Monday, May 27, 2013

Graeme Simsion - The Rosie Project


Surprisingly, I first heard of this book through the website of my favourite Australian televised book show, the ABC's First Tuesday Book Club, hosted by Jennifer Byrne. I say surprisingly because the story of how this book came to be is such that I feel that I should have heard about it before. Graeme Simsion is an Australian IT consultant in his 50s, and this is his debut novel (although it was originally conceived of as a screenplay). Before it was published Simsion entered the manuscript into the Victorian Premier's Unpublished Manuscript Award, and it won. The book was subsequently picked up by small publisher Text. And it has now earned Simsion over $1.2 million in international advances, with production companies on three different continents fighting over film rights. Amazing. So these things do still happen.

When I first started reading The Rosie Project I thought the tone was a little young adult, a little high school. It took me a while to get beyond that and realise there was more to the novel than the cute exterior which it first presented.

Don Tillman is a genetics professor who lives his life according to precise schedules. It is clear immediately Don has undiagnosed Asberger's Syndrome, though he does not realise this himself, even when he teaches a class on Asberger's to a room full of schoolchildren suffering from autism. There is obvious comedic value in this set-up, which Simsion uses to best advantage. Don is a lovely character, one to whom one warms very quickly. When he sets out to find a wife using a 16 page double-sided questionnaire, because he has determined that, statistically, married men are likely to live longer and consider themselves to be happier than unmarried men, we want him to succeed, as unlikely as that might be. When he meets Rosie, a woman who meets none of his rigorous criteria, who smokes, and has tattoos, and works in a bar, we cheer for the inevitability of their blossoming relationship instead of damning the predictability of the plot. This is because the novel has significant charm. There are scenes, too, that are very funny. I laughed outloud during Don's stellar debut performance as a cocktail waiter and mixologist for a conference crowd of medical professionals. And while some might decry Simsion's approach to the publishing and film industry as cynical - writing the story as a screenplay and then, afterwards, as a novel, so that a production company might be motivated to pick up the film rights - I admit I am looking forward to seeing this reinvented as a film. I think it will be sweet and fun and romantic. Also, these days, I think we need to be forgiving - aspiring authors must do what they need to do, given the current state of the publishing industry.

Overall assessment: 4 out of 5. This is a short review, partly because I read the book in the last few days before Lulu was born and have had little time since to sit down and think about it in any deep way. But it is a testament to Simsion's writing that I was able to read his novel, and read it so quickly, at a time when my mind was squarely focused elsewhere. I really highly recommend this book to anyone looking for a fun, diverting, uplifting read.

Pros: One thing this novel does is point out that there is, in fact, a silver lining to Asberger's. I hope people with autism or with close friends or family with autism, do not take this the wrong way - neither I nor Simsion intend to diminish the seriousness of the condition of autism. What Simsion does, though, is to portray a character in a very real way, without overt sentimentality. Don is not painted as someone we should pity - because he's not. He is someone with many gifts, who also faces more than his fair share of personal challenges, and who is finding his way just like the rest of us. I understand that the book has been well received by people with Asberger's for this reason.

Cons: Like most rom-coms, the story is predictable, and some might say the Rosie Project (the genetics project Don takes on in the book to gain favour with Rosie) is contrived. I was willing to forgive both of these elements in favour of being swept up in the lives of the characters. I actually missed the characters after putting the book down, which makes me think it might be one I will pick up again.

Thursday, May 23, 2013

Judging a Book by its Lover

A friend of mine recently recommended a book to me written by Lauren Leto, the creator of the internet humour site Texts from Last Night (very funny, should you happen to stumble across it). This is not a review of that book, which is entitled Judging a Book by its Lover - I am still reading it. But I came across a passage early on which I immediately wanted to share, because it so perfectly summarises the way I feel about reading, something that I have expressed here before, though perhaps not as eloquently:

"Considering yourself a serious reader doesn't mean you can't read light books. Loving to read means you sometimes like to turn your head off. Reading is not about being able to recite passages from Camus by memory. Loving young adult novels well past adolescence isn't a sign of stunted maturity or intelligence. The most important thing about reading is not the level of sophistication of the books on your shelf. There is no prerequisite reading regimen for being a bookworm."

Precisely.

Leto does go on, however, to caution that "silly books shouldn't be all we read", or we will all become lazy readers, with narrow perspective.

All of this makes so much sense it causes me to sigh with satisfaction. The rest of Leto's book is a collection of random bookish wisdom along these lines, as well as satirical imaginings, such as what it would be like to have dinner or brunch with any number of famous writer couples (the kind of fantasy I indulge in a little too regularly on rainy Sydney days) and humorous anecdotes, such as Leto's tragic middle school spelling bee experience. All of which makes me think she is the kind of woman with whom I would like to share a bottle of good red wine. Or two.


Friday, May 17, 2013

Oh - and also...

We had the baby! Our little Eloise - Lulu - was born on the 10th of May at 4:45am.


Since then, aside from the standard sleep deprivation, all of us have been doing well. Iggy is adjusting to the presence of his new baby sister, and Bibliohubby is just purring with happiness and contentment.

F Scott Fitzgerald - The Great Gatsby


As promised, I recently re-read The Great Gatsby and eagerly watched the Colbert Report's discussion of the book last week. As this was proclaimed to be Bibliofilly's first official read-along, I would love to hear from any of you who also chose to re-read the book, in anticipation of the release of Baz Luhrmann's film or for any other reason, or who have recently read it for the first time - let's light up the comments section!

Like many people, I first read The Great Gatsby in high school.  For some reason, along with vague images of Gatsby’s flashy parties, the other thing that really stayed with me was that sign on the highway between Long Island and New York, Doctor T. J. Eckleburg’s outdated optometrist’s sign, the two giant eyes raised across the road watching cars coming and going – “God sees everything!”. I remembered also the general feel of the book, the glamorous portrait of 1920s America, with cocktails and champagne fountains and flapper dresses (of course Fitzgerald is critical of this scene, yet the book portrays the glamour of it all so beautifully that this, ironically, is what remains indelibly fixed in the reader's imagination). And I knew that there was a car accident, and something to do with a mix-up involving two different cars.

But otherwise I had forgotten the details of the plot. And I had forgotten what a wonderful book this is – though that should really come as no surprise, given that The Great Gatsby has become such an American classic.

Nick Carraway, the narrator, is ex-military, home from the Great War, working in bonds in the city (New York), and settled in West Egg, Long Island, an unfashionable neighbourhood popular among the nouveau riche. His own unremarkable house is situated next door to a waterfront mansion owned by the mysterious Mr Gatsby, a wealthy man who throws lavish parties throughout the summer. Nobody knows very much about Gatsby, though anyone who is anyone attends his parties. Rumours about him abound, many unflattering – that he was a German spy, that he has killed a man – but this seems only to heighten his glamorous allure.

Unlike Gatsby, Nick has a foot in the door of respectable society, having friends across the water in fashionable East Egg, an equally wealthy suburb populated by established families with old money. Whilst visiting his cousin Daisy and her husband Tom Buchanan at their house in East Egg, Nick meets the beautiful golf pro Jordan Baker. And when Nick is finally invited to one of Gatsby’s parties, he finds Jordan there. Together Nick and Jordan become confidantes of Gatsby, who tells them a secret he has studiously kept for five years: he is in love with Daisy Buchanan, and has set out deliberately to accumulate his wealth in order to impress her. The location of his mansion is no mistake. From the waterfront of his home he can see the glow of the green light positioned at the end of the Buchanans' dock, a symbol of Daisy's proximity to him. 

With Nick’s help, Gatsby and Daisy are reunited and a love affair begins which is complicated by Daisy’s peculiar marriage to Tom, who is also engaged in an extra-marital affair, and by Gatsby’s stubborn streak. It is not enough for Gatsby that Daisy express a willingness to leave Tom for Gatsby - he wants her also to explicitly deny that she has ever loved anyone but Gatsby himself. Daisy's reluctance to do this causes a stasis whereby she finds herself torn between the two men until tragedy strikes on an unusually hot summer’s day and Gatsby’s wealth and history is revealed for what it is – something less certain, less concrete than the stability that Tom has always offered. In spite of Gatsby’s extraordinary effort to lift himself up to the echelon of society to which Daisy has always belonged, it becomes clear that he will never truly belong there. Whereas Tom does belong, has always belonged, and will effortlessly continue to belong - and this matters to Daisy. She is portrayed as a rather flimsy character, someone to whom material things and physical comfort matter above all else. But, as Jennifer Egan pointed out on the Colbert Report (did any of you watch it?), Gatsby himself is marred by the same flaw - his admiration for Daisy is squarely founded in his desire to obtain the status she represents, he is fixated on her because she embodies a position in society that he has no hope of attaining without her, no matter how much wealth he manages to accumulate. 

Gatsby personifies the American dream, and although he is ostensibly wildly successful in achieving it, Fitzgerald shows that this success is shallow, ephemeral. Gatsby's parties are attended by hundreds of people, but none of them know Gatsby, or care about him. Gatsby's wealth is extraordinary, but beneath the marble bathrooms and beautiful shirts, beneath the extravagant veneer, lies emptiness.   

I had forgotten how sad this book is, and how poignant that last line: "So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past." Nick ultimately recognises how superficial was Gatsby's popularity, how temporary and insignificant his new money and garish lifestyle. Like Tom and Daisy, and in spite of his ultimate disregard for them, he retreats back to the safety of the solid West, where he grew up "in the Caraway house in a city where dwellings are still called through decades by a family's name".  Although Tom and Daisy are painted as the moral villains in this tale, Fitzgerald's story asserts that it is they who will continue to garner respect. It doesn't matter what they have done - they represent the establishment of real America, and their kind will continue to exist even as countless Gatsbys come and go. And as for Gatsby himself, when the party is over - it is well and truly over.

Critics have often said that The Great Gatsby, at its heart, is a scathing critique of the American dream, of new wealth, of people who throw money around for show. But I think it's more than that. Fitzgerald critiques the American dream, yes, by showing that it doesn't work, but he is more critical of America itself - a society able to revel in the temporary wealth and new success of men like Gatsby, but equally able to turn its back on those people once the shine wears off. A society in which men like Tom Buchanan can effectively get away with murder because of the good name they were granted as a birthright. 

This is not a novel in which the characters are well developed - other than Nick they are caricatures, and they are intended to be. By playing Tom and Daisy out against Gatsby, like players on a chess board, Fitzgerald is able to show us just what he thinks of the America of his day - and it's not a positive outlook. 

The fact that this has gone on to be regarded as a 'Great American Novel' is therefore interesting. I don't think it is taught in schools as a cautionary tale. Instead the 1920s era portrayed by Fitzgerald seems to be embraced and lauded as a result of the book. This puzzles me. I would be interested to hear from any American readers of this blog about how they have been taught to regard The Great Gatsby - as a celebration of American society, or a critique of it? 

Overall assessment: 5 out of 5. What can I say? It's a classic for a reason. Luhrmann's film adaptation and the continued interest in Fitzgerald's novel over time make sense when one considers that the critique of society central to the text is as relevant today as it was during Fitzgerald's day. The America of today is a place where anyone can suddenly make it big, in so many different ways - by selling their soul to reality TV, by releasing a sex tape, by filming themselves being hurt doing stupid pranks. And the nation embraces every five minutes of fame and success the ordinary person enjoys, even as it rejoices in smashing that same celebrity in the next breath. The rise and fall of personal wealth is fodder for gossip magazines, just as Gatsby's rise and fall would be if it occurred today. 

Pros / favourite passages:  Fitzgerald's writing is almost painfully beautiful. It reminds me, in its spareness and dry humour, of John Fante's writing in Ask the Dust (although really, I suppose, it would be the other way around). There are so many passages worthy of reproduction, so here are just a couple:

Nick, the narrator, on himself: "Every one suspects himself of at least one of the cardinal virtues, and this is mine: I am one of the few honest people that I have ever known." 

On Gatsby's reunion with Daisy: "As I went over to say good-bye to I saw that the expression of bewilderment had come back into Gatsby's face, as though a faint doubt had occurred to him as to the quality of his present happiness. Almost five years! There must have been moments even that afternoon when Daisy tumbled short of his dreams - not through her own fault, but because of the colossal vitality of his illusion. It had gone beyond her, beyond everything. He had thrown himself into it with a creative passion, adding to it all the time, decking it out with every bright feather that drifted his way. No amount of fire or freshness can challenge what a man can store up in his ghostly heart."



Sunday, May 5, 2013

Gillian Flynn - Gone Girl

Just in case any of you are wondering: no baby yet. We are a week overdue. Surely it can't be much longer. I am so uncomfortable. Mama needs her body back!

In other news, I took the name for this blog from one of two book clubs I now belong to - the 'original' one, which I have had the privilege of belonging to for several years now: The Bibliofillies. We are a group of 30-something women, most now married, most with children of some description. I like this group of people enormously and enjoy our discussions, even if they happen less frequently than they used to (we are all so much busier now), and even (perhaps especially) when we are diverted from book discussion to gossip and debate of all sorts. Really I think a book club is a good excuse for a group of friends to meet up every once in a while, with the added bonus of indulging in a shared interest. We could just as well be a recipe-sharing group, or a knitting group. But for us, books are what bring us together.

I recently recommended Gone Girl to the 'Fillies, and when they took it on I felt the pressure of some responsibility upon me, and picked it up for a re-read. I wanted to have it fresh in my mind for our meeting last weekend. But I didn't mind the re-read. Gone Girl is that rare find, a book you can read again just months later and get new things from it the second time around.

It is, as the name suggests, a book that has at its core a missing woman. Nick Dunne's beautiful wife Amy is missing by chapter two - this is no spoiler. The state of the Dunnes' living room provides evidence of a violent altercation and the police immediately suspect foul play. As 'the husband', Nick is of course the first and primary suspect, and as the case unfolds, every new clue seems only to confirm his guilt. One would assume, then, that the heart of this book is a mystery - but that is only partly true.

The novel is incredibly clever and highly original. It is told in interchanging chapters, half of them narrated by Nick and half by Amy, through a diary she has left behind, which tells the story of Nick and Amy from when they first met up until her disappearance. Thus we are exposed to both sides of a story, comprising opposing views of a marriage and its internal workings, which would normally be private, known only to the people involved in the relationship. We learn that Amy is the dazzling, urbanite daughter of two psychology professors who have made a wealthy living from writing a series of children's books entitled 'Amazing Amy', based loosely on their daughter, and Nick is a small-town boy from Carthage, Missouri, who meets Amy whilst working in New York City as a journalist. After the demise of print media causes both Nick and Amy to lose their jobs, Nick successfully persuades a reluctant Amy to move with him back to his home-town, where she is slowly suffocating in suburbia.

The narrators are each so persuasive that I found my sympathies and suspicions shifting along with each alternating narrative. For much of the book, I was absolutely convinced of one interpretation, which had me intensely disliking one character and admiring another. Then, in the second half of the book, my view changed dramatically, at which stage I was so dumbfounded by the genius of Flynn's writing and plotting that I became absolutely desperate to speak to people about it - hence the book club recommendation.

That Flynn has pulled this off, writing a story which tells so convincingly two completely opposing views of the same marriage and the same incident, in which each perspective reads as utterly believable, is quite extraordinary.

Unfortunately it is difficult to review the book in any greater detail without revealing spoilers, and it's such a good read that I am loathe to turn anybody off by divulging too much and thereby ruining any aspect of it. So I will leave this vague, but say that interestingly, during the course of our book club discussion, it became clear that whilst this novel is ostensibly about a crime, what all of us really took away from it was the fascinating and complex portrayal Flynn had given of a marriage. Nick and Amy are extreme characters, in some ways, but the ups and downs of their relationship will be familiar to many readers. The bigger question explored here is the nature of intimacy - whether love is a kismet connection that happens to you, or whether it is something that is created through effort, even pretence. Whether it is ever truly possible to know another person.

Overall assessment: 4.5 out of 5. I should add that I find it difficult to award this rating here when I have handed out straight 4/5s to St Aubyn and Egan, who are on many levels far better writers. I suppose it is fair to say that I rate this within its genre. Gone Girl is not high literature, but it is so much more than one would usually expect from genre fiction, and it is difficult to fault Flynn for her plotting or her characterisation. It's a great read that I would highly recommend to anyone who is not uppity about literature. This is also a great book club pick - much to discuss and it will appeal to a wide spectrum of readers.

Pros / favourite part(s): The novel works on so many levels, but what is perhaps most surprising is the strength of Flynn's writing. It is not lyrical or poetic, but it is pointed and emotionally charged, and Flynn is able to raise bigger societal questions without impeding the page-turning nature of the narrative.

On marriage: “‘What are you thinking, Amy? The question I’ve asked most often during our marriage, if not out loud, if not to the person who could answer. I suppose these questions stormcloud over every marriage: What are you thinking? How are you feeling? Who are you? What have we done to each other? What will we do?’”

On the state of today's society: "Our society was utterly, ruinously derivative... We were the first human beings who would never see anything for the first time. We stare at the wonders of the world, dull-eyed, underwhelmed. Mona Lisa, the Pyramids, the Empire State Building. Jungle animals on the attack, ancient icebergs collapsing, volcanoes erupting. I can't recall a single amazing thing I have seen firsthand that I didn't immediately reference to a movie or TV show. A fucking commercial. You know the awful singsong of the blasé: Seeeen it. I've literally seen it all, and the worst thing, the thing that makes me want to blow my brains out, is: The secondhand experience is always better. The image is crisper, the view is keener, the camera angle and the soundtrack manipulate my emotions in a way reality can't anymore. I don't know that we are actually human at this point, those of us who are like most of us, who grew up with TV and movies and now the Internet... It's a very difficult era in which to be a person, just a real, actual person, instead of a collection of personality traits selected from an endless automat of characters... I would have done anything to feel real again."

Cons: I know many readers were disappointed by the ending. Obviously I keen to avoid giving anything away. There are parts towards the end where I felt the narrative perhaps dragged on longer than it needed to. But I do understood why Flynn chose to end the book as she did. If you view this as a mystery novel, or crime fiction, the ending may be disappointing. But if you view this as a treatise on marriage, it is a fascinating finish, more thought-provoking than any of the more obvious alternatives.