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janeg

janeg

Currently reading

Learn Raspberry Pi with Linux
David Hows, Peter Membrey
A Common Faith (The Terry Lectures Series)
John Dewey
The Gate Behind the Wall
Samuel C. Heilman
Modernity: An Introduction to Modern Societies
Don Hubert, Kenneth Thompson, David Held, Stuart Hall
Lectures on Russian Literature
Vladimir Nabokov, Владимир Набоков
The Slave Next Door: Human Trafficking and Slavery in America Today
Kevin Bales;Ron Soodalter
In the Shadow of Young Girls in Flower
Marcel Proust, Christopher Prendergast, James Grieve
Love
Jean Stewart, B.C.J.G. Knight, Suzanne Sale, Gilbert Sale, Stendhal
Atlas of the Roman World
John Matthews, Tim J. Cornell
Lord Jim
Joseph Conrad
The Crying of Lot 49 - Thomas Pynchon I wish I could write a profound review, stelliferous with jargon and theories.
Pynchon, for me, was associated with hipsters and students of literature loving their post-modern analyses disappearing into some sort of meta-xyz or deconstruction. He had never been on my list of authors to read, mostly due to my reluctance to read any more American authors than I already had, feeling the list had already grown disproportionately long and dulling my token effort to not melt into the hegemony.

I don't really know how it happened. Gravity's Rainbow has been sitting on the #1 spot of my to-read shelf, and two or three months from joining goodreads I started reading the shortest Pynchon I could find, unwilling to commit to a longer volume given the chances I may dislike it yet spend time hoisting the interminable pages and cursing my inability to drop a book once started.

I didn't like it much for the first few dozen of pages. Then it grew on me. No, I stopped 'reading' it and started 'seeing' it, stopped trying to make sense of it and started to get high on the awesome phrases this ex-navy-recluse put out. I read this book as I would watch a movie by McQueen. Turning off my brain and opening my eyes, looking at the sequence of words as I watched Hunger - frame by frame, picture by picture, forgetting the continuity, narrative, story, whatever. I was dazed. Who cares about the plot. I don't. Coherence and meaning? Not really. I enjoyed the book the way I saw it, and whatever I missed I didn't grieve for.