Last night I finished reading Self, by Yann Martel, which is about the only worthwhile thing I have accomplished during my vacation from work apart from contemplating repainting J's bathroom. (Not actually doing it, but thinking about it is exhausting.)
I'm confused by the book and have read a few reviews, which sometimes helps me figure out what I think. Sometimes when I am too stupid to come up with my own opinion or interpretation, reading someone else's gives me a place to start. It seems the reviewers are a little confused too, and Martel himself, allegedly, says the book is terrible. I didn't really find it terrible, but I was definitely perplexed.
What did resonate enormously was his descriptions of the prairies, the prairies where I lived for thirty three years and where I still feel the strongest feelings when I visit. There's a vastness you cannot experience anywhere else, I suspect, to the same degree you can on the open Canadian prairies where the sky is so big and the horizon is so flat you can actually see the curve of the earth that proves the world is round. I always used to imagine if I took too deep a breath, took in too much of the sky, I might slip off the earth and get sucked up into that great big sky, and go hurtling into outer space. I think Martel captured that feeling better than I do and I can forgive him for observing similar things because he gives me a sense of companionship in the ache the prairies cause in my chest. (And I forgive the Weakerthans for One Great City!.) I am going to start Beatrice & Virgil tonight to demonstrate my good faith.
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2 comments:
You are more patient than I am. I usually give a book three chapters to suck me in. (Okay -- there have been times that I continued on when I figured I was just to stupid to get it so would continue on to five chapters.)
You discussion of the prairie reminds me of my feelings in the southwestern desert -- to me a place that is a little bit frightening and chagrined at its disdain for humans. but at the same time awesome and humbling.
With this book, the problem wasn't so much that I wasn't enjoying it, just that I wasn't fully understanding it. I was holding out for the big reveal, where everything would come together and make sense at the end, and unfortunately that never happened. I was a bit irked at being left confused... but couldn't have foreseen that in the first three chapters. It makes me a bit distrustful of Yann Martel, but as he's only written three books so far, he's not losing much of an audience in me. I'm reading his newest one anyway.
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