Two things.

Firstly, I've given up on War and Peace.

It breaks my heart, believe it or not. But I got wrapped up in other books, and other parts of life (the joy of the season is that I can be working in my yard!). What I read I loved. And I want to read it again - or the parts that I have read so far. I really enjoyed it, just could not be dedicated to it and other books. It is far too complex.

Secondly, I've finished Everything is Illuminated.

Last night as I was nearing the end, I heard a voice in my head. Don't move on, it said. Read this book again. Right now. Figure out something else.

I did not listen. I've moved onto a new book. But I'll be damned if I am not distracted by thoughts of Everything is Illuminated.

What a fantastic novel. I'm going to be mulling over it for a long time. I do think, though, that it has altered my understanding of what is included in a quality novel. It puts other books that I have read this year into perspective, and makes me want to reread some of them - just to see if they are actually as good as I remember.

This novel makes me think that they are not. They are not half as tightly constructed. Or half as creative. Or half as fascinating to read - with so many voices, and so many lovely characters, and so much philosophy. Everywhere. Philosophy. Absolutely brilliant, and totally moving.

Don't allow yourself to be disappointed just yet...

Last night I could not fall asleep. How frustrating when that happens. I got home from a music rehearsal and had a quick snack of some toast, and then tried to sleep. And tried to sleep. I read a bit. Tried to sleep. Read a bit more. Tried to sleep again.

I failed in the trying to sleep, but definitely succeeded in the reading.

Thank goodness

Now for a little note on Surfacing, Margaret Atwood's second novel which is currently casting a shadow over my nightstand (actually, I took it to work today to read during my breaks, and so I suppose it is casting a shadow in my daypack at this very moment). For some reason it was grabbed yesterday instead of Hisham Matar's In The Country of Men.

And I am thinking that was a mistake.

My mother and my brother both swear against Margaret Atwood. My experience with Alias Grace, one of my favourite novels, turned me into a fan. 70 pages into this short novel I am not sure I really know where it is going - I'm not sure it knows where it is going. I don't know what it is about, or what it isn't about. Every paragraph has an identity crisis.

This novel has certainly captured in the universe of 1970s Canadiana. Not a bad thing, but maybe, just maybe, not a good thing either. I'll finish it, out of necessity - but I may come away with a bit of a sour taste, wondering how it is that Atwood managed to go from this piece of schlock to the glorious literary adventure I experienced in Alias Grace.

Regarding last night - because I am consciously trying to slow down my reading of these novels, I used War and Peace to keep me entertained in my restlessness. Damn, this is a great book.

A New Reading Strategy - Part 2

I think I may have a handle on this new reading strategy. Hopefully it will slow down my consumption of literature and allow things to settle a bit more in my psyche. Affect me more deeply - just as Annabel did in its 6-day long lifespan.

I have not allowed myself to pick out my next book since completing Outer Dark by Cormac McCarthy. It has been four days now, and I have focused my reading on Tolstoy's War and Peace. And the barbs have sunk in. I am enamoured by the writing and the characterization. Truly, this is a piece of impressive creativity.

I have already laughed in this book. I was out in public at the time, and I laughed at a book - and I am sure that I got the awkward and confused glances that I often send in the direction of people who do the same around me. But I couldn't help it. Tolstoy captures that frivolity of Russian socialites that seems to fit so well into my understanding of their aristocracy from this period. And yet each and every single one of them (and there are lots of them) has a purpose that they intend of following through - be it the acquisition of money from a dying man, or the movement of a son from the fighting line as they start training for a war with Napoleon. It is really impressive to see all of these stories weaved together.

Enthralling.

I can't decide what the read next. As I mentioned last week, I have purchased more books (but no more book shelf space) to read recently, as though I hadn't already collected an amount above and beyond what I can hope to accomplish this year. I'm thinking though that Hisham Matar's In the Country of Men may win out. Or Atwood's Surfacing. I'll be making a decision today so that I can start slowly delving into a universe parallel to that of Tolstoy's.

Finished. Again. Annabel.

I'm finished Annabel. It is too early to say that I have been changed by it, but I think it is not too early to say that I have been challenged by it. Many of its themes were so closely tied to things that I have been thinking about for the past several weeks that the last couple hundred pages just wrapped me in words and gently set me down on a bed of Caribou Moss.

I will write about it soon. This is a book that deserves a good amount of reading. Though I am going to have to read the epilogue again between now and then. I am not sure that I liked it much...

I started reading a new book this evening. Outer Dark by Cormac McCarthy - one of the books I purchased today even though I have plenty of other books to read. It is his second published novel, dating back to 1968, and the voice of the author is so drastically different than that of Kathleen Winter in Annabel that I have found myself racing through the text without comprehending it.

Clearly I had forgotten that you cannot do this with a Cormac McCarthy book.

I have had to go back and read paragraphs and pages, and remind myself to slow down in my reading. It isn't a race, Neal - it is a measure of comprehension and impact. That is why I read. Not to see my 'finished' bookshelves expand, but to be moved.

I had the same problem when I started reading Annabel, whose voice is different still from that of Yann Martel's Beatrice and Virgil (have you started this book yet, by the way - it is beyond fantastic). It is difficult to switch between author's in the same day - this is my fourth in less than two weeks. Fifth and sixth if you include War and Peace and An Irish Heart. I need to slow down my reading, apparently.

On a side note, if this novel is as enjoyable as both The Road and No Country For Old Men were I will be prepared to exalt McCarthy to an internal list of some of the greatest writers I know of. I suppose I will keep you informed as to how this goes. I don't expect this novel to last more than the weekend - and then I don't know what to pick up afterwards. Faulkner? Atwood?

Isn't this why I am reading War and Peace too?