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Post by Captain Hygiene on Oct 25, 2009 16:43:51 GMT -5
#5 The Third Policeman (1967) Flann O'Brien I've had that in the back of my mind for a long time now, but I'm sold. Calli's stupid thread is piling on the books I need to read
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Post by callipygias on Oct 26, 2009 14:12:55 GMT -5
#4 Crime and Punishment (1866) Fyodor Dostoevsky An epileptic whose self-destructive addiction to gambling would keep him in poverty most of his life, Dostoevsky was born in 1821 to a violent, alcoholic father, became a literary success by his mid-twenties, and was arrested for sedition and sentenced to death in 1849. His execution was carried out in November. He and the other prisoners were marched in front of a firing squad in the freezing Russian winter where they waited to be shot to death. The authorities waited until the last possible moment to inform them their sentences had been commuted to four years hard labor in Siberia. Dostoevsky served his four years in an Omsk prison camp in beyond deplorable conditions, and when released was required to serve in the army, where he spent the next five years. Out of this came some of the greatest literature the world's ever seen. Statue of Dostoevsky in Omsk, Siberia. I mentioned that if I had a list of favorite characters, the judge, from Blood Meridian would be number three, Thomas Sutpen, from Absalom, Absalom! number one, and number two would be Rodion Romanovich Raskolnikov, from Crime and Punishment. At the center of all three is the idea of the active/passive man. The judge preaches it, Sutpen embodies it, and Raskolnikov--unfortunately for him--reflects on it obsessively. If there's one thing a "Napoleon" (as he calls the superman personality) doesn't do, it's reflect obsessively. At different times it seems like Raskolnikov is trying to either confirm his superiority or determine it, depending on his mood: does he have the innate strength and drive that allows great men to act according to their own code, unbound by society's, or is he a "louse," as he calls it -- the clay, rather than the builder? I avoided this book for a long time because of the title. I had it in my mind that C & P was an epic melodrama--a cross between War and Peace (in scope and themes) and Les Miserables (in plot)--and I'm rarely in the mood for melodrama. I couldn't have been more wrong if it had turned out to be a comic book. C & P is not the sweeping Russian epic with generations of characters and endlessly majestic landscapes and heroic revolutions I'd imagined, in fact it's the most oppressively claustrophobic thing I've ever read. Even time is affected by Raskolnikov's feverish, tormented mind--I was surprised to realize how little time passes in the novel. The story itself is very simple--almost one-tracked--it's about Raskolnikov: his thoughts, his desperation, his guilt. Everything hinges on the crime he commits, but I think if he hadn't done it--if he had only considered it and eventually backed out--C & P would be no less for it. It would still be the most astonishingly realistic characterization in all of literature. (I didn't use the word "realism" anywhere on my list hoping it would carry more weight when I got here, but it's so insufficient for what Dostoevsky does. He's so insightful he deserves his own genre.) Some argue his characters are too extreme for "realism," to which Dostoevsky himself said, "I am a realist in a higher sense; that is, I depict all depths of the human soul." Dostoevsky
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Post by Mighty Jack on Oct 27, 2009 5:08:10 GMT -5
Brilliant novel and you touch upon what makes it brilliant very well.
I think it's a very intimate, personal story, and because of that I feel it's important to understand who Dostoevsky was, how prison effected him, his feelings toward Eastern Orthodix Catholosism and how it defines him, or rather how he defined himself through it. He and Tolstoy were two sides of the same coin in this issue. Tolstoy seeking Heaven through tireless works and sacrffice, and Fydor knowing his own weakness and hoping for grace.
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Post by callipygias on Nov 1, 2009 15:53:34 GMT -5
#3 One Hundred Years of Solitude (1967) Gabriel Garcia Marquez After killing a man, Jose Arcadio Buendia and his wife, Ursula, leave for a new life, and in the South American jungle they create the innocent little paradise of Macondo, where the Buendias are gently haunted by the ghost of Jose Arcadio's victim, and by their incestuous relationship (Jose Arcadio and Ursula are first cousins). Incest pops up again and again in the Buendia line; generations are continually haunted by the threat of punishment in the form of a monstrous child born with a pig's tail. It's one of a thousand details that give Solitude its magical sense of dread. Its equally magical sense of humor is kept fresh by Garcia Marquez's ability to frequently surprise us with changes in tone and complete unpredictability: from Jose Arcadio(Jr.)'s return from abroad as a giant who had to enter doorways sideways and had flatulence potent enough to wither flowers on the spot, to Fernanda's incongruous concern for her favorite bed sheets when Remedios the Beauty, too lovely for earth, ascends into heaven while folding laundry (taking Fernanda's prized sheets with her), to the Banana Company's declaration it should rain in Macondo four years, eleven months, two days. So anyway, Jose Arcadio Buendia founds paradise. Enter Melquiades and his tribe of gypsies, who bring wonders to amaze the people of Macondo. The first line of the book: "Many years later, as he faced the firing squad, Colonel Aureliano Buendia was to remember that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover ice." Unlike most citizens, Jose Arcadio Buendia isn't satisfied with simply marveling at ice or false teeth or magnets, he wants to find practical technological applications for them, allowing Macondo entry into the scientific age. He is hopeless and solitary though, like all his line will be, and assuming he was ever sane, eventually goes mad. All the Buendia men start with noble intentions, all go wrong, and few seem to learn anything. Several of them, separated by generations, lock themselves away in solitude to try and decipher Melquiades' writings, which they believe hold the secrets to their world. Maybe the most fascinating Buendia is the melancholy Colonel Aureliano Buendia, who spends most of his adult life a liberal revolutionary. Eventually successful (despite never winning a battle), he at least learns the futility of human endeavor when he recognizes he's become no different than the conservatives he replaced, and he spends most of the rest of his life making little gold fish, which he then melts down in order to make more little gold fish. Time is confusing and unreal in Solitude, as are characters' names, which are repeated over and over, slightly modified, for six or seven generations. When life spans aren't subject to reality (Ursula lives to be 120, eventually shriveling to the size of a fetus) it makes it even more confusing. Multi-generational names and incest. Not surprisingly Garcia Marquez was heavily influenced by Faulkner. Gabriel Jose de la Concordia Garcia Marquez
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Post by callipygias on Nov 5, 2009 16:31:15 GMT -5
#2 The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman (1759-68) Laurence Sterne A bizarre, hilarious, one-of-a-kind narrative by the funniest, most genial writer ever. At least that I've come across. In many's opinion Sterne belongs next to Shakespeare for absolute mastery of English (they're 150 years apart and not at all similar in style). Tristram begins the narrative at his conception, lamenting his parents weren't more "mindful what they were about" when they begot him: at a very important moment Mrs. Shandy asks Mr. Shandy if he remembered to wind the clocks. According to Tristram this affected the "animal spirits" and how they were "transfused from father to son." Tristram is persuaded things would have been different had they been more thoughtful, "I should have made a quite different figure in the world, from that, in which the reader is likely to see me." It's the first of many, MANY times Sterne directly addresses you, the reader; part of what gives Shandy its charm. I doubt there's ever been a book as obsessed with its reader. Tristram says, "As we jogg on, either laugh with me, or at me, or in short, do any thing,---only keep your temper." Then he goes to great lengths to make you lose your temper. Many of his kazillion digressions are presumably for "madam's" or "Sir's" or "Your Reverence's" benefit, to help us from our ignorance. Then he'll flatter you, then berate you to the point of identifying an allusion you missed and sending you back to re-read the chapter, or say, "Pray, reach me my fool's cap -- I fear you sit upon it, Madam." His objective is not to dominate us, or even to show off, really (though he constantly does), it's more like he wants to stimulate and provoke us, which in turn does the same for him. He does all kinds of things to keep us interested: bizarre punctuation, a completely blackened page, squiggly lines to symbolize the text, he once threatens to tear out an entire section, and it's all for your entertainment. Someone called it a "breakneck pace to nowhere," and Tristram himself says something similar, "So much of motion, is so much of life, and so much of joy." He once leaves a blank page in a short chapter (five sentences) for you to draw your conception of a female character, saying, "Sit down, Sir, paint her to your own mind---as like your mistress as you can---as unlike your wife as your conscience will let you---'tis all one to me---please but your own fancy in it." Of the author and the reader and the book Tristram says, "The truest respect which you can pay to the reader's understanding is to halve this matter amicably, and leave him something to imagine in his turn...." Regarding the latter idea Nietzsche called Sterne the "great master of ambiguity." Between and during Tristram's endless digressions you'll meet Walter Shandy, his father, from whom he inherits his eloquence and fondness for convoluted philosophical discourse; Uncle Toby, whose infinite patience and cheerfulness and love for the art of warfare lead him to debate and even re-create entire battle scenes with the help of Corporal Trim, his valet, and who (Uncle Toby) provides proof of reincarnation as his soul now obviously resides in Crowfan; Parson Yorick, direct descendant of Shakespeare's "fellow of infinite jest," and who seems based quite a lot on Sterne himself; Dr. Slop, whose pride for the birthing forceps he invented is more than a little misplaced; and the already-mentioned Corporal Trim, Uncle Toby's sidekick and war adviser, who loves to make speeches about anything and everything. The picture on the left is from Tristram's birth and tragic misnaming, and the one on the right is a memorable scene when Corporal Trim holds court. Stern's descriptions of Trim's exact bodily attitudes during his speeches are just about as funny as anything I've ever read. With its constant tendency to disorder and randomness and unfinished thoughts (even plot lines) Tristram Shandy has been called the precursor to the stream-of-consciousness style. So those of you that hate that might have him to blame. Whatever you think of him, he became so famous from Shandy his friends bet that a letter addressed to Tristram Shandy, Europe, would get to him. Not long after, on the road to Yorkshire a young postboy saw Sterne, took off his hat, and gave him the letter. Laurence Sterne
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Post by callipygias on Nov 10, 2009 1:50:18 GMT -5
Man this has been hard. I'm not used to talking about stuff. Not to this extent.
When I started this thing I got my list ready, then I compiled most of the pictures I'd end up needing, and I was all excited when I sat down to start #25, and I suddenly realized I actually had to say things about the books. I'd never done anything like that, and if you've noticed, I don't normally say all that much--lots of posts, but they're usually short (I've managed to annoy and offend most of you with relatively few words). This was obviously an exception to the "pure list thread" I usually like, but I've only ever internalized books, I had almost no idea how to go about discussing them. The idea of analyzing the beauty and magic out of my favorite books is just about terrifying, and I wasn't too interested in relating simple plot lines or regurgitating others' descriptions (though I ended up doing both occasionally). I pretty obviously just kind of goofed my way through it, though I notice my posts have gotten longer and longer (and hopefully a little better) the closer I get to the end. Either way, it's been even more enjoyable than I thought it would be, and way more rewarding, so I highly recommend it to you: make a list!
Anyway, #1 is definitely coming, but I'm having trouble deciding what to say about it, and maybe more importantly, what not to say about it. It's not just my favorite book, but it's one of my favorite... things ever. I'll never forget where I was and the feeling I had when I finished it -- I count it as one of the best moments in my life.
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Post by Mighty Jack on Nov 10, 2009 2:05:18 GMT -5
As a longtime list maker I salute you! You did a great job and have given me several titles I want to check out now. Looking forward to #1.
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Post by mummifiedstalin on Nov 10, 2009 12:54:23 GMT -5
I usually hate list threads. They're filled with nothing. Anyone can make a list. But few people ever both to explain why things are on their list.
So your reactions are more than welcomed! I've had a good time reading along with you.
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Post by callipygias on Nov 13, 2009 2:49:25 GMT -5
#1 The Sound and the Fury (1929) William Faulkner A noble old Southern family rots. Light. Dust. Sound. Time. Those are the things I'd like to write about, but I'd go on forever and never get it right. So: Faulkner said that The Sound and the Fury came from the single image in his mind of a young girl climbing a tree to peek in at her grandmother's funeral while her brothers waited below. The girl's name is Caddy (Candace), and if there is a center to the novel it's her. There are four sections, the first three are told from within the minds of Caddy's three brothers, Quentin, Jason, and Benjy, the fourth centers on the Compson family's cook and servant, Dilsey, though it is not first person. Benjy's extremely challenging section is first. Benjy Compson. Originally named Maury (after his mother's brother), his name was changed to Benjamin when it was discovered that he was severely mentally retarded. His section is dated April 7th, 1928, but a smell or sight or sound will trigger him not only to remember but to relive a thing, and with no other narrator to help, you jump through different times in Benjy's life at his mind's and circumstance's whim. His memories... his entire life focuses on his beloved older sister, Caddy; in fact, the first time she enters the house after losing her virginity Benjy can smell it and instantly begins to moan and cry, his only means of expression. Benjy is incapable of dishonesty or creativity, so as difficult as his section is, it is at least dependable, unlike the next two. Quentin Compson, June 2, 1910, his freshman year at Harvard. Quentin is the oldest Compson child, and he is tortured by the grand history of his family and of the South and by his ideas of chivalry and honor. He is tortured by his cynical, alcoholic father's indifference to all these things. Mostly, Quentin is tortured by his sister Caddy's growing sexual promiscuity (Caddy is absolutely sacred to Quentin, they grew up inseparable to the point of excluding others, which contributes to their mother's and younger brother Jason's feelings of separation from the "Compson side of the family"). When Caddy becomes pregnant Quentin confesses to his father that the child is his, but Mr. Compson is unconcerned and, in fact, doesn't believe him. In Quentin's rambling, disintegrating mind he knows the reason he confessed "...was to isolate her out of the loud world so that it would have to flee us of necessity... and then the world would roar away...". He seems to imagine a little corner of hell reserved for just he and Caddy. Mr. Compson accidentally and carelessly (if Quentin's memories can be believed) makes things worse and worse for his son with insights like, "...you cannot bear to think that someday it will not hurt you like this," and by practically taunting Quentin, who has maybe hinted suicide, by telling him he's blind to what's within him and that no man "does that [suicide] under the first fury of despair." As Quentin's mind unhinges, Faulkner abandons every rule of grammar, and the second section reaches a furious crescendo bettered only by the fourth's. ~On a bridge in Cambridge, Mass. The greatest piece of graffiti ever~ Jason narrates the third part. He is the only child Mrs. Compson shows any affection for, and though he's a repulsive, sadistic little bastard who, like his mother, makes and bears his own many crosses, he is also one of the most well drawn characters ever; I can't imagine a better study in human contradiction. While Quentin tries to invent truths to make his life better, Jason consistently invents them to make his worse, and like Thomas Sutpen from Absalom, Absalom! Jason has zero chance of understanding his own motivations. Like his brothers, Jason is fixated on Caddy, but his fixation is borne from exclusion and manifests itself in vicious, petty attacks. He becomes the last head of the Compson household, continually failing at what he thinks matters to him: making money (though he does manage over time to steal thousands of dollars from his sister and his niece), and succeeding at what actually matters to him: ranting at the impracticality and sentimentalism of his family, living and dead, and generally trying to make people as miserable as he himself is. No one has erected an illegal plaque for Jason. The fourth and final quarter. April 8th, 1928. "The day dawned bleak and chill...". It's the first time you hear traditional narration, and I'm sure it's no accident that the beginning of the end feels like the beginning. To suddenly have an objective narrator after being trapped in Benjy's brutal innocence, Quentin's desperation, and Jason's paranoia, provides relief in clarity, but it is also strange and unreal. When Luster (Dilsey's grandson and Benjy's caretaker at the time) enters the kitchen "followed by a big man who appeared to have been shaped of some substance whose particles would not or did not cohere to one another or to the frame which supported it. His skin was dead looking and hairless; dropsical too, he moved with a shambling gait like a trained bear. His hair was pale and fine.... His eyes were clear, of the pale sweet blue of cornflowers, his thick mouth hung open, drooling a little," I remember feeling something almost like vertigo as I realized that I was reading a description of Benjy. Benjy from without rather than within. And to hear Ben from an objective viewpoint as he watched the clock tick tock "solemn and profound. It might have been the dry pulse of the decaying house itself.... then he looked at the bullletlike silhouette of Luster's head in the window and he begun to bob his head again, drooling. He Whimpered. ...Ben sat in the chair, his big soft hands dangling between his knees, moaning faintly. Suddenly he wept, a slow bellowing sound, meaningless and sustained." And not long after that, outside after a rain has stoked the scents ( Caddy smells like trees, Benjy said in the first part), "Then Ben wailed again, hopeless and prolonged. It was nothing. Just sound. It might have been all time and injustice and sorrow become vocal for an instant...."The first time I read The Sound and the Fury I had never read anything remotely like it. I didn't even know this kind of thing existed. It was extremely difficult, but I'd done just what I found out later I was supposed to, I had kept going. The incredible prose and relentless rhythm kept me reading, even when I'd forgotten who was talking, or was confused by there being two Jasons (Mr. Compson is Jason III, the narrator of part three is Jason IV) or two Quentins (Caddy names her daughter Quentin) or two Maurys, or when I had no idea what year it was or if I was in Mississippi or Massachusetts. I finished the book walking through Portland on my way to catch a train to take me home. The best way I can describe the impact finishing The Sound and the Fury had on me, of closing the book and having the title and its source sink so perfectly into the monstrous ending, is that it made my body hum. Sounds goofy and dramatic and exaggerated, but it's true. I remember exactly the feeling. How something I thought I understood so little of could have that kind of effect is beyond me, and I've never read anything that explained it satisfactorily. The closest has been the word impressionism. ~fin(ally!)~ William Faulkner Painted light better than Rembrandt, time better than God.
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Post by Mr. Atari on Nov 13, 2009 16:34:47 GMT -5
callipygias, you are the man.
I haven't read much Faulkner, and I'm not sure how much I agree with your list. But I know exactly the feeling you described when you first finished reading your #1 book. I love "detailed favorites" threads, and this has been exceptional. It's so nice to find such a well-reasoned, literate, and compelling thread. I am compelled not only to read your descriptions, but also compelled to go and read some of these books.
For instance, I went out and purchased The Third Policeman last week because of this thread. I didn't really care for it, and I figured out the twist immediately; but it was different than anything I'd read in a long time, and the experience was well worth it.
So thanks again for the great thread. If I find the time, I may try my hand at my own, which won't be nearly as interesting or informative. Way to set the bar too high, man.
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Post by solgroupie on Nov 13, 2009 17:50:02 GMT -5
It's so nice to find such a well-reasoned, literate, and compelling thread. I am compelled not only to read your descriptions, but also compelled to go and read some of these books. Way to set the bar too high, man. i absolutely agree. i am nearly finished with as i lay dying because of this thread. i'm a little sad we're already at the end of the list.
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Post by callipygias on Nov 13, 2009 19:58:04 GMT -5
I went out and purchased The Third Policeman last week because of this thread. I didn't really care for it, and I figured out the twist immediately; but it was different than anything I'd read in a long time, and the experience was well worth it. Despite warning people not to read the foreword first because it contains the most blatant spoiler ever, I'm not sure it actually is a spoiler. I don't know if it's supposed to be an actual surprise, or if it's simply part of the story, or if it's even a kind of comment on story telling. Whatever O'Brien meant by it, it isn't at all important to my appreciation of the book. Now that I think of it I wonder if the publisher didn't spoil it on purpose, so people wouldn't associate a great work of literature with an incongruously simple literary device. It seems impossible they'd be dumb enough to do it on accident. Unfortunately I'll never know what my reaction would've been since I read the foreword first, but it can't have affected my appreciation for the novel's ending, which completely blew me away. I loved that book all the way through, but from about his "escape," through to the end it blew me away. Keep a copy of it on your shelf, just in case. It may haunt you. If I find the time, I may try my hand at my own, Looking forward to it. i'm a little sad we're already at the end of the list. I'm a little sad too, but I'm a LOT relieved! As you know, the whole thing was difficult for me, but a few entries were especially brutal. I bought and read One Hundred Years of Solitude: A Casebook to help me with #3. I re-read Slaughterhouse Five to help me with #6 (despite being a slow reader--especially when it comes to my favorites). Even after re-reading it I couldn't think of what I wanted to say. It seems picture-heavy now, but originally I was going to do the entire post with pics only, that's how much trouble I had with it. And #1 was so hard that if I would have done my list backward it never would have happened. I bet I deleted five times more than what I ended up with in that long post for #1.
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Post by mummifiedstalin on Nov 15, 2009 21:14:13 GMT -5
So #1 is another Faulkner. I probably should have guessed. I was wondering why you liked AbsalomX2 so much without having S&tF on the list...but I should have just waited.
But an honest question: does AbsAbs depend on S&tF? Or, rather, can you appreciate AbsAbs as much without having gone through Quentin's turmoil? To me, Sutpen's story, while captivating, isn't nearly as meaningful without knowing its effect on Quentin, Jason, Benjy, etc. For awhile, I loved AbsAbs more than S&tF, but I knew that I wouldn't love it nearly as much without having read S&tF first.
Now, though, I'm with you on which is the clear superior. And I had a similar experience reading it. I think it was either sophomore or junior year in high school when our G/T teacher threw that at us at the beginning of the year. Even in that group of pretty smart people, most people reacted with a big WTF. But it was one of the experiences that set me on the path of suffering through literary grad school. When I read that book, I finally understood how literature could work in all kinds of ways I'd never even expected. At the time, it seemed like an impossibly beautiful way to tell a story and learn about characters, and I was dumbstruck, even when I was just flat out confused for a lot of Benjy's and even Quentin's sections.
So I totally get it. Definitely one of my top 5, too.
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Post by callipygias on Nov 16, 2009 2:21:10 GMT -5
an honest question: does AbsAbs depend on S&tF? It's hard to know something like that, but my guess--my feeling--is that without Fury it would've ended up even higher on my list. I think if I'd been completely objective it should've been higher on my list anyway (I've already moved it to #6, Blood Meridian to #7, and Slaughterhouse Five moved back two spaces to #8, though I won't modify this thread, of course), but since I had Faulkner in the #1 spot I think there were a few others I wanted to place higher. If The Sound and the Fury didn't exist, I think Absalom would have been top three. Quentin would still have been a part of that, I think, even without Fury. Though I think maybe in that case it would be an inseparable Quentin/Shreve shadow monster. (I wonder if Quentin and Shreve would be combined in people's minds without Fury. I mean like to the "doubles" level.) Mostly it would be Sutpen, though. The most remarkable character in American literature, to me. Faulkner's... or Quentin's and Shreve's and Miss Rosa's and Mr. Compson's and Yoknapatawpha's (Oh! almost spelled it right without checking!) and Faulkner's creation of him.... No, that's not what I mean. It's not just the character, it's the magnitude of him. And it's not just that, it's the way that monstrous, epic feeling permeates the whole book. More than Fury or Go Down, Moses or even Light in August, Absalom has that massive, biblical feel to it (it's become old hat to use that word, but since I think this is the ultimate example of it [except for the actual bible, I guess] I'll use it -- I'll even boldly go a step further and say that if Puma Men really existed this actually would be their bible -- each man is a god!). Okay, that's enough supposing The Sound and the Fury doesn't exist. That kind of thinking will send a man straight to hell. So #1 is another Faulkner. I probably should have guessed. I thought for sure you would have.
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Post by dangfish on Nov 19, 2009 17:24:59 GMT -5
I saw that on Wikipedia. It said sales skyrocketed. Was it part of the actual story somehow, or did a good-looking character just say he liked it? I guess it's nothing but a good thing, but it still seems weird -- like seeing Faulkner on Oprah's Book List. Sawyer's just reading it one point...or maybe it was just lying around. I can't remember. But its appearance even made the NYT, as I recall, back when people were wondering if LOST was the new literary TV show. And the fanboys thought it might be a clue about what was going on with the island, because of what happens at the end of the book...which I won't reveal! Actually, Desmond was reading it. When he abandons the hatch he shoves it in his pack. I was one of the many LOST fans who bought this book after that episode. I never got past the first fifty pages. It just wasn't grabbing me. I should try it again some day. I read a little of everything and I really have to be in the right mood for certain things. I'm with you on Vonnegut and Cormac McCarthy though. THe Road is great.
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