      all that’s turned sour
it catapults
            into oblivion.
All sorts of butwhatifers,
shaking,
        like jelly in jackets,
whirled up in a vortex,
                       like fallen leaves,
shout down indignantly:
                       "How come?"
Where there’s no wind,
                      there’s no faith.
Let clammy red pencils
                      be strewn
among the reeds,
                scattered madly
by tomorrow’s wind.
Wind
    does not crawl
                  before idols,
it swirls scraps
                of newspapers and posters,
yesterday’s glories,
                    turning somersaults
over warped roofs.
As if it had swilled
                    the Decembrists’ hot punch,
tipsy,
      the wind flings upward
all the important little papers
that press us down
                  to the ground.
The wind
        showers
               under constellations
the garbage
           in which the world is bogged down:
automobiles,
            which have ridden over people,
furniture,
          which has sprawled on us.
The wind
        pulls away from sticky screens
all the bewitched
                 simpletons and fools,

and without thinking
                    plants them
                               like shashlik
on the spike of their beloved TV tower...
Timid youth,
            I am preaching to you:
Charge forward,
               headlong into the epoch,
without wasting
               the wind of history
either on fads
              or the flimsy.
Each
    new generation
must create
           a special wind.
If it doesn’t shake
                   bits of dust,
young people
            should send
                       an SOS.
Youth
     is the age for a fresh airing.
In old age
          it’s harder to be precocious,
if you put off
              being young
in your youth.
Is it possible for you
                      all to be unfit?
Suck in the time
                with a feverous mouth.
The calm will be
                inhaled by you,
by the wind
           exhaled
                  afterward.
And the wind,
             making a gift of itself
                                    to the universe,
is born,
        sprawling
                 in a burst,
and structures
              built on sand
rightfully will crumble.
And I, having reared
                    these structures not a little,
will look on happily,
                     blaming no one,
as it withdraws,
                arching its mane,
the wind
        that has leaped over me.

So, I'm going to be a little more freewheeling in this response!

First, when I was reading through, I thought I'd clarify a couple words for people who might not have much experience with Russia. The Decembrists were a group of Russian noble officers who all fought in the Napoleanic wars. They spent time in Paris after Napleon's defeat, and there they were exposed to Enlightenment ideas. Coming back to imperialist Russia, they formed a secret society to talk about the possibility of reforms. When Tsar Alexander I died, there was confusion over the succession. The Decembrists took advantage of the confusion to take a stand in favour of a constitutional monarchy; when gathered in Palace Square to swear allegiance to the new tsar (Nicolas), they instead demanded Nicolas make reforms. It didn't go too well; Nicolas ended up executing a few of the leaders and sent most into exile in Siberia. In Russia, they've always been a symbol of honour, sacrifice, and reform. :) The other word is shashlik. This is much easier to explain-it's the Russian version of a meat kebab.

I loved this poem, because it seems to combine the hope and despair of the Soviet era. Yevtushenko is considered one of the greatest living poets; this poem certainly shows that. The way he structured the poem, like words were being blown by gusts of wind, was pretty awesome (as is Dewey for telling me the html tag that keeps it that way!). My favourite part is the sentence that begins "Wind does not crawl before idols" and the one that follows it. In this, we see his condemnation of Soviet heros (esp. Stalin and Lenin, whose statues you could find everywhere) and Soviet bureaucracy: "all the important little papers/that press us down/into the ground." But there's also his celebration of democracy with "the Decembrist's hot punch" and "scraps/of newspapers and posters." He celebrates both kinds of democracy: the top-down reforming leaders as well as the bottom-up grassroots change.

Yevtushenko has some incredibly strong images: he makes kebabs out of "simpletons and fools" on their "TV tower," and calls for the youth to "suck in the time/with a feverous mouth." Since the former image is immediately followed by an appeal to youth, it seems like he's showing his frustration at people who fritter their lives away, refusing to step out of their living rooms. His almost sexual description of the youth rising up is matched by a description of the wind being born, "sprawling/in a burst". He portrays the whole process of revolution to be an act of creation; then he addes images of destruction, "structures/built on sand/will rightfully crumble." While this is destructive, it's not violent, the way we might usually imagine revolution.

Alongside this active call to the youth, there's a considerable amount of nostalgia. In Yevtushenko's world, phone lines "sag/from unending chatter," there are "butwhatifers" and the poet argues that "in old age/it's harder to be precocious" (I loved that line as well). There's a sense that he feels he's too old, that it's time to pass the mantle on to the next generation.
Edited to add: the more I think about it, the more I think there's a certain amount of shame tinging his discussion of his own generation. It's interesting...some of my older profs in Russia displayed this type of shame; the kind of, how could we have let this happen to our country? And perhaps the source of his exhortion to the youth-his belief that the people *could* have done something about it. In actuality, though, I'm not sure that they could have. Russia had so many autocratic institutions in place, so when the Soviets took over they could merely expand things. I mean, obviously it wasn't destiny. But right after the revolution, many of the privileged Russians fled, while others stayed. The ones who stayed always blamed those who left. Perhaps they blamed themselves as well.

The way that Yevtushenko blends all of these emotions, and creates the kind of images that stay with you, shows his artistry. He has an exquisite sense of timing and balance that makes reading his poetry a true joy.

Blake's Songs of Innocence

Preface: This is the first poem for the challenge hosted at bookwookey. I don't pretend to be any good at poetry analysis; I took one class in college on writing poetry, because I needed an arts credit to graduate, and I can't draw. My most extensive experience with poetry is memorising famous Russian ones; that started me off, and now I enjoy memorising English ones as well. So, for me the most important thing about a poem is that I enjoy how it sounds; I tend to not worry about the meaning. Keep that in mind as you read my desperate, fumbling attempts over the next week.


"A Cradle Song" by William Blake
(note...here's the original with engravings)

Sweet dreams, form a shade
O'er my lovely infant's head!
Sweet dreams of pleasant streams
By happy, silent, moony beams!

Sweet Sleep, with soft down
Weave thy brows an infant crown!
Sweet Sleep, angel mild,
Hover o'er my happy child!

Sweet smiles, in the night
Hover over my delight!
Sweet smiles, mother's smiles,
All the livelong night beguiles.

Sweet moans, dovelike sighs,
Chase not slumber from thy eyes!
Sweet moans, sweeter smiles,
All the dovelike moans beguiles.

Sleep, sleep, happy child!
All creation slept and smiled.
Sleep, sleep, happy sleep,
While o'er thee thy mother weep.

Sweet babe, in thy face
Holy image I can trace;
Sweet babe, once like thee
Thy Maker lay, and wept for me:

Wept for me, for thee, for all,
When He was an infant small.
Thou His image ever see,
Heavenly face that smiles on thee!

Smiles on thee, on me, on all,
Who became an infant small;
Infant smiles are His own smiles;
Heaven and earth to peace beguiles.

I have to admit: I didn't expect to enjoy William Blake. I really don't like his paintings (number one reason-the colours), so I've always avoided his poetry. When I saw the Poetry Challenge, though, I thought that now would be as good a time as ever to tackle Songs of Innocence and Experience. After all, I feel that everyone *ought* to have read Blake, even if they don't enjoy him! So, imagine my surprise when I found his poetry to be beautiful, and evocative, and touching! For the challenge, I read the whole collection. For posting, however, I'm going to choose one from each part. Why'd I pick "A Cradle Song"? Well, I live with my baby niece, and as soon as I read through the poem, it just jumped at me.

The poem starts out soft and happy...
the first three stanzas are filled with adjectives like sweet, mild, pleasant. The mother seems to be friends with who she's addressing (dreams, sleep, smiles); the baby seems in a good place.

The fourth stanza continues with the soothing diction...
making the reader feel safe, but the addition of the word "moans" introduces something else.

Then, the fifth stanza approaches. It starts out quite positive: Blake repeats the word happy, but that's just him lulling the reader so that the jolt of the last line is all the sharper: "while o'er thee thy mother weep." After almost being rocked to sleep in perfect harmony, Blake goes back on the reader's trust. Now, it seems the mother is unhappy.

However, the closing stanzas clarify this. The mother is thinking about God, and when God became a baby. I'm fairly certain it's not a huge leap to assume that would be Jesus. ;) It closes on a feel-good, Jesus loves us kind of note.

In case you couldn't tell, I like the poem more when you chop off the last three stanzas. That way, you have the really strong (because unexpected) line ending the poem. However, I'm sure that Blake had a point to make; a quick minute at Wikipedia informed me that Blake liked Jesus, but didn't like the Church. Hmmm..apparently he developed his own religion and mythology. Quite interesting. (can you tell we never discussed Blake in my high school? I feel like my complete ignorance about him is embarrasing me) So, I suppose his Jesus references weren't ironic; they were a real sign of his beliefs. You have to admit, it's a nice belief-very rosy. Perhaps that's why this poem was from Songs of Innocence. ;)

Ok, I think I've rambled on long enough. I'm not really sure what I'm supposed to be doing for the Poetry Challenge (I was half tempted to just post the poem and tell people to read it), so I hope I've done my duty. This is definitely a poem that I'll memorise. Perhaps after this challenge I'll be so addicted to poetry that I'll start posting a poem a week. But without the analysis.

Counting Was Never My Strong Suit

So, I swear when I logged in to write a post last time, Blogger told me it was my 100th. But now looking at my published blog, it says that was only post #97. Whoops. Good thing that this is a reading blog and not a math one.

My new spreadsheet has inspired me to work harder at my TBR list. There was hardly any non-fiction on it! So, a la the attempt I made in February, I made a concerted effort to dig up interesting non fiction books. And boy, did I succeed! Including Feb's list, and ones I currently own, I now have 115 non-fic books that look interesting. Isn't that awesome? I've already mooched five of them, in preparation for a personal non-fic challenge. I plan on making a non-fic book pile to kick the challenge off in a month or two. This is all in support of my New Year's reso to read more non-fic. If people want, I'll happily post the list for others who like reading random non-fic. It won't be linked though-that'd be awful, trying to link 115 books.

I'm preparing for the Poetry Challenge, which starts tomorrow. Am rather terrified, but I have my first post written. Am very worried that the other participants are all literary types that will put me to shame. Am reminding myself that challenges are supposed to stretch one.

I'm going to try to get the review of Delta Wedding up later tonight. That way, I won't have to worry about it while I'm trying to finish up the Summer Reading Challenge and do the Poetry Challenge this week. It was such a good book, it deserves a glowing review.

I'm rambling. I think it's in response to attempting to analyse Blake.

My 100th Post!

In honor of 100 posts, I present a couple of pictures...

First, my book stack from yesterday's acquisitions.



From the bottom up
Gods in Alabama by Joshilyn Jackson ... I've heard about it on several blogs through the Southern Reading Challenge, so when I saw it for $6 at B&N I grabbed it!

My latest mooch arrived yesterday in the mail, How Reading Changed My Life by Anna Quindlen. Very excited about it!

First full price purchase? Keith Donahue's The Stolen Child. It looks super good, and I hadn't realised it was out in paperback, so when I saw it I just couldn't help myself. Plus, it's highly wishlisted on bookmooch, so if I end up not liking it, it'll be easy to send off. :)

Jane Austen: Her Life and Letters. It was $2. It's Jane Austen. It's written by her nephew. Need I say more?

Katherine Mansfield's Bliss and Other Stories, which I bought because I've been thinking about short stories lately, I've never read anything by a New Zealander, and it was only $2.

I grabbed a Miss Marple-At Bertram's Hotel, despite it not being on sale, because I've been craving Agatha lately. Plus, I intend to have all the Miss Marples in my library one day.

I mentioned yesterday that I was playing with Excel to develop a way to organise my books. Well, I enjoyed being able to sort, but I wasn't happy with the way it looked. Frankly, it was boring. Then, I remembered that I could change fonts, colours, etc. So, pretty soon I had developed a scheme. Author names are green for male, purple for female. Book titles are aqua for fiction, orange for non-fic. TBR is yellow (to get my attention) and TBA (to be acquired) is pink, which also gets my attention. Finally, read is navy blue to stand out from all the other characteristics. The result? I can quickly tell important things about books, and it looks super pretty! I'm rather pleased with myself. ;)



And with that, I'm going to get back to reading.

Oh-almost forgot! I definitely want to do a blog roll game (see blogg-y thoughts post), but I'm not sure what the best time would be. Any thoughts?

Blogging Tips (Meme)

Gentle Reader over at Shelf Life tagged me for a new meme-blogging tips

It’s very simple. When this is passed on to you, copy the whole thing, skim the list and put a * star beside those that you like. (Check out especially the * starred ones.)

Add the next number (1. 2. 3. 4. 5., etc.) and write your own blogging tip for other bloggers. Try to make your tip general.

After that, tag 10 other people. Link love some friends!

1. Look, read, and learn. **-http://www.neonscent.com/
2. Be, EXCELLENT to each other. **-http://www.bushmackel.com/
3. Don’t let money change ya! *-http://www.therandomforest.info/
4. Always reply to your comments. *****-http://chattiekat.com/
5. Link liberally — it keeps you and your friends afloat in the Sea of Technorati. **-http://chipsquips.com/
6. Don’t give up - persistence is fertile. *-http://www.velcro-city.co.uk/
7. Give link credit where credit is due. ***-http://www.sfsignal.com/
8. Pictures say a thousand words and can usually add to any post.**-http://scifichick.com/
9. Visit all the bloggers that leave comments for you - it's nice to know who is reading! **-http://stephaniesbooks.blogspot.com/
10. When commenting on others’ blogs, a few kind words go a long way. – * http://shelflifeblog.blogspot.com/
11. When you're starting out, comment on all the blogs you like to read; that way the bloggers will know that you exist! ;) http://astripedarmchair.blogspot.com

And now I have to tag 10 people, but I find that excessive, so I'm only tagging 7. Of course, I'm sure that some might get double-tagged. If so, sorry!
A Work in Progress
bookeywookey
Bookie
Educating Petunia
Maggie Reads
Reading is My Superpower
Reading Matters

Blogg-y Thoughts

I've been trying to figure out some blog-related issues lately, so I thought that I'd share!

**The comments thing. Up until now, I've been replying to people's comments on my posts on their own blogs. To me, it made more sense-if I replied on their blogs, they'd definitely see it. However, I've noticed lately that all the other bloggers reply on their own blogs. Plus, sometimes it's weird to have a complete non sequiter comment on someone's post. So, I've decided to start answering on my own blog.

**Blogroll. In the past week or so (since I've feeling ill, which leads to lots of sedentary computer time), I've been looking for more book blogs. I know that there're a lot of great blogs out there that I just haven't stumbled across yet. So, I'm thinking of starting up another blogroll game, a la Dewey, but with a twist: I'd ask participants to leave comments suggesting blogs *not* in my blogroll as well as visiting the ones that are. Of course, I'd have book prizes (though probably not as many as Dewey offered). What does everyone think?

**TBR organisation. How does everyone keep their lists organised? Yesterday, I decided to create an Excel template to let me keep track of books I've read, books I own, and books on the tbr list. I like it, but there's something that feels kind of cold about Excel. You know? Before that, I was using bookmooch to keep track of tbr (whenever a book sounded interesting, I'd add to my wishlist or save-for-later), but I'd get frustrated when the site was down. Plus, I can't sort it the way Excel lets me.

**Challenges. I'm almost done with all the challenges I chose for the summer, so now I'm gearing up towards fall. Anyone run across new challenges they think are awesome? If so, please share! Also, I'm toying with the idea of some kind of short story challenge, but if any one knows of one already existing, let me know!

**A non-bloggy point. My copy of The Virgin in the Garden has gone into hiding. I was only about 50 pages in, but it's still frustrating. Hate it when books run away!

**(edited to add) For some reason, I forgot to mention The Bookworms Carnival hosted by Dewey when it first came out. I enjoyed it a lot, so I don't know how I didn't link it! Anyway, superfastreader is hosting the next one, with a submission deadline of August 10th. I'm trying to figure out if any of the books I've read that 'take my mind off the heat.' Here in CO, I feel like I have the opposite problem (I'm used to San Antonio summers), and I've been immersing myself in hot, humid, glorious summer days and nights!

That about sums it up. I finished The Eustance Diamonds last night and am now in love with Trollope. Once I finish my rave review of Delta Wedding, this one is up next.

Emma (thoughts)

I thought I'd take a break from my desperate, last-minute attempt to finish up the Summer Reading Challenge by August 1st (4 books, 1250 pages to go in 7 days) to talk about Emma.

I have been a devoted Jane Austen fan since I first picked up Pride and Prejudice in sixth grade. I own all of her published works, I talk about them all the time, I stick up for Jane when others try to diss her (yes, it's happened; no, it's not pretty), I make horrified faces at the P&P sequels I see at B&N (Pemberly erotica? we live in a cruel world), etc.

That being said, I hadn't read Emma in about five years. Isn't that sad? I own the Jeremy Northam movie version, and I probably watch it twice a year. But, in my mental rankings, Emma was second only to Sense and Sensibility for my least-favourite Austen. Which means I still enjoyed it more than a lot of other books I own! Nevertheless, when I reach for some Jane to add sparkle to my day, Emma gets passed by. So, when I was developing my list of classics for the Summer Reading Challenge, I decided to toss it into the mix.

Boy, am I glad that I did. I needed her last week, when my illness was threatening to get the better of me, and I was feeling pretty down. Being transported to Highbury for a little while was just what I needed. When Virginia Woolf talked about Jane, she said something to the effect that Austen's genius was the most difficult to catch in the act. (I just conducted a ten minute fruitless internet search for the quote, so maybe I'm imagining it) While that's true, I have to share what I believe to be the most cutting insult I have ever come across, and that to me represents Austen's stunning, but simultaneously subtle, ability with the English language:

"Mrs. Elton, as elegant as lace and pearls could make her, ..." (240)

Ouch. Emma also provides a very satisfying love scene; for me, more fulfulling than P&P's. However, I don't want to spoil Emma for anyone who doesn't know the ending, so I won't share my favourite passages. I'm not sure if there's anyone out there for whom the ending could be spoiled, but I would feel awful about it!

Well, the more I sit here staring at the screen, the more I realise that I don't have all that much to say about Emma. I refused to take so much as one lit class in college, because I worried about 'spoiling' my reading experience. To me, Jane Austen is the master for her characters and her light touch. To say anything more about the story would be silly. If you've never read Jane Austen, you should. Even if you've seen all the movies.

I Won, I Won!

I never win anything, but I won a book in a drawing for the Summer Mystery Challenge hosted by Reviewed by Liz. Very exciting!

I finished Emma and The Door: expect reviews up soon. :) In the meantime, I was reading in my backyard the other morning, and I decided to take a picture. :)



The view.



My favourite mug. I bought it last year-it's handcrafted and *huge*. I drink tea out of it almost every morning! Do you guys have favourite mugs? The ones that make you feel happy, because they fit your hand perfectly, and hold enough tea/coffee that you never run out, and are gorgeous to boot? I'm always on the lookout for another great mug... I've had my eye on the one at Starbucks that says "Shhh-I'm reading" for awhile now!

Bound to Please (thoughts)

I've a sneaking suspicion that Michael Dirda is a bit of an ass. Why? First, it's that he subtitled his book "An Extraordinary One-Volume Literary Education." And then, well, it's sentences like this....

"By 'literary' reading, the NEA report means almost any work that isn't a textbook or business report. So the category embraces mysteries, chick-lit, adventure novels, westerns, fantasy and science ficion, spy thrillers, possibly even children's books (this isn't clear). In short, almost everthing. Now, although I enjoy trolling in nearly all of fiction's genres-even, on occasion, checking out Harlequin romances, whose fans probably account for most of the people who get through a dozen or more titles a year-I still don't think of these books as, for the most part, serious reading, as literary reading." (xxiv)
-Note the snide remark that most reading Americans must be addicted to Harlequin-

"But those who really care about literature nearly always sit down with a pencil in their hands, to underline, mark favorite passages, argue in the margins." (xxiv)
-Note the charming assumption that if I don't like to disfigure my books, I don't love them-

"Who now among the young aspires to be cultivated and learned, which takes discipline, rather than breezily provocative, wise-crackingly "edgy"? (xxv)
-My favourite assumption from older people: since I'm young, I don't value culture-

"Come the dawn, though, and our good intentions usually evaporate. Why persist with Plutarch or George Eliot or Beckett or William Gaddis when you can drop into a chat room or line up at the multiplex for this week's timeless Hollywood blockbuster?...Instead of actually reading Tocqueville or Henry Adams, we just check out the latest blogs." (xxvi)

That was just the prologue. He also sometimes appends 'postscripts' to his reviews that usually highlight how special Dirda is. For example,
"I still reread The Unquiet Grace every year or two and, even though I recognize its occasional sentimentality and period flavor, continue to find it a mirror to my own heart." (483)

Throughout the actual reviews (culled from almost three decades of the WP Book World) runs the sentiment that Dirda, unlike the 'common' reader, can appreciate the true value of literature. Through his writing, he hopes to raise us uninspired masses into a place where we can bask in his literary glow. Dirda's one of those people who uses 'should' and 'ought' quite often.

Best of all, Dirda is a hypocrite. Towards the end of the book, he includes an essay he wrote on education. Among the prentensious claims and ponderous delivery, he argues for multiculturalism, with sentences like "Our schools should introduce young people to the world's cultural richness and variety..." (505) and "Schools really should take pains to include more work by women." (506) And yet, in a book that has exactly 500 pages devoted to 110 reviews, would you like to know how many authors Dirda looks at who are not from the US or Europe? 3: 1001 Nights, Borges, and de Assis (Brazilian). He also deigns to include 4 women authors to 'balance out' the 106 men. This in a book that claims to provide to any reader a "one-volume literary education." Well, I guess Dirda can always fall back on that well-worn classic: do as I say, not as I do.

So, needless to say, Dirda is not someone I would ever want to run into at a cocktail party. Unlike Nick Hornby (see my effusions on The Polysyllabic Spree, another collection of previously-published reviews), Dirda represents, to me, everything that's wrong about literary criticism.

That being said, I'm glad I read this book, and I'll probably read his other collections of reviews. Why? Quite simple, because he has a comparative literature background and has been reviewing books for longer than I've been alive. The book was a great resource for new (European, male) authors. I have a list as long as my arm.

So, while Dirda and I are certainly not kindred spirits, I'll tolerate his pretensions in order to be introduced to new authors. Of course, as a common reader, I'm obviously unable to appreciate books with the same depth as Dirda. But at least I spend my time with my nose in a book, and not upturned at the rest of the population.