Although I generally enjoy book reviews more than anything else on book blogs, every Sunday, I enjoy opening up my Google Reader and seeing everyone’s Sunday Salon posts. Because I enjoy reading these posts so much, I thought it might me fun to join in with my own weekly post on some bookish topic that’s on my mind as well as an update on my reading plans.
For the past couple of weeks, I’ve been pondering difficult books and the value of reading them, so I was interested in Lev Grossman’s Wall Street Journal commentary, “Good Books Don’t Have to Be Hard.” Grossman muses about the bias some have against plot-heavy fiction and how it has affected the world of literary fiction:
After all, the discipline of the conventional literary novel is a pretty harsh one. To read one is to enter into a kind of depressed economy, where pleasure must be bought with large quantities of work and patience. The Modernists felt little obligation to entertain their readers. That was just the price you paid for your Joycean epiphany. Conversely they have trained us, Pavlovianly, to associate a crisp, dynamic, exciting plot with supermarket fiction, and cheap thrills, and embarrassment. Plot was the coward’s way out, for people who can’t deal with the real world. If you’re having too much fun, you’re doing it wrong.
He goes on to point out that much of the most entertaining and sophisticated writing today is being done in the world of genre fiction, citing Michael Chabon, Donna Tartt, Audrey Niffenegger, Kate Atkinson, Neil Gaiman, and Susanna Clarke as examples. He notes that Cormac McCarthy and Thomas Pyncheon are even dipping their toes into the world of genre fiction.
I’ve been pondering this question myself as I’ve been reading Infinite Jest, a novel known for being sometimes indecipherable. I’ve certainly gone through periods where I have found the book much more difficult than it is enjoyable and wondered if the many rewards of reading the book are worth the work involved. Is Infinite Jest a better book for being difficult, or might it have just as much literary merit if Wallace had trimmed some of the lengthier, more repetitive passages and stuck to a more conventional time line? (I’d say yes to trimming the lengthier passages and no to the conventional time line, but others will no doubt disagree.)
What do you think? What is the value of reading difficult books? Do difficult books necessarily have more merit than easier reads?
Notes on My Bookish Life
I like seeing other bloggers’ updates on what they’re reading or planning to read, so I thought I’d close this post with a few notes on my own reading.
Books Completed
- Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell by Susanna Clarke: an audio reading of one of my all-time favorites.
- The Emperor by Cynthia Harrod-Eagles: the 11th Morland Dynasty book, the series is getting better and better.
Currently Reading
- Me Cheeta: My Life in Hollywood. A parody of the Hollywood memoir, on the Booker longlist. I’m only two chapters in. So far, it’s sometimes hilarious, sometimes too in love with its own cleverness.
- Oryx and Crake by Margaret Atwood on audio. I read this dystopian novel years ago but have forgotten most of it; it will be nice to refresh my memory before reading Year of the Flood, which I believe is set in the same world.
- Infinite Jest by David Foster Wallace. I’m now reading this on my lunch hour at work and am slightly behind because I’ve had to work through lunch several times and I was off work for a few days. Every time I’m ready to give up on it, something surprising or hilarious happens and I decide to keep going. It’s the mafia of books: “Just when I think I’m out, it pulls me back in.”
- The Ode Less Traveled by Stephen Fry. Lessons in writing poetry. It’s as entertaining as you’d expect something by Stephen Fry to be. It is not, however, turning me into a master poet.
On Deck
- The Master and Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov. I’ve been eager to read this ever since Jenny posted her review last summer. When I got an opportunity to get a review copy from OneWorld books, I couldn’t turn it down.
- The Quickening Maze by Adam Foulds. Another Booker longlister. It’s about the poet John Clare.
- Comfort Me with Apples by Ruth Reichl on audio. A foodie memoir that I got from the library.
- Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil by Jon Berendt on audio. I may be the last person on Earth to read this, so when I saw it at the library I figured I might as well give it a try.
New Acquisitions
- Ekaterinberg: The Last Days of the Romanovs by Helen Rappaport. I believe it was Elaine’s review at Random Jottings that brought this book to my attention. I’ve finally obtained a copy from Bookmooch.
- Lapsing by Jill Paton Walsh. Another Bookmooch find that I first heard about on Harriet Devine’s Blog.
- Testament by Alis Hawkins. Juxtabook’s review made this sound irresistable, so I was happy to find it on Bookmooch.
New Discoveries
- Beowulf on the Beach byJack Murngihan. I’m pretty sure I heard this book mentioned on NPR a while back, but Citizen Reader’s review convinced me I’d probably like it, so I’ve added it to my “books I don’t want to forget about” list.
I agree that there are books out there that seem to revel in being indecipherable. Although it’s a nice gimmick, ultimately it harms the author because there will be less interest in reading anything else by them in the future. For example, after getting stuck in Pynchon’s Mason and Dixon, I’m far less likely to pick up anything else by him.
And I haven’t read Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil either — I’ve only seen the film! :)
“I’d say yes to trimming the lengthier passages and no to the conventional time line, but others will no doubt disagree.”
Not me. I agree wholeheartedly. I have been so conflicted about this book that I am considering shelving it and taking up the second half this winter. I find it hilarious in part and some sections leave me breathless as a reflection of craft. Then that will be followed by a three page sentence (exaggeration) that I recently saw referred to as “mental masturbation.” Experimental and /or difficult novels are essential to stretching boundaries as readers but I prefer at least some measure of restraint. Look at Pynchon’s new novel. Pynchon is funny and can do PR? Who would have thought?
Happy reading!
I feel pretty much the same as you with Infinite Jest. I think the inverted timeline adds to the story, but some of the passages can be really long. I suppose it rewards a careful reader, but I find myself skimming passages that seem to go on forever. I like the book and am enjoying the challenge, but would feel just as challenged even if the book was 100 pages shorter :)
I think the Modernist movement in book-writing (I hate to call this format “literature”) actually has alienated readers. I hate all the devices used by these authors in recent years and hope that writers will return to writing books with a plot — and maybe even a linear plot! Modernists have ruined the contemporary novel. I sure hope that the novel becomes more entertaining…and that does not mean trite.
Kristen: I do think it’s worthwhile when trying a new author to seek out some of their more accessible works. My own Faulkner phobia comes from the fact that my first Faulkner was The Sound and the Fury.
Frances: I’m glad I’m not alone in the mixed feelings. I nearly shelved the book a couple of weeks ago during the interminable passages about AA, which were insightful and interesting for about 3 pages. I love how DFW plays around with plot, but restraint can be a very good thing. I am curious about Pynchon’s new book. I’ve never read anything of his, and Grossman’s mention of it in the WSJ article makes me wonder if it would be a good place to start.
Kim: Yes, skimming is becoming essential. There are some parts that I’m really loving, and the structure is brilliant, particularly in the first half, but the last half feels bloated. You may be right that it rewards the careful reader, but I’m not finding it consistently rewarding enough to mull over every word.
Joanne: I do think some of the modernist devices authors have been using can add interest and even be useful. The Wilderness by Samantha Harvey would have been trite if she hadn’t chosen to experiment with the lead character’s memory loss. However, I think experimentation like that should serve the story, not alienate the reader. And I wholeheartedly agree that entertaining does not have to equal trite. The authors Grossman mentions are great examples of authors who aren’t afraid to entertain. (And I’d suggest Colm Toibin’s Brooklyn as another novel with an old-fashioned style but literary cred–it’s on the Booker long list.)
I wouldn’t say good books have to be difficult (nor are all difficult books good!) but as I am in the middle of a very long, quite difficult book that is ALSO plot-heavy and exciting — War and Peace — I think it’s worth thinking about. In the book of Michael Chabon’s essays that I read recently, he put it to the reader that there is room for everything, and that literary fiction has deemed only the contemporary, plotless, quotidian epiphany-novel to be worth writing or reading. Obviously this is silly. There’s room for good novels in every genre (and, sadly, bad ones too.)
But I also wonder whether a truly great novel actually does need to be a bit difficult — whether it should have a lot to reveal that isn’t apparent at first glance. I can’t think of a single great novel right off the top of my head that is really simple. Great books should make you think about things, and people, differently, and that’s not an easy task. Genre novels can certainly do it, and I can think of dozens that have, in my own reading experience. But not un-difficultly, for lack of a better word.
Sorry for the long comment! I haven’t been posting because I’ve been trying to get to the end of W&P! Only 200 pages left!
Philip Pullman made almost the same point about genre fiction some years ago. He said that one of the main reasons he wrote for children and, he felt, that so many adults enjoyed children’s fiction was precisely because it told a story. One of the problems I have with non-plot drive books is that I find them difficult to out down and then come back to without having to go back on what I’ve already read to remind me of what the author is doing.
Nope, they’ve got to be entertaining, or at least engaging, if they are going to rank as good books for me. Difficult books can still be moving or amusing, and easy books can be trite and implausible, so I don’t subscribe to the division of pleasure either side of that boundary line. I do wonder, though, how personal the idea of difficulty is. I found Proust a pleasure to read, for instance, but couldn’t make any headway with Gaddis (which makes me wary of Infinite Jest). I know of a friend who responded in exactly opposite ways. Which was interesting, if confusing!
Great post, Teresa! I have spent A LOT of time thinking about this issue of difficult books, and I have to say I’m no closer to a conclusion than you are! I think the merit of difficult books depends on why we read – sometimes I read to be mentally stimulated and to stretch myself, in which difficult book can be challenging and rewarding. But some times I want a book to comfort me, or to allow me to escape from the stress and grind of daily life… in these cases, a difficult book is probably going to be the worst thing to pick up. Of course, there are many ways a book can be difficult, so all those elements have to be juggled as well! One thing I know about myself, however, is that I will never read a book simply because it is known to be difficult and hard for its readers. I don’t appreciate authors purposefully trying to alienate their readers!
Looks like you’re knee deep in plenty of good books at the moment. I recently read The Year of the Flood (for BookPage, so no review is up on our site… yet!), and while re-reading O&C may help see some of the ties between the two novels, it’s definitely not required (I read it about 3 years ago, and was perfectly able to follow TYotF). I’m really looking forward to your thoughts on it (and until you’ve read it, I won’t say any more!).
Also, I LOVED Midnight in the Garden of Good & Evil, so I really hope you enjoy it too! Definitely turned the non-fic genre on its ear for me!
You’re not the last person in the world to read Midnight in the Garden of Good & Evil; it’s on my to-be-read list as well. I added it after I read The City of Falling Angels (his second book) which takes place in Venice after the fire that destroyed the Fenice opera house. It’s a great book so if you like Berendt, I’d recommend checking that out as well.
Jenny, I think a great book can also be enjoyable…but who defines “great” for us anyway? LOL Someone else’s idea of great may not be mine…or yours, either.
You mention that a great book makes one think about things differently…..Heck, the text on a cereal box can make me do that!
Colm Toibin’s “Brooklyn” is not all that accurate, according to a friend of mine who grew up there and still is often in that area. She said that many of his references are “off” and that he missed the real flavor of Brooklyn. Maybe he sacrificed authenticity for something else, but my friend said that the flavor of the real Brooklyn never was there.
I just posted about my favorite books (a “secret” assignment from my daughter spurred this on) and none of them are probably considered great books, but all are books that have endured for me. You can see them here:
http://everydaymatters.typepad.com/every_day_matters/2009/08/sunday-salon-secret-assignmentfavorite-books.html
Wow, meaty post, and do you have well-informed commenters. Beautiful.
I’m very glad my review of “Beowulf on the Beach” didn’t scare you off of it! I liked it rather more than I thought I would. I’m glad you’ve set up your own reminder to look at it someday!
Incidentally: Someone mentioned Chabon’s book of essays, at least some of which are about lit fic, genre fic, and “readable” books, which I personally found ironic, as I have started ALL of Chabon’s novels and have never been able to finish one. I have no idea what’s going on in his books from start to finish (which for me is always around page 75). To each their own, evidently.
Jenny: In my mind, there’s a big distinction between difficult to read and challenging to think about. A book can be quite an easy read, but still very challenging. (Fledgling by Octavia Butler comes immediately to mind.) Most of my favorites have challenged me in some way, but they’ve never felt like a chore.
Ann: Pullman certainly knows how to tell a good story that also challenges readers’ thinking. (I am, however, of the opinion that story got drowned out by his message in his last His Dark Materials book.) I can handle a book without a lot of plot, but I do better when there’s something going on—some kind of forward motion, character development—to keep me interested.
Litlove: Excellent point about difficulty being a personal thing. I’ve noticed that I’ve had difficulty with different parts of Infinite Jest than others. The beginning entranced me. I didn’t know what was going on, and I wanted to understand. That, and the wonderful narrative voice, drove me forward. It was challenging, but riveting. Once everything started coming together, my motivation flagged. (I’ve never read Proust or Gaddis, so I have no basis for comparison there.)
Steph: Great points. I also read to be mentally stretched sometimes, but I also read to escape, so it all depends on what I’m looking for. And I’m not inclined to pick up a book just because it’s difficult. There’s too much good stuff out there for me to waste time doing that. And thanks for the Atwood tip. I’m mostly listening to Oryx and Crake because it was the most promising audiobook at the library the day I checked it out. The timing is just especially good. I have a review copy of Year of the Flood, but I’m holding off on reading it until closer to the release date. (I like to write my reviews when the book is fresh in my mind, and I don’t like seeing reviews posted way before publication.)
Alayne: My library also has City of Falling Angels on audio. I almost checked it out instead, but decided I should go with Midnight since so many people have told me to read it. If I like it, I’ll go for City as well.
JoAnn: Yes, I agree that greatness can be subjective. For me, any list of great books just constitutes a list of books worth considering reading because lots of people over time have agreed that they’re great. There are no guarantees that every book will suit every reader. And every reader will have his or her own idiosyncratic list of great books—and you’ve got some very good ones on yours :-)
Citizen Reader: I’ve been lurking on your blog for quite a while, and added a few books to my list based on your reviews, but I don’t think I’ve ever commented there. The quote in your review about Lolita made Beowulf on the Beach sound irresistible. Jenny reviewed Chabon’s book of essays here a while back. Maybe that would have been a better fit for you than his fiction—it would have fit right in with your books about books series.
Just as a steady diet of ice cream won’t nourish the body, a steady diet of potboilers won’t nourish the soul. I personally find that a balanced diet works best for me–a little dessert, and a lot of hearty classics and side dishes of lit crit and history and bios.
>Most of my favorites have challenged me in some way, but they’ve never felt like a chore.
Absolutely.
Although conversely, I do occasionally tackle a work that I feel I should read…Joyce’s Ulysses springs to mind, and that has become a chore though I will finish it time. Protestant work ethic?
JaneGS: I like that–a good reading diet with balance. And I get what you mean about books you feel you “should” read. I guess because I have a lot of required reading for work and for classes, I don’t like for my free time reading to be more pain than pleasure. Once I start a book, though, I have a hard time giving myself permission to give up, unless it’s both dreadful and a chore. (Infinite Jest is a chore, but not dreadful.)
I don’t think difficult books are better than easier ones or vice versa; I think the two types (although it’s not clear cut what is what) offer different kinds of pleasures and experiences and one kind is not necessarily better than the other. I think reading experiences are so varied, they are hard to categorize, and books themselves are very hard to categorize too. I’m not finding Infinite Jest difficult, but I’m also not stressing about understanding every little thing going on. Someone else might find it a much harder book because they ARE trying to get every little thing. So even what’s difficult isn’t easy to clarify.
I understand the impulse to say “Who defines what’s great?” but I think there are actually some basic standards. Not many people really think the text on a cereal box makes you think differently about human beings in the same way that, say, To Kill A Mockingbird does. A Gossip Girl novel or a novel based on a video game may be fun to read, but I don’t think anyone is saying they’re great literature, and that’s for a reason. This is not to say that we all have to read great literature, or only great literature, or that the canon can’t stand to be expanded, or that different people can’t have different views on what’s great. A balanced diet, as JaneGS put it, is a wonderful thing.
Dorothy: I agree that degree of difficulty isn’t reflective of a book’s merit. For me, as long as I’m getting pleasure out of a book, I’ll keep reading it, even if it’s difficult. (And I can’t imagine trying to pick up every little thing in Infinite Jest. For me, the period of non-pleasure had more to do with boredom than actual challenge.)
Jenny: I wonder if that impulse comes out of the mistaken assumption that we’re all supposed to be reading these books and just these books. I love much of what’s in the typical canonical lists, but I’ve gotten past the belief that I should read all of these books–or confine my reading to them. For me, their value is in guiding interested readers toward particularly significant/important books. Maybe they’re good reads, maybe they’re not. Depends on the reader, the reader’s mood, etc.