Since last I’ve posted, I’ve read Suttree by Cormac McCarthy. Some incredible writing in this book. The vocabulary alone may drive one to despair, but if you can make it through the first chapter, you’re in for a really interesting ride and an eye-opening experience as to just how many words actually exist in the world. The structure of this book is different from others I’m used to. The book does not really have a build to it. But each event is interesting on its own and what we get is the story of what a very real person because of it. After all, most of our lives don’t build like they do in novels to some climactic moment, but that doesn’t mean there can’t be drama in them. And Suttree has plenty of drama in his life. Living in the underworld of Tennessee we see the story of a man who always seems a step from death running with the likes who seem to be already tripping over it. And that adds up to an incredible book of survival and humanity. This book is like checking up on a friend. Each section is a new piece of life of Suttree’s journey. It feels like I’m just calling him up on the phone and saying, “Hey, Sut, what you been up to?” Of course, Suttree woudln’t have money to own a phone. But the really great pleasures are the characters, the dialogue, and the trip to the netherworlds that McCarthy takes us to.
God Bless You Mr. Rosewater by Vonnegut was one I finished some time back. I never did write an entry for it. Vonnegut’s just a helluva writer and Rosewater was a great ride. I really enjoyed the time I spent with Mr. Rosewater, and his unflinching madness to take care of mankind as if each one of us is his toddler son or daughter. And there is just nothing – I repeat nothing – that compares to Vonnegut’s prose and voice. I was a bit let down with the ending, especially in comparison to Breakfast of Champions, but it was still a great ride.
I’ve taken Stephen King’s advice from his On Writing and have just tried to read more. And in so doing he recommends listening to books on tape. I listened to Sissy Spacek do Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird and that was just heaven. But then I listened to Faulkner’s Absalom, Absalom and was really disappointed with that. Sometimes I was literally screaming at Faulkner to “get on with it” as I drove down the highway, and I love Faulkner. I suspect I would have enjoyed this experience much more had I read the book. My apologies to the dude who read it. And now I’m listening to The Secret Life of Bees. And I love it. Damn can Ms. Monk write a simile – as poetically as Manny Ramirez swings a bat. Interesting, the books I enjoy listening to have young girls as narrators, i.e., the characters are young girls. Maybe it’s just that typical storytelling without the devices of literature play better on tape, whereas literature needs to be read. I’m almost done with that one I’m sad to say, because I love it and I’m not sure what to follow up with.
As far as reading goes, I’m looking toward reading either some Horton Foote plays, Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse Five or some Joyce Carole Oats. We shall see.
