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For a brief moment I wondered if I should muster up the necessary indignation warranted for a missing letter. But then I continued to the reader comments at the end of the article (an act which my wife has expressly forbidden me from doing because the anonymous comments at the end of articles so quickly drive me into a mindless rage) and saw that one reader--with the clearly ironic moniker "Decorum"--had the audacity to spew this vile, hate-filled rant:
You mean "steeped in", not "seeped in".
Faced with the prospect of agreeing with this anonymous hate-monger, I questioned my original assessment. Perhaps the author of the article had NOT meant to say "steeped in." Perhaps he had indeed meant to say "seeped in."
First I did a Google search for the phrase and what I discovered is that Google really dislikes when you search for "seeped in." If you do, Google instead assumes you're an idiot and shows you the results for "steeped in." If you go so far as to search for "seeped in vs steeped in," with the two phrases quoted, Google instead shows you results for "steeped in vs steeped in." Who's the idiot now, Google?
Let's take a look at Merriam-Webster online.
The third definition of steeped is "to saturate with or subject thoroughly to (some strong or pervading influence)." The example given is "practices steeped in tradition."
The second definition of seeped is "to enter or penetrate slowly, or to become diffused or spread." The examples are: "fear of nuclear war had seeped into the national consciousness" and "a sadness seeped through his being."
First of all, the Merriam-Webster dictionary has some seriously depressing examples for the word "seep."
Second of all, upon reflection the verb "seep" seems both appropriate and problematic.
On the appropriate side, the word seep does indeed connote the slow spread of an idea or concept, such as a monopolist culture seeping through Verizon.
On the problematic side, seeped is an intransitive verb, and--like the above sentence--one assumes the correct usage would have the seeper seeping into the seepee, rather than the seepee seeping in the seeper. Or, less clearly, something seeps, but it is not seeped.
And--on the appropriate side again--what the heck did that last paragraph mean?
The underlying issue here is one of an accepted idiom overwhelming a non-accepted idiom. Simply because the common cliché is to talk about something being "steeped in" something else doesn't mean that to NOT use the cliché is inherently wrong. Now, if the alternative usage is grammatically incorrect then that's a different story altogether. But it is not inherently wrong, it is just wrong.
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This book is Tragedy Porn.
*** Warning: review contains more spoilers than usual! ***
There is no reason to read The Solitude of Prime Numbers unless you want to bask in the psychological agony of children suffering. There is no reason to read it unless you love to writhe and gasp at the possible deaths of innocents or--barring death--constant excruciating unhappiness. You must love not only tortured lives but specifically you must love tortured lives where both the self-inflicted and externally-inflicted torture of these lives can all be tied back to key mistakes from which no one can ever hope to be redeemed.
It reminds me of the first book I ever cataloged as part of my book tracking project: The Story of Lucy Gault by William Trevor, another master of Tragedy Porn.
My wife brought this little bundle of misery home from the library and I was snookered into reading it because of the presence of math in the title. Who doesn't love books with math in the title? The use of math as a framework from which to structure a novel appeals to me. Prime numbers are especially alluring. My wife, in fact, once determined that it would be her life's work to study prime numbers. This was at a very young age, however, and it has turned out not to be her life's work. And, indeed, it was after only five pages into the book that I turned to my wife and said, "You will not like this book, nor will you be able to get past the fifth page." My wife, you see, does like prime numbers but does NOT like to read about the inexplicably drawn out suffering of children.
BEWARE: Just because the title references prime numbers does not mean math is actually a metaphorical force in the text. Yes, one of the protagonists eventually becomes a mathematician, but he might as well have become a physicist or a chemist for all the relevance his career has to the story. The book jacket blurb has a lovely little bit about how, like prime numbers, the main characters are misfits who "seem destined to be alone." But this is more mathematical metaphor on the inside cover of the book than exists in the book itself. Oh, and let me spoil it for you: they do not just SEEM destined to be alone, they actually ARE destined to be alone. Because no one gets a happy ending in this piece of tragic manipulation.
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Two interesting notes unrelated to the text:
1) There does not appear to be a full sized image of the book cover on the internet, at least not one easily accessible by a Google image search. I have therefore dutifully scanned in the cover of my book, a mass market paperback I had to buy from a third-party seller on Amazon for 3 dollars. So henceforth I say: "Let this image be available to all!"
2) In my review of the last book, I described the series as a "quadrilogy." That turns out not to be a real word. The proper term for a four-book series is "tetralogy." My apologies.
Since I am reading all four books, responsibility will eventually force me to craft an overall theory of these novels--indeed, of the entire body of science fiction. But for now I rest. To speak too much too soon would be like the Academy having awarded a Best Picture Oscar to the second Lord of the Rings movie (to keep our analogies it in the SF/F genre).
But fear not: I do indeed have such a theory brewing. I will let it steep until the completion of book three. In the meantime, I will say this: the second book was better than the first. Less action and more talk, by which I mean: less meaningless plot and more character development. Plus: still lots of action. And it makes one wonder: how many colons can I work into one paragraph?
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At least it's my favorite cover! So simple yet such an impact.
Ghosts really covers all the different literature-metaphors I've discussed in Aira's past books: reality vs fantasy, the part making up the whole, and the inescapable influence of the past on the present. Like An Episode in the Life of a Landscape Painter, a different artform is used as an stand-in for literature, in this case it is architecture. Plus there are ghosts. But a lot of this literary content doesn't seem quite as well woven into the story. In fact, halfway through the book the text breaks for a treatise on the architecture of different nomadic peoples and how their arrangement of huts symbolizes their respective cultures. While it's interesting--especially when you read it as a not-so-subtle metaphor for the evolution of novels--I'm not sure what it's doing there, how it is connected to the larger story, and who the narrator is even supposed to be.
The thing is that aside from the ghosts and aside from the architectural asides, I think this is some of Aira's strongest writing. The description of the construction workers and then later the multi-layered activity and conversation of the large Chilean family is fantastic and engaging and alternatingly light-hearted and moving. The supernatural ghosts fit quite naturally into the story, even if they seem at times to exist solely so Aira can tackle grander themes than simple family interaction. But are simple family interactions beneath him? He demonstrates such an immense talent for writing about it.
This is the last available Aira book in English translation, so I guess I am done with Aira for now.
(As of today, according to Aira's Wikipedia page there is one other translated book called The Hare, but there is no mention of the book on the alleged publisher's website and I can only find it via third-party sellers for hundreds of dollars. I have trouble believing that 38% of the people who visit the Amazon page for The Hare end up buying it for over $500. Either that algorithm is counting sales from a time when it was available for a cheaper price or that algorithm is incorrect.)
]]>It's over now, so the court-ordered silence lifts and I can emerge blinking and squinting into the great bright light of irrelevant public disclosure. The experience carried both annoyance and knowledge, but in the aftermath of a trial I am glad to have carried out my civic responsibilities. My case lasted just four days--not including jury selection--and that was four days longer than it should have lasted.
My white collar criminal case involved government corruption, but on a small scale of minor "official misconduct." It involved stacks of invoices, purchase orders, bills of lading, expense reimbursement forms, employee reviews, budget spreadsheets, and one PowerPoint presentation. Essentially, it was like going to work every day.
Things I learned during jury selection:
Things I learned waiting for the trial to start each day:
Things I learned during the course of the trial:
Things I learned at the end of the trial:
I'm not going to post any links or names or details about the case (though it was covered by multiple New York Times* articles) because I'd like to protect what's left of this innocent women's privacy. She lost her job when indicted, and it's not clear whether she'll be rehired. As far as I can tell, the biggest loser here is New York City, which lost an intelligent, hard working, efficient, well respected, well liked, and honest public servant. I wish her the best and hope she finds renewed success in whatever she does next.
* Okay, but only in the "Region" section.
With so many ads at the time depicting my generation as rejecting work and adulthood for some imaginary endless youth, it was nice to one that embraced the realities of becoming a productive member of society with just a hint of ennui.
It did not inspire me to purchase a VW Beetle convertible, but I appreciated the quality of the ad nonetheless.
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Also part of the Pearl Series, Bad Nature, or With Elvis in Mexico is really a long short story rather than a novella, perfect subway literature for those of us who don't own electronic reading devices. The title led me to expect something slightly absurd or surreal, but in fact the book is a piece of realist fiction. Actually, looking at the definition of literary realism on Wikipedia (a source I would never doubt), such fiction opts "for depictions of everyday and banal activities and experiences." Since Bad Nature involves Elvis, Mexico, and gangsters I wouldn't really consider the recorded activities "everyday" or "banal." So I don't know what to call it.
Brief diversion: Should I avoid posting such thoughts as above that reveal my ignorance? One day somebody is going to go back and read this blog (hello to that person!) and conclude that I never have any idea what I am talking about. Well, to that person I say (aside from the previous "hello"): You are correct, I do not.
Unlike César Aira, for whom only four or five books appear to be translated into English (the fourth which I am about to read), Javier Marías has many more titles available in my dominant language, most of them translated by Margaret Jull Costa and published by New Directions. (Once again: thanks to New Directions for rocking the house!)
Also, part of Javier Marías' biography reads like fiction. Apparently, he is the King of Redonda, a half-imaginary/half-real kingdom on an uninhabited Caribbean island. Concerned that Wikipedia was playing a hoax on me (or had been hoaxed itself) I did independent research, and if you have access to and trust the Financial Times, then the story checks out. My new goal in life is to receive a Redondan title.
An Episode in the Life of a Landscape Painter is my least favorite so far, but that's not an insult. A better way to say it: An Episode in the Life of a Landscape Painter is my third favorite. Because they are all immediate favorites.
Let's also take a moment and thank New Directions Publishing Corp. for being an excellent press putting out (among other things) literature in translation that would otherwise be unavailable. I bought this book and Aira's Ghosts directly from them rather than through a third party and the books showed up in two days. How is that for service?
The book follows the artist Johan Moritz Rugendas through an eventful and calamitous trip through Argentina. It's told in the style of "over-researched biography meets stuffy travelogue" and yet I found myself glued to the page. The mock academic tone kept me smiling and made me think continuously of Borges, which is obviously the case for everyone else as well since few reviews on Aira fail to compare the two.
The Literary Conference uses cloning vs. sexual reproduction as a metaphor for literary evolution, How I Became a Nun looks at the blending of reality and fantasy in the creation of art, and An Episode in the Life of a Landscape Painter has it's own related theme. This book's core statement is that any individual unit of art is a microcosm of the larger whole. All paintings are represented by one painting. One painting is represented by one figure in the painting. One figure is represented by a single brush-stroke. This translates to literature as well. The whole of literature is contained in one book, in one sentence, in one word. In the novel, the titular landscape painter actually follows an explicit school of art that actively attempts to capture the repetition across a painting, but I think it's fair to see this as a metaphor for a writer's unintentional duplication of all other literature and art. Essentially, the same theme as The Literary Conference but told in a different way.
]]>TR's editor-in-chief asked me--the sporadically-contributing books editor for that blog--to provide a fresh perspective on the series. Actually, he handed me the first book and threatened me with ostracization were I not to read it immediately.
I will craft a full review on the series once it is complete, but in the meantime I have the following statements to make.
First: DO NOT READ THE PUBLISHERS WEEKLY REVIEW on the Amazon.com page for this book. It blatantly gives away plot points that are merely hinted at in this first novel of four. Part of the fun of reading science fiction of this order is the slow reveal of greater concepts. Thank you for ruining this for me in the first sentence of the review.
Second: This book feeds directly into my current internal conflict between genre vs. literary fiction. An epic post (there's that word again) will soon reveal itself on this site.
Third: While I enjoyed this book, I'd say a good third of the pages dwell on the protagonist's attempt to break into one particular house. That's way too much. It strangely reminded me of 7 pages in Beckett's Molloy where the protagonist tries to determine in which pockets to put his "sucking stones," in that I spent a lot of time reading something that could have probably been summed up in two sentences. In Beckett's case he is intentionally lampooning his reader, I think. Anyway, I hope for a little more character development in the next Long Sun book or at least a broader view of the world.
Fourth: This book demonstrates one of the major reasons I don't read more science fiction and/or fantasy: I can't stand getting involved in multi-book series. Which books do I read next? Does this series come before or after the Book of the New Sun series? What about the Book of the Short Sun series? Do I need to read those series before I read this series? And goodness forbid I start reading a series by a living author that is incomplete and then have to wait for years for him or her to publish the next book. Why can't SFF authors write self-contained novels (which Nightside the Long Sun is definitely not)?
I will get around to creating an MS Paint version of Gene Wolfe's head with a future book.
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Like The Literary Conference, How I Became a Nun features a protagonist named César Aira. In this case, the fictional César Aira is a six-year old child of nebulous (or, really, of shifting) gender.
This novel is clearly fictional, though at least the critical opening event makes some reference to an actual wave of cyanide poisonings that occurred in Latin America in the 1950's. But a very intriguing discrepancy in the novel's description materializes between the publishers notes and the Publishers Weekly review.
The publisher's notes refer to the novel as:
...César Aira's astounding "autobiographical" novel.
The Publishers Weekly review (at least as quoted on numerous book seller sites) refers to the novel as:
...this slim autobiographical novel.
Did Publishers Weekly misread the sarcasm quotes employed by the publisher and misinterpret this as an actual autobiographical novel? Did Publishers Weekly misunderstand the significance of quotation marks? Even if some of the events in the novel did happen to Cesar Aira it is clearly NOT an autobiography.
(Other note: This also calls into question the reality of the 1950's cyanide poisonings because my only proof that such a thing occurred comes from the Publishers Weekly review. To be fair, the possibility also exists that Publishers Weekly included the quoted word and at some point everyone else dropped the modifying marks.)
I'm not quite sure I understand the title and I'm not quite sure I understand the multi-sided gender perspective, but I love it all. The theme seems to be a blending of reality and fantasy, though I don't yet have an overall "theory of the novel" in the same way I did for his last one. The book (also like The Literary Conference) is short--only 115 pages--and can be consumed easily in one long sitting, especially if you have to sit in a large room waiting for a jury duty assignment.
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A "friend" pointed out that their full-throttle Kindle push results from the fact that this is a fight for their life in the eBook land-grab. They have to get as large a percent of the market as possible for the Kindle format, otherwise Amazon's core business of Books will gradually be eaten up by Apple and other eBook retailers (just as their other core business of DVD sales is gradually getting eaten by iTunes).
My "friend" has a point. With several competing eReaders out there pushing proprietary formats, Amazon has to gobble up as much of the market as possible. Unlike Sony or Apple, Amazon risks not only losing out on future eBook revenue, but as buyers move to electronic versions the company also risks losing their traditional revenue from physical book sales.
I still blame Amazon, however. Why? Because it's Amazon who has made this a winner-take-all landscape in the first place.
By making their eBook format proprietary to the Kindle, Amazon announced there would be one eBook reader and one only. Instead of selling eBooks to everyone, Amazon sells eBooks exclusively for Kindle readers. As others follow Amazon's lead, it means when a consumer buys a competing product Amazon can no longer sell books to that consumer. So if Amazon loses your Kindle business, they lose your future book business too.
(There are exceptions, of course. A Kindle app exists for the iPad and the iPhone, but that's only the case as long as Apple allows it. There's no reason to suspect Apple won't reject the Kindle reader on their devices in the future.)
If instead Amazon had gone the alternate route and utilized an open standard for the Kindle eBook format, the current marketplace would be very different. Amazon could have helped direct the entire eBook market towards such open standards... other emerging devices would have felt pressure to conform (though I doubt anything would have encouraged Apple to take an open-format approach). In this version of the world, even if the Kindle failed to become the long-term leader in the space, Amazon could continue selling eBooks to consumers of other eBook Readers.
To be fair, this would be much less lucrative and Amazon would have much less power. It's easy for publishers to distribute their own eBooks when no physical object needs to be constructed, warehoused, and shipped. Amazon would have to rely on its status as a trusted aggregator of reviews, recommendations, and trends to continue to draw customers. But this trusted position is exactly what Amazon has sacrificed.
Amazon deserves credit for giving the eBook market traction. The Sony eReader had been around for a while and it did take an open standards approach. But did anyone take eBooks seriously before the Kindle?
The interesting thing is that with digital music Amazon was the second mover and they took the opposite side of this issue. Apple sold iPod-proprietary music with tight DRM; Amazon pushed the market for change by selling DRM-free MP3 files instead. I'm not too worked up about the Kindle because eventually the same thing will happen with eBooks. In the meantime, unfortunately (and unlike music), there are no easy tricks to take a proprietary eBook and convert it to an open standard--at least none I know.
In summary: I agree Amazon is fighting to preserve its core business as books shift to a new medium. But I also think it is largely BECAUSE of Amazon that this new medium is an all-or-nothing game.
