Reviews from the past
Nine Stories - J. D. Salinger
I first read this collection in my teens. Fifty years later it still seems freshly-minted. Salinger arrived on the scene as a unique talent. Inventive, funny, entertaining – and always aware that a story should have a higher purpose. My two favorites (this time around) are “The Laughing Man” and “Pretty Mouth and Green My Eyes.” The first shows Salinger’s skill at entering the mind of a boy; the higher purpose is the boy’s initiation into the dark and painful complexities of adult love. “Pretty Mouth and Green My Eyes” is a tale of adultery – its effect on the victim – presented in an indirect way (Salinger tended to approach things from a odd angle, which is part of the originality of his work). The story consists mainly of a telephone conversation (another Salinger strength was convincing, lively dialogue); the conversation ends, but the man calls back – and we’re given an emotional coup de grace. The two least successful pieces show Salinger’s weaknesses. Too often he tried to get cute, and when it doesn’t come off it falls embarrassingly flat. In “For Esme – with Love and Squalor” he gets cute with the too precious Esme and her brother (thrown in for comic relief, unsuccessfully). The worst story is “Teddy,” and it displays a tendency that would ruin Salinger’s writing. There’s being meaningful (a virtue) and there’s being profound (a mistake). The precociously intelligent, spiritually advanced, prophetic little Teddy isn’t real or likable (in fact, he comes across as a windbag). Still – there’s much more of the good Salinger than the bad, which makes this a remarkable debut collection. *
Nine Stories - J. D. Salinger
I first read this collection in my teens. Fifty years later it still seems freshly-minted. Salinger arrived on the scene as a unique talent. Inventive, funny, entertaining – and always aware that a story should have a higher purpose. My two favorites (this time around) are “The Laughing Man” and “Pretty Mouth and Green My Eyes.” The first shows Salinger’s skill at entering the mind of a boy; the higher purpose is the boy’s initiation into the dark and painful complexities of adult love. “Pretty Mouth and Green My Eyes” is a tale of adultery – its effect on the victim – presented in an indirect way (Salinger tended to approach things from a odd angle, which is part of the originality of his work). The story consists mainly of a telephone conversation (another Salinger strength was convincing, lively dialogue); the conversation ends, but the man calls back – and we’re given an emotional coup de grace. The two least successful pieces show Salinger’s weaknesses. Too often he tried to get cute, and when it doesn’t come off it falls embarrassingly flat. In “For Esme – with Love and Squalor” he gets cute with the too precious Esme and her brother (thrown in for comic relief, unsuccessfully). The worst story is “Teddy,” and it displays a tendency that would ruin Salinger’s writing. There’s being meaningful (a virtue) and there’s being profound (a mistake). The precociously intelligent, spiritually advanced, prophetic little Teddy isn’t real or likable (in fact, he comes across as a windbag). Still – there’s much more of the good Salinger than the bad, which makes this a remarkable debut collection. *
Go Down, Moses - William Faulkner
Faulkner and I have officially parted company. I hold three of his novels in high esteem – Light in August, The Sound and the Fury and Sanctuary – but I won’t be attempting Absalom, Absalom or anything else by him. “Was” (and why would a story have such a title?) is, with its clothes off, merely a juvenile comedy that falls flat. I had to take its clothes off because Faulkner buries the characters, their situations and the setting in bombast. He works at an intensity level that’s set far too high, and his convoluted prose creates a density that’s almost impenetrable. After abandoning “Was” I turned to “The Bear.” Better, if you place primary value on atmospherics. But that aspect hinders any momentum in the plot, and the slow going had me constantly looking to see how much I had left to read (and it was always more than I hoped for). I finally decided that life is too short to bother with a self-indulgent author who turned what should be pleasurable into a task. With relief and no regrets I put the book aside. (2 other books by this author are reviewed)
On my Tapping on the Wall blog the essay Density in Fiction is relevant to Faulkner’s work.
Faulkner and I have officially parted company. I hold three of his novels in high esteem – Light in August, The Sound and the Fury and Sanctuary – but I won’t be attempting Absalom, Absalom or anything else by him. “Was” (and why would a story have such a title?) is, with its clothes off, merely a juvenile comedy that falls flat. I had to take its clothes off because Faulkner buries the characters, their situations and the setting in bombast. He works at an intensity level that’s set far too high, and his convoluted prose creates a density that’s almost impenetrable. After abandoning “Was” I turned to “The Bear.” Better, if you place primary value on atmospherics. But that aspect hinders any momentum in the plot, and the slow going had me constantly looking to see how much I had left to read (and it was always more than I hoped for). I finally decided that life is too short to bother with a self-indulgent author who turned what should be pleasurable into a task. With relief and no regrets I put the book aside. (2 other books by this author are reviewed)
On my Tapping on the Wall blog the essay Density in Fiction is relevant to Faulkner’s work.
The Octopus - Frank Norris
This is the first of a trilogy, and it’s clear that Frank Norris set his sights high. Taking on a theme of social importance, he used an enormous canvas and filled it with a large and varied cast of characters. Scenes such as the barn dance are teeming, sweeping panoramas. The prose, though it’s engaging and moves smoothly, is crude, as if hammered out at breakneck speed by a skilled carpenter (as opposed to a literary work composed by an stylist). At times the emotions come across as maudlin. Vanamee, with his mysticism, is a tricky character. Yet it all works. The crudity is a virtue – the novel’s sense of being hammered out in haste gives it momentum. The maudlin quality is acceptable because the emotions depicted are true; we care about the death of Mrs. Hooven and her daughter because the author makes us understand them and their plight. Vanamee’s spirituality is necessary to lift us above the harsh realities that fill most of the novel. What can be overlooked is Norris’s subtlety and intelligence. He doesn’t work in black and white; although greed, in the form of the railroad, is the octopus grasping with all its tentacles, the ranchers don’t wear halos. While reading this novel I was often moved and surprised (most notably by the transformation of Annixter – a great character). The complex, shifting world that Norris created is anchored by simple truths – he placed primary value on love and compassion. The Octopus is a major achievement in American literature. * (1)
This is the first of a trilogy, and it’s clear that Frank Norris set his sights high. Taking on a theme of social importance, he used an enormous canvas and filled it with a large and varied cast of characters. Scenes such as the barn dance are teeming, sweeping panoramas. The prose, though it’s engaging and moves smoothly, is crude, as if hammered out at breakneck speed by a skilled carpenter (as opposed to a literary work composed by an stylist). At times the emotions come across as maudlin. Vanamee, with his mysticism, is a tricky character. Yet it all works. The crudity is a virtue – the novel’s sense of being hammered out in haste gives it momentum. The maudlin quality is acceptable because the emotions depicted are true; we care about the death of Mrs. Hooven and her daughter because the author makes us understand them and their plight. Vanamee’s spirituality is necessary to lift us above the harsh realities that fill most of the novel. What can be overlooked is Norris’s subtlety and intelligence. He doesn’t work in black and white; although greed, in the form of the railroad, is the octopus grasping with all its tentacles, the ranchers don’t wear halos. While reading this novel I was often moved and surprised (most notably by the transformation of Annixter – a great character). The complex, shifting world that Norris created is anchored by simple truths – he placed primary value on love and compassion. The Octopus is a major achievement in American literature. * (1)
Bleak House - Charles Dickens
Yes, Dickens was a genius. His creative abilities were prodigious. Despite that, I quit this book at page 460. I gave it plenty of time to engage me, but it wasn’t happening. Part of the problem was that I felt bogged down. Dickens over-describes everything. Nobody’s appearance, no encounter, no interior of a room is short-changed. He spreads it all out before us. I also had trouble following the convoluted plot and the huge cast of characters. Most crucial, I didn’t believe in these characters. The ones I was supposed to sympathize with are too, too good. Some human flaws, please! And some restraint. Dickens hits you over the head with emotions; they gush out (as do the tears) to the extent that mawkishness sets in. At his worst, Dickens can be sickly sweet. His excessiveness dates his work; he belongs in Victorian times, when all the aspects that I find alienating were valued.
Yes, Dickens was a genius. His creative abilities were prodigious. Despite that, I quit this book at page 460. I gave it plenty of time to engage me, but it wasn’t happening. Part of the problem was that I felt bogged down. Dickens over-describes everything. Nobody’s appearance, no encounter, no interior of a room is short-changed. He spreads it all out before us. I also had trouble following the convoluted plot and the huge cast of characters. Most crucial, I didn’t believe in these characters. The ones I was supposed to sympathize with are too, too good. Some human flaws, please! And some restraint. Dickens hits you over the head with emotions; they gush out (as do the tears) to the extent that mawkishness sets in. At his worst, Dickens can be sickly sweet. His excessiveness dates his work; he belongs in Victorian times, when all the aspects that I find alienating were valued.
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