young and entitled

The Emperor's Children by Claude Messud is one of those creations that 'literary' people love. I thought it was quite good, though depressing as all hell and tough to read. A book that weaves in and out of six lives, the majority of whom are young and entitled with plans to take over New York, it just hit a bit too close to home. Messud is an unflinching author with no qualms about creating characters with a variety of less than admirable qualities who enjoy using dialogue sharp enough to leave bloody messes wherever they step.

The stories are compelling even if the characters are primarily unsympathetic. My absolute least favorite is Marina Thwaite, the ravishing authoress-wannabe offspring of the successful journalist Murray Thwaite. Her best friend is Danielle Minkoff, by far the 'nicest' and most sensible character in the book with unusual but moderately attractive looks (you know she'll go FAR in life). Rounding out the cast is Julian Clarke, a gay and loserish Eurasian bum who cooks gourmet meals, Ludovic Seely, a libertarian Australian with dark, slightly gayish looks and plans to take over the world through a literary coup, and other colorful and distasteful characters.

For all of its pizazz, The Emperor's Children doesn't skimp on the substance, although I did wonder what the main message was supposed to be. Don't get your hopes up? Don't feel entitled? Don't be beautiful? Messud cleverly weaves all of the stories together but ends rather surprisingly, yet fittingly. Since it is an ensemble cast, the flow of the story is a bit uneven at times, though good on the whole.

The biggest surprise of The Emperor's Children is that I had to read it in front of my computer in order to expand my vocabulary. Who knew that Mayakovsky was a part of the Russian Futurism movement? And I certainly didn't know what pergola, probascis, and osculate meant before picking up this tome. Anyone other than Messud or a historian who uses the word paterfamilias would come off as conceited, but she manages gracefully, as well as inserting otherwise pretentious vocabulary including naif and uxorious. Messud is a chameleon and master when it comes to language, interspersing highbrow vocabulary with gorgeous phrases such as 'syrupy Thursday afternoons' and everyday ones including 'everything about him looked faggy'.

I apologize for getting carried away by Messud's amazing manipulation of language. Other than that, I do wish that she had softened some of the dialogue and tightened the overall structure a tiny bit. The Emperor's Children is a pretty good read, though Revolutionary Road is still vastly superior despite its mundane vocabulary and inferior wit.

my revolution

This was my first visit to an official book club, and it was pretty fun:) It had all the requisites: women, wine, and home-baked chocolate chip and oatmeal-raisin cookies (I felt so pedestrian with my measly contribution of potato chips and pretzels, although I redeemed myself a bit with my terra vegetable chips), and South Philly. OK, maybe not South Philly, a neighborhood that makes West Philly look like Greenwich, CT in comparison. The women were really sweet and a few of them were my age! And not everyone was married! Even better, we actually discussed the book for about an hour before moving onto a more general discussion about conformity, privacy, and facebook.

Our book was Revolutionary Road by Richard Yates, a well written and brilliantly executed story about people being stifled by white picket fences and kids in the 1950s. It was also one of the most depressing books that I've ever read. It started out mildly depressing and ended up crumpled in an all-consuming malignant tumor of misery. Also, I spent the day before reading The Emperor's Children, which I can also confidently place in the extremely depressing category.

Revolutionary Road tells the story of a young couple fighting for their grand delusions while saddled with two kids, two unimaginative neighbors, and two hearty scoops of immaturity. Evidently a happy ending wasn't going to materialize, but the weight and absolute soul-crushing account of Frank and April Wheeler was quite unexpected. Who knew suburbia could be that bad?

As the novel starts, April Wheeler, a pretty blond housewife with big plans, is the star of a local play that the neighborhood guild is putting on. We're immediately introduced to the peculiar dynamics of two slightly off-putting people after the play wraps, and the marriage (as well as everything else) doesn't really improve after that. April is stuck doing dishes and scrubbing the oven every day and Frank has a deathly boring job involving typewriter manuals. As a side note, one of the women at the book club (fairly pretty and in her mid twenties) has almost exactly same job (I did anxiously inquire after her mental well-being). It's amazing how much drama Frank endures besides his hypothetical paper cuts.

The book is mostly told from Frank's point of view and is faintly reminiscent of Mad Men on severe depressants. Yates does a beautiful job constructing the dialogue and arranging each scene in a lovely and ultimately well-wrapped arc. The form is good and the function even better. Although all of the characters were heavily (or moderately heavily) flawed, they were all gripping in different ways and one was almost sympathetic. My only complaint is the faint whiff of didactism and the occasional plot device that floats around in the story. Although Revolutionary Road is an indictment on conformity and repression, it also speaks powerfully about family and individual accomplishment. The language is moderately simple but deceptively rich underneath. After 50 years, the book is as relevant today as when it was first published and a joy to read.

feeling fragile

Give all of us gathered here tonight the strength to remember that life is so very fragile. We're all vulnerable, and at some point in our lives we will fall. We will all fall. We must carry this in our hearts, that what we have is special. That it can be taken from us. And when it is taken from us, we will be tested. We will be tested to our very souls. It is these times, it is this pain, that allows us to look inside ourselves.

- Friday Night Lights, Pilot

before and after

Before:

After:

The back story: At 11 last night, I was talking to one of my friends on the phone. Besides letting my nerd factor show (Apparently it's London's Imperial College, not Empirical College), he asked me if I liked milk, chocolate, vanilla, peanut butter, and whether I was in my apartment...

A few minutes before midnight, I get a call on my cell informing me that there's a delivery downstairs. Now, that's normal if I'd actually ordered something. Nonetheless, I make my way down and am promptly given three cupcakes and a cookie (sans the milk) by a girl in a hoodie who proceeds to sing Happy Birthday to me. I was bowled over. Society really ought to reward creativity a bit more.