Between the pages: March

March reads! Coming to you, naturally, in early April.

I don’t know what possessed me but I read a lot this past month. Probably because reading offers a pretty nice little escape from the real world and right now the real world is stressful and all over the place so turning to books helps with that a bit.

You’ll notice it looks like I read six books in March, but it’s actually five. That’s because I forgot to include one of the books I read in February in that month’s blog post. Actually, I forgot I read it at all. In all honesty I’m not even sure if I read it in February but I do remember I read it in 2017 so it’s a safe bet. So yeah, just imagine Kawabata’s The Lake sandwiched between the February reads. Or don’t, I don’t care, I just need to account for it.

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March reads, in chronological order:

The Lake | Yasunari Kawabata

The fact that I forgot to include this book in February’s list is certainly not because it is a forgettable book. A more accurate statement would be that I am a forgetful person who reads a lot of really good books, and because I read this book in just a day while some of the others took much longer, there was a good chance I’d forget to include it in my list. Anyway, I’ve been trying to read more Japanese literature in the pasta couple years, and Kawabata was Japan’s first winner of the Nobel Prize for literature, so I’m glad I found this book at a library book sale for a humble dollar. The Lake is the story of the repulsive Gimpei, a man who stalks beautiful women, and gives us glimpses at his unhappy life. Kawabata switches effortlessly between reality and fantasy, leaving the reader as confused about Gimpei as they were upon first meeting him in a bath house at the start of the book. I’m struggling to describe this book with concision, but I’ll leave you with a nice little glimpse into Kawabata’s prose and his dark protagonist:

Just as Gimpei followed women, so his lies trailed behind him. Perhaps it is the same with crime. A crime, once committed, pursues a person until he repeats it.

The Prince | Niccolo Machiavelli

This is one of those “I read this so long ago I can’t say I really remember it so I should probably read it again” situations. Almost everyone has heard of this book; after all, its had a major influence on modern political philosophy since its publication in the 1500s. Essentially, it justifies the immoral actions of leaders in the interest of preserving order and gaining prestige.

And, moreover, he [the prince] need not worry about incurring the bad reputation of those vices without which it would be difficult to hold his state; since, carefully taking everything into account, he will discover that something which appears to be a virtue, if pursued, will end in his destruction; while some other thing which seems to be a vice, if pursued, will result in his safety and his well-being.

Wampeters, Foma, & Granfalloons | Kurt Vonnegut

I’ve been slowly but surely making my way through Vonnegut’s complete works and this one happened to be one I hadn’t read yet. It’s not a novel, but a collection of essays and speeches (plus one short work of fiction) in which Vonnegut’s usual dark comedy makes an appearance, although at times it seems even he deems the subject matter a bit to distressing to joke about. For instance, in his essay “Biafra: A People Betrayed,” he writes of the atrocities that took place during the siege of Biafra by Nigeria and his own experience visiting Biafra on an aid mission. While there are a few snide comments here and there, it is evident that he feels deeply connected to the Biafrans and mourns their defeat and suffering wholeheartedly. It is perhaps one of the most sincere pieces of writing from Vonnegut that I remember, aside from The Sirens of Titan, a novel that moved me so much I recall tearing up at one point.

Civilization and its Discontents | Sigmund Freud

This is a book I wish I had read long ago. I am familiar with some of Freud’s writings on psychology but not so much with his sociological work, which I suppose is where you would categorize this (although if you’re looking for a work of Freud’s where he doesn’t talk about the Id, the Ego, and the Superego, this is not the book for you). Freud is often the butt of the joke these days, and it seems no one really takes him seriously (often, for good reason), but this book deserves more respect than that. Freud seeks to answer why people joined together in this thing called “civilization” at all, and how civilization inherently creates discontent amongst those living in it (hence the title). If you have a bone to pick with Freud, you’ll probably find a few more in this book as well, but I will say it is worth the read and the arguments are worth consideration.

The Sellout | Paul Beatty

I borrowed this book on recommendation from a good friend and it’s gotta be one of the best American books written in the last twenty years. At its core, The Sellout is a racial satire that involves the reinstitution of slavery and segregation in a Los Angeles neighborhood. I don’t even want to say much more about this book other than get your damn hands on it right this minute. I will say that while it’s easy to tune out and laugh at Beatty’s jokes, the jokes carry a great deal of weight behind them and it would behoove (white) people to consider them beyond their immediate comedic value. Seriously, though, this book is a god damn treasure. I’ll be seeking out more of Beatty’s works to read in the future.

1Q84 | Haruki Murakami

Whenever I feel overwhelmed by the world around me, I dive into a Murakami novel. Chalk it up to all that magical realism, I guess. Anyway, I wasn’t really looking to add a 1,000+ page book to my reading queue at the end of the month for fear that I wouldn’t finish it in time to add it to March’s list, but the nice thing about Murakami is that he’s easier to read than Tolstoy or Pynchon (mostly Pynchon), so this mammoth-sized novel didn’t actually feel that long. All in all, I enjoyed this book. It wasn’t my favorite (that would have to be The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle or A Wild Sheep Chase), but it did what I needed it to do: take me in and offer me an escape. The first half of the book was brilliantly done, almost painfully suspenseful at times, but the pacing in the last half was off and the story started to stagnate and dragged me to the end. Sometimes I wonder who Murakami’s editor is and what exactly he edits out of these books because it often seems like he just checks for typos and calls it a day. Also, while I’m not against a good love story, this one was… well, corny. Really, really corny. The end of the book had me rolling my eyes more than once. That said, it’s still worth a read, and I wish I had just half the imagination that Murakami possesses.