The History of Tom Jones, a Foundling (Henry Fielding)

"Hell-oooo, Tom!" she says with a wolf whistle. How do you still look so dashing after, let's see... 257 years? What? How long? you may ask but I speak the truth. The character is just as dashing, humorous and entertaining as he was when this novel was first published in 1749. Sex! Sex in a novel from 1749?! Ah yes, 'tis true and oh-my-dear so funny.

Young, foolish, lustful, rougish, golden-hearted, loyal (sometimes) and handsome--Tom's is a typical foundling's tale. He is the product of sin, abandoned and raised by a benevolent man who grows up to have wild adventures, be disinherited by the benevolent man unjustly and be "unsuited" (meaning of low-birth and no money) for the woman he loves. But as with so many classic plotlines that have become trite with time, every obstacle thrown in the path will eventually be tidied up, all threads tied with the reader's amused smile.

I say, "Classic plotlines, typical tales." This is both yet neither. In fact, Fielding is often credited as being the inventor of the genre of the novel. Theater and poetry were the forms of the day, the ones those that were rich enough to read did read. Fielding instead decided to tell an entirely fictional tale (and admit it the fiction, which was shocking). To me, Fielding is truly a gifted author to have gotten the ball of fiction rolling (thank you from all readers, Henry!) and also due to his style. His tone and diction, though antiquated, are relatively easy to get used to as compared to Dickens and Co. Plus, I love the way he addresses the reader directly, a metafictional technique done centuries before we modern writers coined the term.

A great read, especially for those with a knack for such old style. For those who don't want to tackle the complex language, there is always the movie, which is also fantastic.

Kiss of the Spider Woman (Manuel Puig)

Another library bargain bin book, one I picked up before the move to tide me over until I got my new library card (always step one behind gas and electric). It is an Argentinian book translated from the Spanish and written all in dialogue, which I found quite fun. Pure speech and no description can wind up sounding vapid and fluffy but Puig pulls it off quite well.

Kiss of the Spider Woman is the story of two men in prison--one a political prisoner of the socialist persuasion and the other a homosexual in for "corrupting a minor." They have a great chemistry to see on the page and much of the book centers on the gay man's retelling of different movies. A great discussion of the known formulas and effect of the cinema, in a way.

What killed me was the footnotes. Okay, I know it is an older edition but the publisher thought illustrating a gay character was so controversial that they footnoted the hell out of his dialog. And, the comments weren't even related to what the character said but were instead a scholarly essay on homosexuality--was it innate or environmental, how do all the major psychiatrists weigh in, what do recent studies suggest? I swear there was at least 20 pages of these footnotes in 9 pt font.

What the hell? I just wanted to hear him talk some more about films and see the tension between the two prisoners. Oh, and the sex scene was pretty fascinating as well. Gay sex, told all through dialogue. I'm sure you can imagine the one syllable exchanges taking place there. Very Brokeback. I think that one scene is probably why they thought they needed all the explanation about homosexuality. But, come on! I'm not going to hate the character just because he's gay! Then again, I live in today's world and an American world--not Puig's. Perhaps not the publisher's.

All in all, an entertaining read, intructive for the somewhat successful use of use dialogue and the--whoo hoo--hot sex. I liked kissing the Spider Woman. I don't know if we can ever be more than friends. I just don't like her that way. You know, that way. But she's a fun date.

Specimen Days (Michael Cunningham)

Michael Cunningham is an odd duck. I don't mean that in a bad way. In fact, I quite admire his work. Like every other literate person on earth, I adored The Hours. A Home at the End of the World, well, no so much (see here). I say odd then because it has been more than two weeks since I finished the book as I sit to write the review and I still don't know quite what to think of it.

Did I like it? Yes. Post-modern stylings with timeless style. That's Cunningham. Much like in The Hours, he interweaves time and space. And literary characters. In the former, it was Virginia Woolf. In this work, it is Walt Whitman. The book is divided into three parts, all taking place in New York City.

1. 19th Century during the Industrial Revolution, Whitman's own age
2. Close to the present day, post-911 and alert for terror
3. The future, when androids are possible and the world is going to hell in a handbasket (Well, faster than it is now)

In each tale there are three characters: a man, a woman and Walt Whitman. They change roles and experience vastly different plotlines, all centered upon the lust for life and disdain for the mechanization of man in Whitman's work. Oh, and the freeing nature of death. Very interesting. Very different. Very successful? Maybe not.

I absolutely loved the first tale, narrated by a young boy with limited mental faculties who must begin work in a typical (dangerous) foundry. It was mystic, melancholy and foggy. The characters touched me and the events surprised me. I was thinking, "This is The Hours all the way."

Then, the second book hit with a thud for me. This one had a female narrator who was a sort of terrorist negotiator. There were parts that were excellent, including a revelation regarding the boy at the end. Yet it felt too aciton-adventure-like. Like, if it were a movie, Angelia Jolie would play the lead and Haley Joel Osment the little boy. Canned, you know? Like he didn't quite pull it off. The third book was also interesting, narrated from an androids perspective. But again, this one felt as if a Pulitzer Prize winning author was trying his hand at Sci-Fi.

I have nothing against genre fiction. Honestly. I just don't know if this book elevated itself to the realm of literary fiction. Sometime I think yes because scenes and themes from the book have been returning to my thoughts, a sure sign of a book that touched me. Yet, I also was looking forward to starting my next book before this one was done, a sure sign that something is amiss.

I don't know about this one. He took a risk and I applaud that. The literary world is a better, richer place because he took that risk. I just don't know if Evil Knevil actually cleared all of those barrels or if he missed and is seriously injured. It is as if I am a member of the crowd, waiting for the smoke to clear to see if he is still standing.

Will Specimen Days stand the test of time? I think I will have to wait for the smoke to clear.

Middlesex (Jeffrey Eugenides)

Insest, sex, gender, love, sexuality, abnormality, belonging, sex.... Oh, I said sex already? Sorry.

The novel by Jeffrey Eugenides (author of the Virgin Suicides) is the enthralling epic of a Greek family come to America and the tracing of their genetic blunders down to the third generation when--oops--a little something strange appeared. We are all a product of the past, a concoction of the events and characteristics of the people who came before. The narrator of this book just gets to consciously tag along, watching over grandparents' shoulders like a disembodied, time-travelling fairy. From the old world to the new, from World War I to the 1970s, this narrator reveals rich, compelling characters that you love despite their faults, that your heart pangs for when you realize (before they do) what is truly going on.

Sit down, hold on, clear your schedule and make way for Middlesex: a book that won the Pulitzer Prize for damn good reason by an author who has never failed to disappoint me. Eugenides takes the family epic, a plotline usually reserved for light historical fiction or sweeping romances, and elevates it to the highest level of literary fiction. Jeffrey, if you are out there somewhere, will you adopt me/teach me/trade places with me? I promise to call you a genius everyday, bring coffee into your office and feed paper sheet by sheet into the back of your typewriter if you promise to pound out another book to entertain, fascinate and move me.

Blue Rage, Black Redemption (Stanley Tookie Williams)

You must be wondering how something so uncharacteristic made its way onto my reading list. Frankly, I wondered several times in the middle of the book myself, times when I would rather have closed it, put it down and used it as a doorstop. But sadly, I had to read this memoir of Stanley Tookie Williams (the co-founder of the Crips gang) as part of a work assignment.

Not that the man is uninteresting--hardly. He grew up mean and tough and, if you can't tell from the picture, built like a brick shithouse. As he liked to say, he was "yoked." Regardless of several chances to reform his criminal ways in his youth, Tookie made himself King Crip and took pride in his recruiting and leadership abilities within the gang. Then, he was jailed for two separate intances of murder--four lives total--and sentenced to death.

So ended the "Blue" portion of his life and his "black redemption" phase dawned. After a long stint in solitary, separated for the first time in his life from his peers, he began to educate himself and came to see the error of his ways. In fact, he became an avid anti-gang activist, wrote several childrens books and was nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize. Thankfully, in my opinion, he did not win.

Again, I am not saying anything negative about the man himself. His story is rather inspirational, probably more so to someone who has more gang exposure than I. What drove me nuts was the way in which the book was written. The self-educated vocabulary peppered with 1960s slang and the obvious pride Tookie still had for the power of his youth turned me off. If you are interested in the life of Williams--or are forced to read about him for work or school--flip to the center for the pictures. By far the most enjoyable part of the book were the unbelievably bulging muscles and the foot tall Afros in those photos.