The Unbearable Lightness of Being (Milan Kundera)

This read had been a long time coming for me. It's been on my recommended list for years and yet whenever I am confronted with the limitless possibilites of a bookstore or library shelf, Kundera's name slips from my mind on a slapstick banana. The moment I picked it up, however, the pages flew by the same way--with slippery speed and laughter.

I would consider this book to be a good example of meta-fiction. I remember a graduate workshop I took where all the older students kept saying, "Dude, that is so meta" much to my confusion. In this case, however, I will quote them. Meta, man, very meta. Meta, of course, meaning written with the conscious desire to display the work as in the act of being written. Meaning the author is playing with the writer/reader relationship, often making the reader a participant in the action of the story. Let me quote the text itself:

"The characters in my novels are my own unrealized possibilities. That is why I am equally fond of them all and equally horrified by them. Each one has crossed a border (the border beyond which my own 'I' ends) which attracts me most. For beyond that border begins the secret the novel asks about. The novel is not the author's confession; it is an investigation of human life in the trap the world has become. But enough. Let us return to [the story]."

With this technique, Kundera creates an interesting frappe of philosophy and character. He bases each of his main characters on a philosophic principle and then stretches this principal for the course of the character's existence. I love how these principals, though, seem to me to be bathroom or bus philosophical realizations. Let me explain--random thoughts that occur in places where it is impossible to discuss or write down for future discussion, ideas that seem very deep at the time and drift away like feathers when remembered later, leaving you disappointed at what you thought was your brilliance and wisdom. Examples of Kundera's principals in action:

The character of Tereza: Is it possible to see your personality on the surface of your skin as you look in a mirror?
The character of Tomas: How can we know our choices are good or bad if we only experience them once, which offers no second consequence for comparison?

I highly recommend this entertaining novel, which is not as descriptive as I normally enjoy. It is instead highly cognitive and humorously so. Check out his discourse on shit and kitch and Stalin's son's suicide. Excellent shit, if you don't mind the pun.

Mrs. Dalloway (Virginia Woolf)

A portrait of a lady named Dalloway. A portrait of every soul that walks the streets of London. A portrait of one spring day in June. As the famous sentence goes,

"In the people's eyes, in the swing, tramp, and trudge; in the bellow and the uproar; the carriages, motor cars, omnibuses, vans, sandwich men shuffling and swinging; brass bands; barrel organs; in the triumph and the jingle and the strange high singing of some aeroplane over head was what she loved; life; London; this moment in June."

Woolf's (at the time revolutionary) stream of consciousness can be considered a map of the human psyche and a true representation of thought. I've heard that. I can see it. Truth of the matter is that, one by one, all of her well-crafted sentences and characters and chain reactions of words flowing from rock to rock in the creek of humanity are amazing. Like museum pieces under glass to be studied, ooooohed, and lit from the right angle in an acid-free environment for future generations enjoyment and education. Ming vases or King Tut's crispy bandages.

All strung together, though, it can be a bit much to take. That river is hard to trudge against. Not that it isn't worth the journey--I recommend it as heartily as I do backpacking in the Grand Canyon. And no, watching The Hours and staring at Nicole Kidman's enhanced nose will not cut it! However, I tried to read this on the treadmill and wound up repeating the same paragraph at least four times. It's quite easy to lose track of the subject of the sentence and have to backtrack in search of a noun.

I love Woolf not only for what she writes but for what she represents to the modern world--feminine author, equal marriage, equal rights, mental instability, the coexistance of genius and madness, and the incredibly powerful symbolic image of walking into a river with stones in your pockets. Man, what woman hasn't contemplated such a poignant passing in moments of delicious desperation--the beauty of death and through an act that replicates literally the feelings that are weighing you down. I can just see her stirring the stones around her palm with a resigned yet sly smile on her face. Don't write me love notes of encouragement now. I'm not suicidal--just overly dark and Woolfish. Grrrr.

The Many Lives and Secret Sorrows of Josephine B (Sandra Gulland)

May the 8th, the year 2006:

Today I am reading a piece of historical fiction about the early life of Josephine Bonaparte, wife of Napoleon, that was written as a journal. This interesting (and overdone) historical character lived through the French Revolution, the Terror (when she was imprisoned as a member of the aristocracy), the Commune, and obviously Napoleon's rise to power. The dates and such are meticulously researched, I'm sure... i.e. what party she went to on what night and when she went to the country and etc. Kind of sad, really, the kind of research needed to write such a piece of absolute fluff.

May the 9th, of the year 2006:

Good gym reading. Napoleon character was quite curious and intriguing but only entered in the last 40 pages. The book actually ends on their wedding night, in bed, where her dog bites his leg and he stitches up the wound himself. Best scene of the whole damn thing. Turns out this book is only part one of two. I consider reading the second part simply because this one scene has peaked my interest so much. Will sleep on it.

May the 10th, of the year 2006:

What the hell are you thinking?! You only read this one because it was in the used book bin for $0.50! This "historical fiction" could be an advertisement for Snuggle--it's fluffy, soft, giggly and feminine but, in the end, all it does is leave behind a faint smell, and I don't mean roses. To see what I consider "real" and moving historical fiction, that actually informs the reader about social history, click here.