Hello, Midge? You there?

Hell you been?
Here, just busy.
You still readin'?
Yessir.
You going to post somethin' soon?
Yessir, just finishing two books right now.
Good. What's the hold up?
Just got a recession busting job and I been busy, thass all. Not going to let the whole thing slip just yet.
Good. You let me know.
Yessir.

The Midge has been floating in the fray and reading as much as possible, but a new gig that runs in the evenings coupled with a few trips out of town has made finishing Jazz and The Crossing quite a feat. I had to stop in and let my millions of fans know that I will be posting both novel reviews as soon as possible and I am not going to let the Midget die so soon. Happy V Day and Happy Black history month....be on the lookout for new posts, thanks.

1984: George Orwell

Finally. Now I know what all the talk is about. Big Brother is so much more than let on by the cheap uses by politicians and news media swine. The power of this novel is truly undeniable. It is the most translated novel period according to John Rodden's The Politics of Literary Reputation, with translations in sixty-five languages. The uses of other terms from the book beyond Big Brother including: doublethink, thoughtcrime, and ultimately Orwellian, the term based on the totalitarianism written about by Orwell in both this novel and Animal Farm (which I did read in high-school) and is in the Oxford Dictionary, say it all on this topic. Period. Therefore, I will stick to the story and my personal review and feelings of it. From the jump, Orwell brilliantly takes the reader into the "future" and makes them feel the oppression of The Party. I found it extremely hard to endure the second half of this book because I dearly and enthusiastically wanted Winston to somehow overcome the impossible odds. The diary represents a certain freedom and even the space in Mr. Smith's apartment where the tele screen can't see him is special. His paranoia and desire to thwart the powers that be are so easy to immediately identify with and Orwell masterfully puts the reader inside Winston's troubled head. These atrocities which are so precisely executed by The Inner Party and so easily swallowed by the members of The Outer Party enrage the mind of the 20th and 21st century reader. Certainly, the American reader with his strong ideals and beliefs in the power of freedom and each individuals god given right to be free. By the time that things are starting to look up and Julia enters the picture one finds himself elated at the prospects of what will come in books two and three. When the two characters finally flee the eyes and ears of Big Brother and meet at Julia's hiding place in the forrest to make love it is a thing of beauty. Even Winston's declaration that the more she'd done it and the higher number of partners the more it turned him on due to the power of numbers against The Party and that the act was solely to go against The Party- the hatred of which bred all of his lust- could not ruin the heat in Orwell's love scene. Fiery and passionless lust the very description of which is an act of doublethink. Oh, but how far your feeble joys will fall, dear reader. Mr. Orwell will soon show you that Winston was right all along and knew his own fate. Even that of Mr. Syme. The only surprise would turn out to be that Parsons would find himself among the ranks of the thoughtcriminals as well. And to my dismay Mr. Orwell will illuminate that before we even met Winston his fate was already laid before his feet. That the very diary he'd purchased a few weeks before the first page  had already incriminated him if his own face had not betrayed him to the telescreen long before. Or perhaps some small whimper in the night through dream. Oh, but the rabbit hole goes much farther than that...This book is certainly a must read and it's place in history is solidified it's line on every literary list saved. The books of January are now closed and on to February the midget must trudge. Thanks.

You can read 1984 online for free.... George Orwell's 1984

John Krakauer: Into the Wild

January was the month of McCarthy and Krakauer for the Midget. Two works hailed as classics and claimed by many scholars and buffs to be "must reads" were also completed and enjoyed. They being Henry Miller's Tropic of Cancer, an unforgettable piece, and the next articles focus, 1984. Every book read in this first month of the project was one that was on my mind for a long time and felt extremely good to slowly start, become entangled in, and ultimately discover what all the fuss was about. I was not let down in any manner. This second Krakauer report was actually well known to me long before I'd ever heard of Into Thin Air. I vaguely remembered being struck by the news of the Everest disaster in 1996 when it was all over the media for a quick minute, but that's about it. Into the Wild, however, is one that I remember seeing in the homes of a lot of people of different ages over the years since it was first published. Friend's and their older brothers or parents, aunts and uncles, many people, seemed to hold the book in the highest esteem and sternly bade me to read it every time I inquired. Once. I even picked it up maybe 10 years ago and read the first chapter. I was convinced I would go purchase and read it based on how enraptured I was by the opening description of Chris McCandless' end. Didn't happen. When the movie was under production I was again reminded of this story from my uncle who had read the book when it first came out and felt a close connection to McCandless. As a former crazy Tahoe youth and daredevil downhill skier and mountain adventurer my uncle Patrick easily took the book to heart and probably relived many close calls from his early twenties. He became even more involved with the prospects of the movie when he found out that Sean Penn had contacted out dear family friend and best friend of Patrick's, Jerry Hannan, to write a song for the soundtrack. Jerry, who often plays Irish folk tunes and his own brand of gritty California folk and Americana at our family parties ended up working in the studio with Eddie Vedder to record his song "Society," which was featured in the movie and considered for an Academy award. (note: Jerry told me that Vedder was an extremely nice guy and actually was the one who fought hard and eventually put his foot down when the production company tried to fuck Jerry out of his copyrights and thus residual pay for "Society.") So, having the soundtrack and having seen the movie long ago I finally set out to read this book and fill in all of the blanks in the story. It was tough to read at some points. I will once again admit that I cried at least once while reading this second Krakauer book (what will happen if I decide to go get his newest book on Pat Tillman?) These tragedies are true and extremely well reported and descriptively told and therefore beyond difficult to swallow. Did I feel any personal connection? Well, I admittedly once tried to hit the road at 17 during my freshmen year in college after reading On The Road. I caught a Greyhound to Chico and I can remember more than anything the feeling of flying and freedom that welled up inside after I had purchased the ticket and was happily eating a bagel and flipping through vinyl in downtown Santa Cruz. I figured I would head up to Chico and work in a restaurant for a few weeks of months then take my cash and hit the road down to Arizona to stay with my brothers. I had this ridiculous idea that I could just bounce from college town to college town and stay with kids I knew from home or else find new friends and eventually make it out to the east coast for a while. Didn't happen. I didn't even make it a day. I didn't have the talent or skills of Chris McCandless and I certainly hadn't been out alone on the road before or to the east coast at all nor did I have a real plan. I broke into and slept in the house of some friends who were out partying and drunkenly saw me sleeping on their couch when they stumbled in a 3am and then I rose in the morning before anyone was awake to return to the bus station and ride down to Oakland where I called my mom and was picked up and taken home with my tail up my ass. Does this and other small and silly adventures make me feel a real connection with Chris? Only in a very small way. A wistful kind of connection to the human spirit and the spirit of a young man maybe, but I would never compare any crazy stunts I pulled to what McCandless was capable of and actually did. Sure, I like many young men felt at times that I was indestructible and risked my health and life for adrenaline and cheap thrills, but he was a brilliant young mind who ventured way farther out on the ledge and the seemingly small mistakes that were enough to end his life are extremely saddening. Sometimes the world just cant handle a young person like Chris. They are so full of life and touch so many people and experience so much that nature, or god just decides they've done enough. It's sad and it always seems to be the most special breed of person, but Chris McCandless remains immortal in the spirit of youth, adventure, and American excitement. Rest in Peace.

Cormac McCarthy: All the Pretty Horses

 

Well here we are at the end of the day on January 31st and the Midget is hurting to finish his goal already. I finished the first installment of "The Border Trilogy," entitled All the Pretty Horses a few days back, but haven't written the article just yet and am now struggling to finish both Into the Wild and 1984 at the same time. Since I am over half way through both of these books I feel pretty good about the project so far and I intend to stay up until I finish Into the Wild tonight. Meanwhile, I really enjoyed All the Pretty Horses. (note: I realize that writing a bunch of positive reviews for books that have already earned critical acclaim is kind of pointless and redundant, but a big part of the project is to read up on standards of cultural literacy including books that "everyone" read in high-school, etc. So...it is bound to happen) At first, I was really enjoying the slow pace of this book, but then it kind of took off on me. I was lulled by McCarthy, but perfectly happy with the vivid descriptions of the terrain and horses and his use of language among the characters, which has all of the Texas courtesy and drawl one might expect, but also the humble, yet remarkable intelligence he bestows upon these seemingly simple folk. McCarthy seems to delight in reminding "city folk" that farmers and country dwellers are still capable of intellect that is equal if not superior to their own. I was happily feeling nostalgia for my youthful trips to visit my father in northern Montana and the many lessons on the majesty of horses taught by my step mother. Then, the next thing I knew, John Grady and was in an all-out western thrill-ride easily worthy of Clint Eastwood's direction. It is certainly closer to No Country for Old Men then it is to The Road, which I say after only having seen the movie in the case of No Country, but...I did read up on the movie before it came out including an interview with McCarthy and the Coen brothers (supposedly a very rare one at that since McCarthy is extremely apprehensive around the media and known to many as a full-blown recluse). Therefore, since they actually worked together with Mr. McCarthy and reportedly jumped through a few hoops to make him happy, I am going to make an ass out of you and me and stake this claim based solely on the picture. I plan to read the rest of the trilogy and maybe even waste a few hours on the Billy Bob Thornton adaption for the screen, but for now I have the intention of reading some African American authors for Black History Month. The pile has already accumulated Lush Life: The Biography of Billy Strayhorn and Jazz by Toni Morrison...stay tuned.

Jon Krakauer: Into Thin Air

This is a dark and gripping tale. Krakauer joins my list of painfully honest, favorite authors. I picked up Into the Wild about half way through this book feeling that I must actually read it and that having seen the movie just wouldn't suffice (Especially not within the contexts of these proceedings). This is the first book that caused me to cry in the project. When everyone is radioing to guide Rob Hall, one of the most celebrated and accomplished mountaineers and guides in Mt. Everest climbing history, and he is confused about whether or not he is willing or able to try and descend from the south summit. They keep imploring him to descend and Hall keeps deciding to do it, only to change his mind. Several times they even think he has finally mustered the strength and begun, but he then returns to the airwaves ten or so minutes later once again convinced he doesn't have the legs. Then he eventually speaks to his wife, Jan Arnold, via satellite phone. Hall tells her that he loves her and to "Sleep well my darling. Please don't worry too much," the last words anyone ever heard him say. There is so much tragedy in this story and the most difficult parts to read and ultimately swallow are when the adventurers have to make critical decisions about whether or not other climbers are savable or lost causes. Krakauer is truly brutally honest in his retelling. He Admits mistakes that may have jeopordized or even cost the lives of teammates including the announcement of having seen guide Andy Harris near camp IV and the Lhotse face hours previous, and therefore falsely presuming him dead and halting further rescue attempts. Only later during a phone interview with Martin Adams did Krakauer realize that the whole incident he remembered involving Harris was actually between himself and Adams, who incidentally hadn't remebered it being Krakauer he'd spoken to, either. The celebrated and controversial author also includes some of the painful letters received by Outside after his initial article was published including an angry and heartfelt letter from the wife of the late Scott Fisher,  Jean Price. In this reaction to Krakauer's article Price attacks the journalist's judgements and criticisms of other members and guides involved in the excursion, which she validly argues are mere speculations and further claims that Krakauer's writings will not quiet his restless conscious or bring him any peace. Tough stuff to hear and certainly immensly saddening for each to read the other's words. Reading this tragic tale amidst the biggest storm to hit Southern California in years complete with tornados????What?????? 80 mile per hour winds and 20 foot waves has definitely been an eerie experience I will not soon forget. 

Henry Miller: Tropic of Cancer

Such a fun read. The parallels to Kerouac and the realization of why Miller was such a big hero of Jack's was so immediately obvious. What a light-bulb. The zest for life, the splurge of ideas, ramblings, the seemingly effortless insightful observations, the ability to use the trashiest and most vulgar language and then turn around and use the highest levels of prose and poetry and Francais. To flow in and out of these different forms of language fluently and keep the reader on his/her toes and in my case ripping through Webster's and clicking through google to look up the French phrases. Augh. So good. A pilgrimage up the coast to Big Sur to Miller's library is inevitable. I feel that it is a must for this project, which has already brought so much joy in just 18 days. This novel and the reactions and the history...the banning in multiple countries for obvious reasons...I mean, 1934...damn...the balls on this kid....the sale of the original manuscript for $165,000 in February of 1986...the praise from not only critics and fans, but the most elite of his contemporaries...the legions of younger followers and aspiring American authors. It is liberating as a young aspiring author of even something as trite as these blogs and my leather bound diary full of poems, songs, reflections, ideas- to read people from farther and farther back in history and to put their works in their own contemporary contexts and to relate to their boiling American blood and open language and brutal, painful honesty. They are so easy to relate to and then bango! They floor you with something brilliant like Miller's sudden description of Whitman in the middle of the end:

"...He was the Poet of the Body and the Soul, Whitman. The first and the last poet. He is almost undecipherable today, a monument covered with rude hieroglyphs for which there is no key. It seems strange almost to mention his name over here. There is no equivalent in the languages of Europe for the spirit which he immortalized. Europe is saturated with art and her soil is full of dead treasures, but what Europe has never had is a free, healthy spirit, what you might call a MAN. Goethe was the nearest approach, but Goethe was a stuffed shirt, by comparison..."

 This is the kind of gold that lurks between the covers of Tropic and rewards the reader like a slap in the face to calm hysteria. I was quick to realize that it is insanely daunting to write about these masters, but it is these same masters who urge me on from within my own head. Rest in peace dear pioneers of the page, and thank you.

The Road (Film)

Ok...so this goes against the description of my blog. "What a hypocrite." Whatever. Save it. At least you know I'm a human and not some cyborg toolkit reading these books with my eyes closed and my mind off. "Wait, Isn't that the whole idea? To read rather than turning one's mind off and staring?" Get over it non-existent reader who I am quoting, shit. Yeah, so in this case I went to the pictures and I sat and stared at the screen to see what Viggo Mortensen and John Hilcot did to this book. It seemed reasonable. I and many others have thoroughly enjoyed...or at least suffered through this story and ended up humbled and truly grateful to the author. I have to say that it was actually a pretty damn good movie. There were some issues here and there and I think I may have directed Viggo differently, but in the end, his even keel and quiet reflection made for a solid portrayal of "The man." The things that bothered me for a minute faded away because of his consistency and I was soon able to accept his mild manner and soft tone as a reasonable interpretation of McCarthy's character. "The man," was obviously tormented by some unimaginable demons and was slowly being worn down to the bone. If you didn't read the book then this movie is definitely worth seeing (it will be a rental before long because its' already out of most theaters) and if you did then give it a shot. If you usually try to separate the movie from the book as I do then you might just find that it isn't so hard to do in this case and that despite some minor details, sequencing, and very minor omissions, they are quite close. ONE thing did bother me at the end. Something so small as a location completely glazes over the resolve and sheer balls displayed by the child in the novel. However, I don't wish to spoil anything if someone actually stumbles upon this drop of water in the ocean of blogs so please comment if you care to discuss this matter...ye lost and wandering soul with time to kill.....