Truly, I don't think that time spent reading is wasted. Reading, even if what you are reading is little better than drivel, uses significantly more of your brain than a passive activity like watching TV. So I guess if I look at the following books this way, I have not wasted my time. But I can't escape the fact that there are three books now sitting on my shelves that I have picked up and put down. *drum roll please* In the order that they were read, then abandoned:
Eat, Pray, Love (Always happy for opinions in the comments section, but keep in mind this is only my opinion--translation: sorry if you l-u-v this book.)
I know that this is probably the most controversial of my recent book-abandoning. It's a worldwide-super-mega bestseller. Most women foam at the mouth at the mention of this book. It was turned into a movie starring Julia Roberts, and the main song was done by Florence + The Machine for pete's sake. I really thought this would be a safe foray into the terrifying world of nonfiction (being that I rarely read nonfiction voluntarily.)
Unfortunately the reason I put the book down was because it is nonfiction. Now I wasn't just biased against the genre, it way deeper than that. Let me explain. No, too much. Let me sum up:
During the first few chapters, the author writes about her horribly long and drawn out divorce from her husband of 7 years. The reason? Not infidelity. Not abuse. Not even something understandable like mental illness or general instability of personhood. She just didn't feel like being married anymore. She didn't want to have kids and felt that since they were both sliding into their mid-thirties, that there was this giant expectation to reproduce. Someone please explain to me why that is anything other than selfish? And is selfishness a reason to call it quits on a marriage?
She did say that they "both had their part" and that her book wasn't the place to slam him or his character, which I found very commendable. But unfortunately for her, it also as a reader made me think she was kind of a bitch. She basically said he had done nothing directly to cause the marriage to fall apart except maybe not be aware enough of the fact she was headed toward an emotional cliff.
I understand that I am a little sensitive because I'm married. Without trying to do so intentionally, I put myself on the floor of the bathroom with her in the pivotal scene in the beginning of the book. I tried to identify with her decision.
Crushing despair? In this economy, I've been there.
Fear of the future? Heck yeah.
A desire to keep her life in tact without soiling it with children? Ugh--don't you wish that you could just transfer fertility from people like her to other women who deserve it? Wonderful, sweet, committed women who were born to be mothers that for whatever horrible twist of fate, can't? (Not sure if she did end up having a kid like that old dude in Indonesia predicted--frankly, I don't care.)
But even through the divorce, I was willing to give Ms. Gilbert my time. I understand that true beauty comes out of the dark times in our lives, so I was willing to hang in there with her. Until she started talking about David. The guy she began a passionate, addicting, and codependent relationship with before her divorce was final.
Book closed.
Here's where the nonfiction piece came into play. If she had been a fictional character, I probably could have swallowed the big pill of relational issues at the beginning. I would have consoled myself with the hope of a strong character arc. But the fact that she is a real person and really made those decisions made me distrust her. She became an unreliable narrator to me. Someone that is that willing to destroy the lives of those around them isn't someone I care to learn from, thankyoumuch.
Truth is, I'm sure she has some wonderful things to say and she comes to some really brilliant conclusions. Why else would the book be so popular? There has to be some serious redemption in the end. And maybe that redemption was all the sweeter for the rocky start that she got off too, but truthfully, there are a lot of other, truly great books out there that will accomplish the same thing. And it's possible that I will actually like those authors. Unlike this one.
Book the second: Super Sad True Love Story
This was my attempt of reading something a little edgier than I normally do. James Franco was in this book trailer, so I thought that was a pretty cool bit of marketing. Also, it was free. Can't say that's a bad price to go out on a literary limb.
Immediately, I was a bit confused, though intrigued, by the setting. It's in a future where people are glued to their information streaming "apparats" and speaking to someone is a rare and surprising instance called "verbal"ing someone. Cool idea, right? The US is in political shambles, and New York feels more like something from a shaky middle eastern country than the Big Apple.
The story centers on two characters that meet in Rome who come from remarkably different social classes and age groups. Lenny is a paunchy, middle-aged man with a fear of growing old, and a plan to monetize the emerging science of immortality. Eunice is a 20-something girl who would rather be partying in Rome than living in New Jersey near her mother, sister, and her physically and emotionally abusive father.
There you are: The first 1/3 of the book summed up in a paragraph. That's really all that happens. You find out that the culture is sex-crazed and things like orgy parties and bras that have openings in the middle to show off women's nipples are the latest craze. I promise, I'm not so easily offended that I put down a book because of a few raunchy scenes. But in that sex crazed culture, even Lenny's "selfless" love and commitment to Eunice (who wants nothing to do with him other than the occasional romp) makes him seem like a dirty old man. I really hate dirty old men.
The political overtones had the potential to be fascinating. I really appreciated the "reentrance exam" that Lenny had to take when he came home to the US because that's kind of how I feel every time I have to go through customs.
Also, some of the brand names were epic. I don't have the ereader in front of me but it was things like "CitiGerberHersheyGM Bank". You got the feel of centuries of Wall Street scuffles and mergers. I just wish those moments of brilliance weren't wasted on shallow and unsympathetic characters.
Another book bites the dust.
And finally: Pillars of the Earth
This book is THICK. The version I have is like 900-something pages. Here's the truth, I like reading a book like that every once in a while. Some people feel accomplished when they climb a 14er (I just wanted to die the one time I did that). I feel accomplished when I read a book over 500 pages.
A sweet woman in my office lent me this book because, as I do, she reads a lot of high fantasy. She said that I would like it, even though it was sans-magic.
Like any good historical novel, it started out slow. That didn't scare me. What I couldn't get over was how remarkably masculine the writing was. I don't have to read books by women, but after a woman who had met the main character (who's wife had passed away hours before) hopped on top of his starving and hypothermic body and had sex with him, I had a hard time connecting with them. They also had sex underneath a cloak when their respective kids were sleeping in the same room. Creepy. And gross. And creepy.
Also, one of the narrating characters kept thinking about how much he liked raping women. That was horrifying a little bit disconcerting. I really hope he turned into a bad guy. Though I didn't have the fortitude to wade through the rest of the book to find out.
There were sections about the monasteries that were really cool. And it's always nice to get a slice of what life was like in the days of yore. It really is the kind of story that immerses you in the feeling of the time even more than the narrative.
I don't care if I love the setting and the feel of the story, if you can't make me care about your characters, I'm not sticking around. And the truth is, I didn't like any of the characters. Maybe the ginger kid (his mom was the one with the cloak and the inappropriate sexing of strangers). I threw in the towel after 300 pages. I feel like that's a valiant attempt. I should get some sort of cash prize medal or something.
*deep breath*
Well, that was cleansing.
I should go read some Sarah Addison Allen or something to purge my soul from flat characters.
