Category: Book Reviews
The Poems of Dylan Thomas
The Poems of Dylan Thomas, edited by Daniel Jones, 2/5
Dylan Thomas has opened my eyes to the subtleties inherent to the act of reading. For example, I used to think that I enjoyed reading. I now know better–what I actually enjoy is understanding what I read. Things I would enjoy reading more than the poems of Dylan Thomas include bathroom graffiti, YouTube comments, Wikipedia citations, heck, even dictionaries (complete ones–not any that Thomas has already mangled with scissors and glue, in search of inspiration).
I would have saved myself a lot of boredom and frustration had I only read the end notes first, where Jones excretes this particularly repellent drivel on the topic of Thomas’ notoriously indecipherable poem “Altarwise by owl-light”:
…the poem, in spite of its length, sustains a single metaphor, and it would be vain to seek in it logic, narration or message in the usual sense of these words, though they are all present metaphorically. Comprehension here is irrelevant, and to ‘translate’ the poetry into other words, to ‘interpret’ it in other thoughts, would be like straightening out the contours of a drawing and demonstrating its significance by measuring the result in inches (263).
I’ll tell you what else is present (and not metaphorically either)–bullshit. Now, I don’t go around art galleries with a tape measure, but after reading straight through 191 of Thomas’ poems, I’d be more than willing to demonstrate the significance of his drinking problem by calculating the number of beers he must have drunk in order to compose such intoxicated, nonsensical ramblings.
Don’t believe me? Please review Exhibit A–two 10-line excerpts from the book:
Excerpt 1
Because the pleasure-bird whistles after the hot wires,
Shall the blind horse sing sweeter?
Convenient bird and beast lie lodged to suffer
The supper and knives of a mood.
In the sniffed and poured snow on the tip of the tongue of the year
That clouts the spittle like bubbles with broken rooms,
An enamoured man alone by the twigs of his eyes, two fires,
Camped in the drug-white shower of nerves and food,
Savours the lick of the times through a deadly wood of hair
In a wind that plucked a goose…
Excerpt 2
His striped and noon maned tribe striding to holocaust,
Always good luck, praised the finned in the feather,
Grave men, near death who see with blinding sight
And the hewn coils of his trade perceives
Too proud to die, broken and blind he died.
And the gestures of unageing love
Flower, flower the people’s fusion,
And tells the page the empty ill.
There can be few tears left: Electra wept
Believe, believe and be saved, we cry, who have no faith…
One of these excerpts is from a single poem, the other is comprised of ten lines, drawn at random from ten different poems (with the ending punctuation changed on a few of the lines for “flow”). I’ll tell you which is which at the end of this post, just in case you wish to go back and give all that lovely metaphorical logic, narration and message another read-through before making your guess.
After two weeks of slogging, word by painful word, through the morass that is Thomas’ oeuvre, I feel entitled to rage, rage against the dying of my brain cells. However, I do realise that I am constitutionally unsuited to enjoy modern poetry. It took ten years for me to learn to appreciate unrhymed poetry and five more years to learn to enjoy some of it. Small wonder that I found little to like in this collection. The reason I did not give this book my lowest rating is because of my own aforementioned shortcomings with regard to modern poetry, the fact that I didn’t understand most of the book (so it’s difficult to give a reasoned opinion of it) and most importantly, that I did come across a few genuinely beautiful poems and ideas, glittering like gems amongst the ravings.
[Why I read it: since I am teaching myself Welsh and hope to visit Wales next year, I kept coming across references in my reading to Thomas, Wales’ most famous and celebrated poet.]
By the way, the first excerpt is unaltered, the second excerpt is random. Did you figure it out on your own? Leave a comment!
I thought this quote from Thomas’ short poem “The Clown in the Moon” admirably suited this photograph I took a few years ago.
Another quote set to one of my photographs, this time from the poem “Out of a War of Wits.”
Quote from “Youth Calls to Age.” Photo taken at Cape Flattery.
From “The Ploughman’s Gone.”
From the unimaginatively-titled “Poem.”
From “Being But Men.”
The Dip
The Dip: A Little Book That Teaches You When to Quit (And When to Stick) by Seth Godin, 4/5
There’s no “I” in “Quitter,” my family has often joked…but according to Godin, there is and often should be. In this delightfully short book (which, at <80 pages, is the size most popular self-help books would be if they cut the B.S.), Godin makes a compelling case for the use of strategic quitting in the pursuit of the ambitious goal to be the “best in the world” at something. Godin advocates setting high goals, specialising rather than diversifying, persevering through the difficulties that weed out the competition (the Dip), and quitting dead-end/mediocre pursuits in order to avoid living the “sunk cost fallacy,” while freeing up resources for more successful endeavors. All this advice is little more than common sense applied with guts and the book does not pretend to provide some grand, fool-proof philosophy to get rich quick. Instead, it gives a little motivation and encouragement, while stimulating a thoughtful, courageous approach to business and career decisions.
[Why I read it: I think I came across it online or something…I can’t really remember. Anyway, the title caught my eye because I’ve always wondered if my aversion to quitting (and even aversion to starting things that I might be forced to quit at some point) limits my potential or is in fact a healthy approach to challenges. Godin has this to say on the subject: “Simple: If you can’t make it through the Dip, don’t start” (32), but I suspect that at that point, he’s writing more to serial quitters than to potentially over-cautious people. So the book was not completely conclusive on the subject, though it still definitely has something to offer both types of people.]
The Best Tales of Hoffmann
The Best Tales of Hoffmann by E.T.A. Hoffmann, 1/5
I found these rambling tales to be deeply boring and written in an off-putting, affected style. The first story, “The Golden Flower Pot,” (vaunted by the editor as Hoffmann’s best work) absolutely reeks of opium, full as it is of confusing dream sequences, hallucinations, inconsistent use of supernatural elements, and such oddities as a salamander exiled from “Fairyland Atlantis” to earth, in the form of an old man with daughters disguised as talking snakes. All that, but somehow, still boring and pointless.
Each successive story disenchanted me anew and it was toilsome work to get through the entire book. The only story I didn’t actively loathe was “Tobias Martin, Master Cooper, and His Men,” which is a sweet little tale whose lack of any real payoff or point is forgivable, given that it was inspired simply by a painting.
[Why I read it: the author’s name caught my eye as I browsed through books in the thrift store because, as a child, I had played a piano transcription of part of an opera called The Tales of Hoffmann, and I recognised his name from the song description.]
Twelfth Night
Twelfth Night by William Shakespeare, 5/5
This lighthearted and unrelentingly witty play is similar to As You Like It and A Midsummer’s Night Dream, but is my favourite of the three. While I find it distracting to see the modern version of the text side-by-side with the original, in this case, it really helped me to understand a lot of humour that would otherwise have gone right over my head.
[Why I read it: part of the aforementioned long-term mission to read everything by Shakespeare. I picked this copy up from the thriftstore.]
Tristram Shandy & A Sentimental Journey
The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman and A Sentimental Journey Through France and Italy by Laurence Sterne, 2/5
With its unconventionally rambling narrative and unsubtle innuendos, I am not surprised that this book created quite a stir in the 1700s. However, stripped of its shock value by modern times, Tristram Shandy seems to me little more than the idle fantasies of a bored and not especially talented hobby writer. There are a few quality passages (especially those involving the Widow Wadman) but overall I get the distinct feeling that Sterne just wrote whatever drivel came into his head and, if he had lived in modern times, would probably have been too busy re-watching old episodes of Lost to write at all.
[Why I read it: I’ve been meaning to read it for years, since first seeing it mentioned in C.S. Lewis’s Surprised by Joy:
For eating and reading are two pleasures that combine admirably. Of course not all books are suitable for mealtime reading. It would be a kind of blasphemy to read poetry at table. What one wants is a gossipy, formless book which can be opened anywhere. The ones I learned so to use at Bookham were Boswell, and a translation of Herodetus, and Lang’s History of English Literature. Tristram Shandy, Elia and the Anatomy of Melancholy are all good for the same purpose (142).
Also, many actors I like are in the movie version of the book, so I recently watched it, which led to my customary feelings of obligation to read the book (and feelings of guilt for not having read the book first).]
Knots and Crosses
Knots and Crosses: An Inspector Rebus Novel by Ian Rankin, 2/5
This has about the same depth, complexity and uniqueness as the plot of an average episode of any old crime TV show. The story unfolds in a way that leaves the reader as clueless throughout as the main character seems to be and the ending feels rushed, with no real payoff. The most interesting part of the book was multiple appearances of the unusual word “outwith,” which is Scottish for “outside” or “beyond.”
[Why I read it: I enjoyed the first season of Rebus (a TV show based on Rankin’s literary character) but the show did a complete cast reboot for the second season and I didn’t like the new actors (or the new writers and director, for that matter) at all. While reading reviews, looking for some commiseration, I was surprised that several people liked the new series because they felt it was truer to the books’ portrayal of the character. Realising I was one of those annoying people who have an opinion on the movie but have never even read the book, I hastened to remedy the situation and was punished for my sins with the first novel, which so failed to inspire me to read any more books in the series that I can’t even imagine how it inspired a TV show.]
The Weight of Glory and Other Addresses
The Weight of Glory and Other Addresses by C.S. Lewis, 5/5
I half-expected C.S. Lewis’ intellectual style to be unsuited to the short-speech format, but was only slightly surprised to find that he is as brilliant a writer of sermons as a writer of books. Of the nine essays in this collection, I found “The Weight of Glory” to be the most challenging and “Is Theology Poetry?” the most encouraging, both addressing, to some extent, struggles I am currently experiencing.
My deepening distaste for humanity in general and aversion to interaction with humanity in particular made some parts of “The Weight of Glory” difficult to read and almost impossible to believe (though I have fewer reasons to doubt Lewis’ assertions than to trust them).
It may be possible for each to think too much of his own potential glory hereafter; it is hardly possible for him to think too often or too deeply about that of his neighbour. The load, or weight, or burden of my neighbour’s glory should be laid on my back, a load so heavy that only humility can carry it, and the backs of the proud will be broken. It is a serious thing to live in a society of possible gods and goddesses, to remember that the dullest and most uninteresting person you can talk to may one day be a creature which, if you say [saw?] it now, you would be strongly tempted to worship, or else a horror and a corruption such as you now meet, if at all, only in a nightmare. All day long we are, in some degree, helping each other to one or other of these destinations. It is in the light of these overwhelming possibilities, it is with the awe and the circumspection proper to them, that we should conduct all our dealings with one another, all friendships, all loves, all play, all politics. There are no ordinary people. You have never talked to a mere mortal. Nations, cultures, arts, civilisations – these are mortal, and their life is to ours as the life of a gnat. But it is immortals whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub, and exploit – immortal horrors or everlasting splendours (18).”
Luckily, Lewis can comfort as well as he convicts and I found the following excerpt (greatly weakened by the lack of supporting context) to be a welcome antidote to the noxious mélange of malaise and meaninglessness to which I have been lately putting up an admittedly feeble resistance:
If, on the other hand, I swallow the scientific cosmology as a whole, then not only can I not fit in Christianity, but I cannot even fit in science. If minds are wholly dependent on brains, and brains on biochemistry, and biochemistry (in the long run) on the meaningless flux of the atoms, I cannot understand how the thought of those minds should have any more significance than the sound of the wind in the trees. And this is to me the final test. This is how I distinguish dreaming and waking. When I am awake I can, in some degree, account for and study my dream. The dragon that pursued me last night can be fitted into my waking world. I know that there are such things as dreams; I know that I had eaten an indigestible dinner; I know that a man of my reading might be expected to dream of dragons. But while in the nightmare I could not have fitted in my waking experience. The waking world is judged more real because it can thus contain the dreaming world; the dreaming world is judged less real because it cannot contain the waking one. For the same reason I am certain that in passing from the scientific points of view to the theological, I have passed from dream to waking. Christian theology can fit in science, art, morality, and the sub-Christian religions. The scientific point of view cannot fit in any of these things, not even science itself. I believe in Christianity as I believe that the Sun has risen, not only because I see it, but because by it I see everything else (91).”
[Why I read it: it was given me as a birthday present and I am always eager to read anything nonfiction by C.S. Lewis.]
Forever Rumpole
Forever Rumpole: The Best of the Rumpole Stories by John Mortimer, 3/5
Rumpole, an irreverent, outspoken and devastatingly sarcastic barrister, specialising in criminal law, is the scourge of judges but the delight of juries (who he entertains) and the criminal classes (who he generally gets acquitted). The character is appealing, but I felt that the stories were lacking in complexity and substance. Also, it’s challenging to respect a character who is portrayed as having the reputation, amongst criminals, of a guaranteed procurer of “not guilty” verdicts. I’d rather read a story about the defence of an innocent, decent person than the defence of someone who’s only a petty thief and con-man and thus would never have committed the murder in question…
[Why I read it: I’ve been meaning to watch the TV show but just got around to the book first, thinking it sounded like fun.]
The Universe in a Nutshell
The Universe in a Nutshell by Stephen Hawking, 4/5
This book’s strengths and weaknesses balance very well with those of Hawking’s older work, A Brief History of Time, making this an excellent companion to the latter. Where A Brief History is old and short on illustrations, The Universe in a Nutshell is updated (2001) and illustrated in a style that can only be described as luxurious. Additional topics covered include a chapter on the future of biological and technological innovation, as well as a chapter on p-branes.
Despite these improvements, the layout of the new book feels uncomfortably disjointed for the subject matter – the meaty parts of the text are interrupted by large pictures, captions and info boxes. I actually prefer the drier, straightforward presentation of A Brief History. Additionally, I feel that many parts of this book are not as clearly communicated and I missed the tone of charming humility and open-mindedness that was evident in such abundance in the older version.
The illustrator’s website is definitely worth a look.
[Why I read it: I was looking for a more modern Hawking book with which to follow the aged A Brief History of Time.]
Kant and the Platypus
Kant and the Platypus: Essays on Language and Cognition by Umberto Eco, trans. from the Italian by Alastair McEwen, 1/5
I have had to quit books before. In fact, of the 185 books I’ve read over the last 26.5 months, I’ve quit four. This, however, is the first one I’ve had to abandon for the sole reason that it is simply too hard for me to understand. Not only did I fail to understand the concepts, I couldn’t even understand the words used to describe the concepts. My usual method of relying on context to understand the odd piece of unfamiliar vocabulary was useless in the face of incomprehensible context. Eco spouts Latin (all of which McEwen leaves untranslated) like he’s suffering from some strange, academic form of Tourette’s, while throwing around words like “infundibular” and “columbarium” with the airy abandon of someone who owns stock in dictionary.com. I made it to page 69. Oh, the disgrace…and the irony – that I should find a book on language and cognition to be unreadable.
[Why I [tried to] read it: saw it on an online list of must-read philosophy books, found the title intriguing and mistook the author for Italo Calvino.]
OmniRambles 