un rapporto instabile

you knew it was coming. i warned you. guess you've figured out by now that i dig reading. i dig books. i dig ideas. and this book is about reading, books, and ideas. surprisingly enough (to me), many people who enjoy reading DO NOT dig this book. again, warned.

italo calvino's if on a winter's night a traveler is one of my more recent favorites. have you ever noticed something you tend to do while reading? i don't just mean sitting in a comfy chair, but that too. i also mean things like notice that the author certainly used the word 'void' a lot. or that if this character says this one thing, someone's gunna die soon. now what if those patterns you notice or participate in were violated? what if they were pointed out to you in the very thing you're dissecting? would it make you uncomfortable? what if the plot wasn't resolved? would you put the book in the freezer? 


this pile of words is so much stinking fun i have to bifurcate again. it's becoming habit, i know, but at least then you can pretend this is like a choose your own adventure or something where you don't actually have to read the whole thing, just the piece you want, but then you'll actually end up reading the whole thing anyway because what could have happened?! ok, you don't have to read the whole thing. but you do. you can't help it. just be glad i'm not.. trifurcating!! because i totally could.


so remember when i said that someday i would compare this book with brautigan's watermelony goodness? apparently 'someday' is today. so i guess you have to call that one guy you told 'maybe someday' and stave him off with the 'maybe' part. here are the things about which i will now expound:

1. the reader!

is she talking about me? she can't be talking about me! yes, i am.

2. comparisons!
watermelons and feedings and travelers, oh my!


aaaaand they're off!


1. reader vs author vs character vs story vs ... verses. 

ha. see what i did there? anywho. this tome of awesome makes a very sharp point about the act of reading. it dives deep into the reader's psyche and pokes and prods it, teasing it. 

i suggested this book to my dear, angelic moms (right), and she assigned it to her book group at the library (you can decide later if that was awesome or mean). parentheticals aside, my moms has a blog too, go read it, she's a pro. and she gives away free books! 


which brings me closer to my punto numero uno. calvino doesn't just pick the scab off your plot and character wounds. you know, all those times you were really into a book but the plot left you with all kinds of dangling chads, or a character you fell madly in love with died or turned out to be an a-hole or whatever. he also plays with the roles we assume and interact with and assign as we read. i am the reader, this dude wrote this book, some people on the east coast published it, a nice lady like my moms will help you find it in the library, your friends will see it on your shelf and give you a funny look like you're a crazy person... and these roles are all mutually exclusive. JUST KIDDING.


seriousface, first paragraph of the book. calvino begins his experiment (on you) thusly:

You are about to begin reading Italo Calvino's new novel, If on a winter's night a traveler. Relax. Concentrate. Dispel every other thought. Let the world around you fade. Best to close the door; the TV is always on in the next room. Tell the others right away, 'No, I don't want to watch TV!' Raise your voice - they won't hear you otherwise - 'I'm reading! I don't want to be disturbed!' Maybe they haven't heard you, with all that racket; speak louder, yell: 'I'm beginning to read Italo Calvino's new novel!' Or if you prefer, don't say anything; just hope they'll leave you alone. 

oh, that's right. he went there. the whole first chapter is in the second person. who does that?! YOU. you have been cast as the reader and you are taking directions about how to go about reading this book you're reading. tasty treat: when i started reading this book for the first time i was on my exercise bike, so it really made me giggle a few paragraphs later when he begins to talk about the most comfortable position, chair, etc. for reading.


the first question we asked the book group was,

was this book hard to read?

and the answer was a resounding yes. ok, so this is half of the reason the book group was a little irked: every other (like 1, 3, 5, not every single other) chapter is directed at you, the reader. but the reader evolves. no spoilers. the other other chapters (you know, 2, 4, 6) are stories. like the kind you're actually familiar with. with plots n recognizable tannins. the second half of the reason the book group was a little irked is that none of these little short stories has an end. that's right, and it's not a spoiler, i promise. 


you read the first chapter, get into it, don't really know what's going on because you've just been talked at by a chapter about the act of you reading, but you go with it, thinking ok, that was weird, but i guess this book is about this dude at a train station NOPE. and it is not a choose your own adventure, so don't try skipping the next chapter to see what happens next in that story. you'll just find another beginning. there is purpose and reason, mind you. just no minor resolution to these minor tales. this is a book about your relationship with it, with reading, with words, with stories, with.. your expectations.


moving right along...


2. comparisons are odious.

Meaning: Comparison (especially of people) is not productive and can have unpleasant consequences. People should be judged on their own merits.

Note: comparison (noun) = the act of comparing | compare (verb) = measure or note the similarity or dissimilarity between people or things | odious (adj) = extremely unpleasant; distasteful.


thank you, english club, but i am inclined to respectfully disagree. one can make all sorts of synaptic connections and find more relevant meaning when comparing. and comparing people is just fun. and part of our culture. but i digress.


while this book should be judged on its own merit (and i judge it fan-freaking-tasticulous), i also noticed that picking on the reader, speaking to the reader, and fiddling with the reader's expectations are not totally unique concepts. particularly, i am referring to a reference to which i have already referred: in watermelon sugar. 


in in watermelon sugar, our main character doesn't have a name, and he's speaking directly to you, reader, and so much of what he tells you depends on your interpretation of it. he won't just tell you what you expect, or how you expect to be told; he tells you whatever his crazypants brain feels like, and places the responsibility on you, reader, to make sense of it. this can frustrate some people. 


i also mentioned Feed, and implied this book warrants comparisons there as well. seem far-fetched? ha! ok, it's a bit of a stretch. what made me feel these two are distant cousins is twofold (oh, not again with the forking): the relationship to words - if on a winter's night is all about the reader's relationship to words and to books and the whole world of reading, right? you don't know, i know, so yeah, i'm right; AND the way the author toys with the reader by using different .. angles. in the case of feed, those angles are different media (i mean, still words, but advertisements and song lyrics - not just plot).


well, in feed, books don't exist anymore really. they're not commonplace, anyway. no one reads. there's no reason to, in their new blink-of-an-eye entertainment and knowledge future. and the consequences there are quite fun. at one point our protagonist (or is he?) makes fun of his smartypants girl friend for using a pen and paper. they're totally foreign objects to him. 


then Anderson throws song lyrics at you, Reader, from popular songs in this not-so-distant future. i'd give you a side-by-side comparison of some of the lyrics included in the novel with some of today's pop song lyrics, but instead, let me just give you another awesome chart to make my point. 

my name depends on you

another time, i will compare in watermelon sugar to if on a winter's night a traveler, but not today. today i dive into the ridiculousness of richard brautigan's beat fiction "novel," in watermelon sugar, without clouding or confusing (further) by addressing out the similarities on an theoretical level to italo calvino's play on the reader's role in the act of reading. (woah, that was a lot of prepositional phrases. sorry, won't happen again.)

this book is called in watermelon sugar the deeds were done and done again as my life is done in watermelon sugar. is it just me, or could you totally go for a tall glass of kool-aid right about now? anywho. i love this book. it's another that will only take an hour or two to read, you time-starved/short-attention-spanned people. but i must warn you, it's certainly not for everyone. i can't tell you much about the plot due to my no spoilers policy, but here's what the publishers apparently thought it was about (from the back cover): 

   in watermelon sugar

   is a story

   of love and betrayal

   that takes place in

   an extraordinary environment 

   where the sun

   shines a different

   color every day.

huh? exactly. but let me just say that this book plays with your mind the way phantom tollbooth teased you when you were little. everything is made out of something called watermelon sugar. or trout. the characters live on a sort of commune. i guess. there's a love story, but it's not easily recognizable as such. there are bad guys, but really just in the way that the people who choose to live underground in demolition man are 'bad.' 

here's a fun tidbit from what could be considered chapter 3, called My Name:

I guess you are kind of curious as to who I am, but I am one of those who do not have a regular name. My name depends on you. Just call me whatever is in your mind.

If you are thinking about something that happened a long time ago: Somebody asked you a question and you did not know the answer.

That is my name.

Perhaps it was raining very hard.

That is my name. 

awesome! i'm going to start introducing myself like that. there really is story and plenty of depth in this book; it's not just crazysauce to contemplate. that just makes it delicious. also, the tigers are good at math.


ok, last point, then i'll leave it up to you to read it and form your own opinions. many find this book frustrating because it's not clear what is "real." for instance, if you see something happen, dream the same thing, hear about it from someone else, what actually happened? does it matter? does it only matter what you believe happened? the concept of death has a great time in this story too. i'll leave it at that. 


if you've read it, or once the ambiguous 'you' have read it, i invite you to take a more academic look by trudging though the paper i wrote about reading between the lines of this fantabulous novel.