the color purple

i’ve been known to pick up a pulitzer prize winner, struggle through a handful of pages, and then think to myself, “what does this silly prize committee know that i don’t?” not so with the color purple.

this book is startling in its genius. heartbreaking in its wanderings.

it’s written in two of my least favorite modes: letters and dialect. but, i have to admit, walker’s touch is magic. celie is so sharp. her wit and her eye can cut straight through a person. and because her letters are written to god and then her sister, her words take on nuance and depth that would be missing in a straight-up narrative. this celie woman will break your heart. her observations, despite her minimal education, are so bang on. [i would give you an example, but henry took a liking to my paperback copy and is currently taking a nap with it.]

i could not put this one down. amen to this book. amen.

ps - for the faint of heart, if the first page has you recoiling and sort of wrinkling your nose in horror, then do yourself a favor and put this one by and read something else instead.

my name is asher lev

our guest host, maren mceuen, leads off this month’s book trail discussion of my name is asher lev by chaim potok.

I have wanted to read My Name Is Asher Lev for a long time now. It’s one of my husband’s favorite books, and I began it with great anticipation. I was not disappointed. The book explores so many fascinating themes – the line between genius and madness; maintaining religious beliefs while living in the secular world; the meaning and value of art; duty to family and community versus duty to oneself; the relationship between father and son, mother and son, and husband and wife; etc. – that I hardly even know where to begin.

Genius and Madness

I have never wanted my children to be prodigies; I wouldn’t wish genius on them. It comes at too high a price. How many of the great artists or the great writers have teetered on the brink of mental illness? How many have succumbed completely to mental breakdown? Jacob alludes to this occupational hazard when he repeatedly suggests Asher give up painting in favor of a happier profession. Certainly we see the thin line between genius and madness when Asher twice sinks into delirium or when Jacob has one of his episodes.

But what is it about artistic genius that comes so close to insanity? Perhaps it comes partly from the obsession, from the uncontrollable need to express that genius. Asher’s mental breakdowns come when he believes he is about to have his ability to paint restricted by moving with his father to Europe. I think that is part of it. But I think maybe another part of it is that genius requires you to see the world for what it really is, and as young Asher says, “It is not a pretty world.” To see the world’s ugliness so clearly and acutely and then to be compelled by some internal drive to render that reality into a painting or a sculpture or a story, would surely bring anyone closer to madness.

Art and Religious Life in the Secular World

Throughout Asher Lev, Potok poses the question, can you lead a religious life in the secular world? It’s a question he doesn’t seem to have an answer to. Asher’s family resolves the tension between religious and secular by living in the secular world as little as possible. But Asher must paint, and there is no painting in his religious world. To paint, he must enter the secular world. .

As a religious person, I must admit that I found this aspect of Asher Lev one of the most disquieting. Asher’s artistic aspirations cause him, for example, to denigrate some of his religion’s deeply held beliefs about modesty and the sanctity of the human body. They cause him to do things that he knows will hurt his religious community. All in the name of true art. I am left wondering whether and to what degree the beliefs of a “true religion” can be muted or ignored for the sake of artistic expression – or any other secular pursuit. And yet, what else is Asher to do if he truly can’t control himself? And is that any excuse at all, or is Aryeh right that only an animal can’t control himself?

Asher justifies his religious disobedience as being for the sake of art. He also knowingly creates and displays two paintings that hurt those he loves for the same reason, so that as a painter he won’t be a whore. While part of me understands the idea that art must, must represent truth, I also wonder from a personal standpoint whether that truly excuses any action that leads the artist to that truth. Can we write or paint the intimate details from the lives of those we love – knowing full well that to do so will be a betrayal – simply because it is truth, because it is art? And why, why doesn’t Asher warn his poor parents before they go to the exhibition?

Family Relationships

Perhaps no theme is more central to Asher Lev than the relationships within Asher’s family. As a woman and a mother, I am drawn to Rivkeh. Initially I was bothered by her sinking into depression after her brothers’ death, emotionally abandoning Asher, but she won me back through the love and strength she shows to both her husband and her son, no matter the conflicts between them. You can see how tortured she is by Asher’s choices and by his conflict with his father. I find it so interesting that the thing that finally creates a full schism between Asher and his family is a painting about his mother, even though it is a tribute to her. As a wife and mother to two boys, I can only begin to imagine her heartbreak and the way her loyalty to her husband and son must tear her in two.

And what of Asher’s relationship to his father? Whatever else he feels towards him, Asher clearly has great respect for his father. While Aryeh’s anger towards his son and his stubbornness are frustrating, I can imagine how difficult it would be to have a child choose a path in life that seemed at best pointless and at worst dangerous. I feel sorry for him. Finally, Asher. Clearly he is the “hero” of the book, but he does what he wants, usually with disregard for how those actions will affect others. He seems to lack self-control and empathy, which he only begins to understand at the end of the book. Then with that empathy he creates and displays two paintings that he knows will cause his parents anguish. What is Potok trying to say with such a character?

These are my random thoughts. Now I look forward to your comments! Be kind. It’s been a long time since I’ve done anything like this.

Maren lives in Dorchester, Massachusetts, a neighborhood of Boston famous for its old mansions, sandy beaches, and high crime rate. She works as an attorney in Boston, while her husband attends MIT as a graduate student. She has two boys, 2 years and 2 months old, and a perpetually messy house. She loves to bake and travel, and hasn’t written anything other than a legal brief or article in several years.

the lord of the rings

i finished last night. it’s over. for twenty-one days i have lived in middle-earth. i’ve dreamed of saruman and his wolves. i’ve seen myself in hobbit holes. i’ve cried with samwise gamgee as he dumped his cooking pots into a crack of mordor. i love this book. (and, as the incredibly informative introduction in my edition told me, it isn’t three books, but rather one epic novel in three parts.)

and i can’t stop thinking: it’s the hobbits that carry the ring. the littlest people. living on a forgotten edge of the world. the small things that collapse mountains and rebuild worlds.

books, books

i know you’ve been on the edge of your seat. “what is she reading?” you’re wondering. it’s been months, hasn’t it?, since i gave you the big book update. well, take a breath, here we go.

i finished sarah willis’s newest novel, the sound of us. verdict: utterly disappointing. everything charming and delightful about her first novel was missing. and, to top it off, it had one of those here’s-what-happens-in-five-years and everyone is unbelievably happy and doing really well endings. too easy. i hate it when it’s too easy.

next, i tried to read some karen joy fowler. i met her at the imagination conference last summer and found her writing tips profound and her sense of humor keen. i picked up a few of her books. couldn’t get more than fifty or so pages into  sweetheart season. the second book must have been equally forgettable. i find this frustrating because i really really wanted to like her books. but i haven’t given up. i’m going to try something else, like the jane austen book club or sarah canary.

i finished listening to the prydain chronicles read by james langton. brilliant brilliant brilliant! it’s a wonderful audio production. these are perfect YA fantasy thriller adventure novels and james langton does all the voices with wonderful flair.

wallowing in booklessness, i did something i never thought i would do. i picked up the massive lord of the rings trilogy.  i tried reading it in high school, but plodded my through part of the two towers and gave up. i found it utterly ponderous. but some family prodding gave me renewed vigor. i attacked these books, starting with the introduction. and now i can’t believe that i ever found them boring and difficult to read. i have to admit that the movies gave me that little imagining boost–i finally had enough setting that i could actually picture what tolkein was describing. and i’ve been flying through! i’m nearly finished with return of the king and i am stunned. the characters have so much depth and each scene is so beautifully rendered. (i’m so in love with these books that i’ve even read the songs!)

if you haven’t ever tried to tackle this 1000+ page masterpiece, hesitate no longer. it’s worth it.

the book trail: housekeeping

i feel ill equipped to review “housekeeping.” honestly, i wasn’t sure i would enjoy it, especially after trying robinson’s pulitzer prize winning “gilead” and only managing to stomach a few pages. and even more so after attending a reading of robinson’s a few years ago: i found her arrogant and self-satisfied. i could hardly stand to hear her talk about herself and how utterly amazing she is.

well, ms. robinson, i have to say that after reading “housekeeping,” i’m inclined to agree with your generous summation of yourself. “housekeeping” is perfectly rendered. at the same time that i wanted to fly through the novel to see how everything would ravel together, i wanted to read each sentence again and again and again.

i have certain images inside me still. that bridge. the sound of the water and the train. the stacks of newspapers and tin cans. the coat. the twenty dollar bill pinned to sylvie’s lapel. the man waving and yelling after his rowboat. the children and the marshmallows stuck on the end of bare tree limbs.

i don’t even know how to categorize the narrator, ruthie. i love her. i am repulsed by her. i find her completely other. i find pieces of myself in her.

it seemed to me then that lucille would busy herself forever, nudging, pushing, coaxing, as if she could supply the will i lacked, to pull myself into some seemly shape and slip across the wide frontiers into that other world, where it seemed to me then i could never wish to go. for it seemed to me that nothing i had lost, or might lose, could be found there.

i am fascinated by ruthie slipping away. by her and sylvie trying to set fire to their house, and failing.

so, what did you think? what stuck in your mind?

and, as an addendum, “housekeeping” is on the list of 100 best English-language novels from 1923 to present. do you think it deserves its place on the list? should it share space with hemingway and fitzgerald, tolkein and orwell? will it be added to the canon of 20th century american texts?