2011, A Reader’s Year in Review

December 22, 2011

Being by nature really quite modest, I’m hesitant to spotlight The Best Blog Post of 2010. True, it’s mine, but a virtuous performance cares not one jot who the performer is. The rendition is what really matters. I don’t even have to cite Foucault to bask in the glow of this certainty. The glory of The Best Blog Post of 2010 is that it breathes life into an exhausted form, you know, the obligatory year in summary reading list. Everyone has one. James Wood’s got one and Coetzee does too. Ends up, however, that innovating on a form even as piddling as a blog post takes time. Which is why I happily follow in the steps of Wood, Coetzee and others, here, here, here, here and here. Theirs are very good lists by the way. Much better than mine so please pay them a visit.

As for my favorite reads of 2011, here they are:

Farmer by Jim Harrison, a slim novel filled with beautiful descriptions of rural life. A cowhide rug is to Farmer what liver is to Portnoy’s Complaint. Except only a wee bit different.

Revolutionary Road by Richard Yates explores inauthenticity without employing this jargonistic term. Thankfully.

Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman. As I said in a comment to Karyn on her very fine blog, Whitman’s poetry is so grand I don’t care if it’s verse and not prose fiction. It can even be termed statistics for all I care.

Herzog by Saul Bellow solves the problem of existence. This can’t be shown. Only felt.

The Dog of the South by Charles Portis is an American odyssey rife with humor. Portis’ storytelling voice is his great, abiding gift to anyone who cares to read him.

Embers by Sándor Márai is simply exquisite. Five, 10, 15 years from now, I will remember 2011 as the year I read Embers. Just fantastic.

Paradoxically Foe by Coetzee and Vanity Fair by Thackeray make honorable mention precisely because I only enjoyed them retrospectively and well after the fact.

Although I haven’t mentioned non-fiction on Interpolations before, Good Calories, Bad Calories by Gary Taubes is a very fine book. He argues that a low-fat, high-carb diet is unhealthy because it leads to insulin resistance, obesity and the diseases of civilization. For brief articles by Taubes, I direct you here and there.

Have a great holiday season!

masters of atlantis by c. portis

September 13, 2011

Masters of Atlantis by C. Portis is a silly, ridiculous book, filled with humorous descriptions of oddballs and misfits, and their profoundly ironical behavior. Although the novel’s characters never laugh at themselves or each other, so serious is their business, readers certainly do. That’s part of the charm and hilarity of the novel.

Everything has a beginning, and Gnominism is no different. It’s born of a tramp looking to make a quick buck off the first sucker silly enough to buy the “Codex Pappus,” a beat up old text which purportedly contains the secret wisdom of Atlantis, and a ceremonial robe for $200. The Codex is filled with puzzles and riddles, with alchemical metaphors, and illustrations of cones and triangles. Its hermetical teaching is buried deep under endless layers of obfuscation. “The only way out is in,” or “Some things are easier to see in the dark.” The Codex is larded with suggestive ideas that can’t quite be grasped by the customary five senses. The more obscure a teaching is the more genuine it has to be: “He had not yet learned to appreciate the beauties of allegories and allusion and Gnomonic obfuscation—that fog was there for a purpose. He couldn’t see that to grasp a delicate thing outright was often to crush it.” Who “he” is doesn’t matter. Trust me. Some things are easier to see when you don’t see them at all. Like all mystico-religious traditions, Gnominism has its own concepts and relics. There are “perfect strangers,” “adepts,” and “masters”; there are “three secret teachers” and “the cone of fate”; and there’s even “the rod of correction” (“a little rod you couldn’t correct a dwarf with”).

Of all the pleasures of reading Masters of Atlantis, none ranks higher than the pleasure of watching Austin Popper in action. He’s the great character creation of Portis. He steals the show outright. Never has there been a schemer, dreamer, crank, sponge, tramp, and drunken bum so humorously bent on protecting and transmitting the secret wisdom of Atlantis. Popper’s got a knack for putting plucky upstarts in their place, i.e., “I’ll look for you when I see you,” and for dropping spot on historical references, “Wasn’t it Bismarck who said, ‘He who holds the — something or other — controls the — something else’? Controls the whole thing, you see. It was Bismarck or one of those boys with a spike on his hat,” and for riffing on gastronomic necessities, “It’s one of God’s most merciful blessings that people grow to love the things that necessity compels them to eat… The Hindoos love rice, and you’d have to use bayonets to make them eat chicken and dumplings. Whatever you do, don’t try to snatch blubber away from an Eskimo and force on him thirty-two-ounce T-bone steak, medium well, with grilled onions and roasted potatoes.” He’ll kill you. And Portis will kill you, too, with humor as his only weapon.