Just finished reading “We” this morning. It was an odd read, translated from 1921 Russian, so some of the phrasing is awkward, but overall quite good. Retro poeticism intermingled with the struggle of the individual vs society in the name of rationality, it isn’t something most modern people haven’t read before in Brave New World, Clockwork Orange or 1984, but “We” was one of the first, if not the very first novels to tackle the subject. That it was written by a man in the aftermath of the Russian revolution which formed the Soviet Union gives the novel an unexpected weight and a wide-eyed (but not starry), glimpse of one of the major themes of the 20th century.

It was a fun read, with a good amount of weighty material to geek out over. Thanks to Robin for the unexpected gift.

Found this in Goodwill today:



Here’s the first paragraph:

The way I see, being dead is not terribly far off from being on a cruise ship. Most of your time is spent lying on your back. The brain has shut down. The flesh begins to soften. Nothing much new happens and nothing is expected of you.

I think I’m going to like it.

The Book Thief, by Markus Zusak, is great, no question.

The story is of Liesel Meminger, a young girl in 1930s and 40s Germany, and the circumstances how she got a new family and grew to love them, while in the midst of the rise of the Nazis and her curious relationship with Death, one sided though it may be. Told in short bursts and featuring a large cast of characters, the book sparkles with youthful energy as it deals with the small triumphs of poor people in a terrible position and the things they do to get them through the day. It’s deeply moving, funny and the sort of book you can’t put down. Check it out!

I settled down tonight to read a book. It was titled Plainsong and found in Goodwill one lazy Sunday afternoon, brought home and then put on the shelf and forgotten. Until tonight, when searching for something, anything to read, but being fickle, I stumble across it again. The cover had caught me and the description is intriguing, surely this would be a fine book

I settled down tonight to read a book and doubt I will ever finish it. You see, it’s moody cover and eloquent description failed to portray a nasty secret: the writer doesn’t use quotes in his dialogue. None, zip, nada. It’s as if quotes doesn’t exist and never did, they are simply not there. It gives the book a cold, hard feel, like a stone discarded in an unlit corner of a barn. Momentarily interesting and then quickly forgotten. What possesses a writer to just disregard such a basic tool of writing and reading? Are they are too hard to type, or offensive in some way? The mind wonders and then realizes there are other books who seek greet the reader more warmly.

I settled down tonight to read a book and have instead become unsettled.

Stillwater, by William Weld, is short and sweet, a nostalgic look back at first loves, be it physical, emotional, family or home. What stands out are the sharply defined images and characters of a rural town as seen through the eyes of 15 year old boy as he comes of age, only to see his way of life torn apart.