The deceptively easy read

Reading Krystal’s subtle and savvy piece, it struck me that our talk of guilty pleasures involves two controversial assumptions: that some books (and perhaps some genres) are objectively inferior to others and that “better” books are generally not very enjoyable.  Combined, the two assumptions lead to a view under which, to pick up Krystal’s metaphor, we think of books the way we often think of foods: there those that are “good for you” and those that merely “taste good.” 

Just as I'm posting a comment (admittedly a self-justifying one) below which tries to make the case for books that are enjoyable, entertaining and easy, I happen upon this piece on the NYT blog. I don't agree with the author's contention that we prejudice physical work over intellectual work ie. Running marathons, climbing mountains and competing at high levels in tennis or basketball are very difficult things to do, but people get immense enjoyment from them.  Why should the intellectual work of reading “The Sound and the Fury” or “Pale Fire” be any less enjoyable? The  intellectual equivalent of recreational sports are puzzles and games; crosswords, Sudoku, and the ultimate calisthenics of the mind chess etc. which are very popular and can be difficult. I think people get as much pleasure (maybe even more) from an intellectual challenge as a physical one. My contention about the value of a so-called 'difficult' read versus an 'easy' one would be that it's essentially a false dichotomy. Very often books initially dismissed as 'easy' eventually, over time, turn out to be, sophisticated and influential eg. Raymond Chandler, while books respected for their so-called complexity and influence end up being unreadable and more talked about than actually read eg. Joyce's Ulysses. Books considered masterpieces in one era end up forgotten, just as others are re-discovered as long-forgotten masterpieces. Wasn't Shakespeare once considered popular theatre, the soap opera of his day? It seems to me that there is a difference between suffering through a book and enjoying the challenge of one (as one might do with a good crossword). Even so-called complex novels have a responsibility to the reader, and that is never to bore him. Admission: I couldn't finish \The Sound and the Fury. It bored me to tears.

Well, they can't all be positive reviews

Rotchin is great at evoking the deep sense of ambivalence we all feel for some of our family members; those towards whom we feel a duty, rather than a genuine bond.

Which goes to show that even from a pretty negative review you can glean something blurbable.

Of course, the reviewer misses the mark in a half dozen ways; for one, the protagonist is not middle-age (unless you consider 65 middle-age). She criticizes the book for being from his "warped and bitter" point of view, writing that the omission of other family perspectives as "relief" were a "missed opportunity." This is meant to be Mort's side of the story, period. It's meant to be unrelenting. Nevermind that other reviewers found the narrative charming, to criticize a book for what it should have been instead of for what it is or tries to be, is like saying Szechuan doesn't taste enough like pizza. Clearly, satire is not to this reviewer's taste. Read more.

And one comment which has been common to almost every review, which I find very interesting. They've all said that the book was "entertaining" or "enjoyable," even the negative ones, also that it's a "quick" or "easy" read. For me, an enjoyable, entertaining and easy read are enough, and exactly what I was after in writing the novel. In terms of my objectives, I'd add "funny," which thankfully, many reviewers have perceived. Much of the critical comment on the book stems from whether the reviewer thinks this is enough. It's certainly not if you come to a novel with preconceived notions about what a novel should do, which, in the case of this reviewer is to offer "deep insights into human nature," and explore "ethnic segregation and tension." This was never my goal or intention. I'm at the stage in life where a thimble of laughs is more valuable than a vat of "deep insights." I wanted to write a novel for readers not reviewers. Comparing the reception of my two novels, reviewers were generally very positive while readers tended to be mystified by my first. With the second, the reverse seems often the case. It makes me wonder about the difference, and the challenge of writing something that bridges the gap, or even if that's necessary. Maybe the reviewers will eventually catch up to the general readers.

Wildlife by Richard Ford


My rating: 4 of 5 stars


This is a classic coming of age story, a young man on the cusp of maturity who learns that life is fundamentally uncertain and unpredictable when his father decides to leave home to join the teams of men (and some women) heading off to fight forest fires in the mountains surrounding their town. Ford masterfully conveys Joe Brinson's feeling of being caught somewhere between knowing and not knowing what will happen next as he is thrust into the middle of the fire that is the dissolution of his parents' fragile marriage. This is a novel that derives its power from simple unadorned language and an unstinting attention to detail. The story behaves like the fire it describes, with white hot embers of emotion seething beneath the surface, threatening to flare up and destroy at any moment. And like a fire, once on the surface, it's difficult to control.


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A little love for Halbman from my Alma Mater

Sometimes home is not what we think it is, Rotchin tells us, and memory can become a way forward rather than an anchor to the past. These themes will resonate even for those who have never set foot in Montreal. Read more.

Rabbit, Run by John Updike

My rating: 3 of 5 stars


There were times reading this novel when I was reminded of the musician who has great chops but doesn't know when to stop; he plays five notes when two tastefully executed would've sufficed. I guess it should be expected from this early novel in what was to become a long, illustrious and prodigious career. Rare is the talent that charges out of the gate fully mature, and Updike was no exception. I never did develop any sympathy for Harry - which is a major problem for a novel's readability - nor did I ever arrive at any genuine understanding as to why he walks out on his pregnant wife and young son in the first place. And perhaps that's Updike's main point: Harry's ambivalence leads to moral obtuseness. In the context of its publication at the end of the 50s ie. the United State's post-war economic boom and middle America reveling in an Ozzie and Harriet Protestant suburban fantasy, I can see how a character like Rabbit, the ambivalent rebel, might seem outrageous. Unquestionably, the tragic price paid for Harry's ambivalence is heart-wrenching. But nowadays, when thirty is the new twenty, youth are in no hurry to grow up and leave home, and ambivalence is the order of the day, Harry's 'rebellion' strikes me as rather quaint. I'll still read the next book in the series to see if both Updike the writer and Harry mature. 



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Halbman in Toronto

If you happen to be in Toronto next week, I'll be appearing at the Jewish Book Festival to read from Halbman, a program the organizers are calling "New Takes on Jewish Montreal."

Wednesday, June 6th - 5:30 PM ($5 at the door)

The Bram and Bluma Appel Salon

at the Toronto Reference Library

789 Yonge Street (at Bloor), Toronto

New Takes on Jewish Montreal

Authors Sara Ferdman Tauben, Seymour Mayne and B. Glen Rotchin will each discuss Jewish life in Montreal, its history and its people.

Sara Ferdman Tauben is the author of Traces of the Past: Montreal’s Early Synagogues. She will discuss the architecture and social history of the rise and fall of Jewish communal life in Montreal’s old centre.

Seymour Mayne’s latest book, The Old Blue Couch and Other Stories, gives rise to hilarious predicaments that are endearing and deliciously comic.

B. Glen Rotchin, author of Halbman Steals Home, enters the same Yiddish Montreal we have come to love through the words of Mordecai Richler and pulls it off with humour and warmth.

Sponsored by Ronald P. Frye & Company and Co-sponsored by the Vered Jewish Canadian Studies Program, University of Ottawa.

More details here.

 

The Letters of A.M. Klein and what they say about writing today

I also wonder, with the diminishments of email, where do we write this type of one-to-one writing now? Where the image of one single person is kept in mind while typing? It’s hard to figure. You might keep a journal, and even expect it to be read by one or two people posthumously, but this is not the same as writing to one person. You might unload in consecutive, endless tweets and blogs and confessional columns (hello!), but this is writing to a solid mass of “everybody,” and this, too, is very different. We don’t do the audience of one so much anymore — the audience of one is a lost audience. Read More