Reading for Fun?

I used to love reading, then I started hating it but continued to do it anyway, and now I’m beginning to love it again--and here is why:

My love for reading began when I was in middle school. I could barely speak English at the time and didn’t have any friends. Back then there wasn’t enough on the Internet to distract me, so that I read to keep myself entertained and to learn English. I was lonely and had a lot of free time on my hand, so that it didn’t take long for my reading to improve. Pretty soon I graduated from picture books for little kids to young adult novels. Those were fun. I was almost always excited to discover new stories and get to know new characters. Oftentimes I was compelled to keep reading even when my eyes were exhausted. Anybody who loves to read probably understands what that’s like.

All that joy gradually decreased as my interest in literature became serious, probably somewhere around senior year in high school. I was obsessed with wanting to be well-read, wanting to read everything that I heard mentioned in films or television, as well as in conversations with others. Before I knew it I had majored in English in college, studying literature like my life depended on it.

I loved being an English major, and I love studying literature. However, it had taken the joy out of reading. I started choosing the books to read based on their literary significance, not because they interest me. In the past I would look at the cover, read the flap to find out what the book was about, and if it sounded good I would read it. Nowadays I don’t even know what most of the books I choose to read are about. I don’t take the time to read the flap because it doesn’t matter--the book is significant and that means I have to read it regardless of whether or not it sounds interesting. Most of the time this results in a boring and excruciating reading experience. I don’t get excited to read anymore as it had become a chore, and very rarely do I find a book that I truly enjoy.

Well, all that is about to change. Last week I went to Powell’s to kill some time. Browsing the shelves in the blue room, I remembered why I used to love reading so much. There were so many interesting books I had never heard of. I decided that it was time to stop being such a scholar and just be a reader, just pick up anything that might interest me and read with joy again. I still have a long list of books I’m trying to read by the end of the year, but I intend to make some time for the ones that didn’t make it to the list just to retrieve my love for reading once again.

And now I have to go. I have some reading to do.

Craft Issue: Expositions

Last week, during one of my “moments” (I suck at life; I’m not good at anything; I’m a failure and will be so for the rest of my life; etc.) I began to wonder what I really learned from all the books I’ve read. I read a lot of fiction--novels, plays, short stories--and convince myself that all this reading isn’t just for fun but absolutely essential to my learning as a scholar of literature and a fiction writer. However, I feel that most of the time I’m just trying to finish whatever it is I’m reading as quickly as possible and don’t really absorb much of what I’m reading. Once in a while I would spend some time doing close-reading or discussing different literary elements in the work, but that is very rare because I am such a slow reader and taking the time to do that just makes the reading take even longer. Well, on that day I felt that all the reading I had done had amounted to nothing, that it was all a waste of time because I had gained nothing in the process. (I told you I was having one of those moments.) In an attempt to not ever feel like that again, I have decided to spend more time paying attention to the things I read.

One of the problems that I’m constantly dealing with is the fact that I feel like I’m worse of a writer than I used to be when I was younger and knew less. It didn’t make any sense and it pissed me off. I studied hard because I thought it would help me, but instead it made me feel completely clueless about my craft. In an attempt to keep myself from just ending this life once and for all, I decided to deny the fact and change it. This is my philosophy: if you don’t like anything the way it is, deny it and make it good. That is, I refuse to accept the fact that all my hard work is worthless, and will now make something out of it--something grand. So, yesterday I decided to learn--or, rather, relearn--about one of the craft issue in fiction writing, which was how to write an exposition. I must have spent some time in college pondering over this issue in class or in my own private studies, but it had been a while so it wasn’t a bad idea to return to it once again. I went over a few short stories I had recently read in my new anthology of short stories and paid attention to how the authors started their stories. All I did was observe, and I spent very little time doing it.

Gaitskill’s “Romantic Weekend”
Began by introducing one of the protagonists (there are two) and her problem: she was having an affair with a married man and she had self-esteem issue. The story is about these two people and their S/M relationship, which isn’t introduced here just yet.

Ford’s “Rock Springs”
Began with introducing the narrator and another main character in the story, as well as the journey they are on together. Then it tells us the troubles each of them is in so that we get to know them and their situations right away. In one paragraph, Ford tells us the who, what, and where of the story, which I find pretty neat.

Dybek’s “Chopin in Winter”
The first paragraph is rather short in comparison to those of the other stories I’m discussing here. It introduces two main characters in the story, neither of whom is the narrator/protagonist. The paragraph didn’t tell us much about the story, but it was probably the best way to begin the story, since the story is about the narrator’s relationships with these two characters.

Braverman’s “Tall Tale from the Mekong Delta”
The first paragraph of this storIssuey gives us one piece of information after another. It introduced the narrator, where she is in life, and the time in which the story takes place. We learn more and more about her, then about another main character. It tells us a lot about the narrator and refrains from telling us what the story is about.

Just by observing these works I feel more confident in my ability to write expositions. I think I will be spending more time paying attention to these craft issues and see how it helps me. At the least it should make me feel more secure in my knowledge of fiction writing.

Reading List 2011

Middlemarch - George Eliot
The Illiad - Homer
Tess of the d’Uberville - Thomas Hardy
If on a Winter’s Night a Traveler - Calvino
Middlesex - Jeffrey Eugenides
Pastoral - Philip Roth
The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test - Tom Wolfe
Dandelion Wine - Ray Bradbury
As I Lay Dying - William Faulkner
Anna Karennina - Leo Tolstoy
The Spanish Tragedy - Thomas Kyd
Walden - Henry David Thoreau
Don Quixote - Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra
Ghosts - Henrik Ibsen
Catch-22 - Joseph Keller
The Sun Also Rises - Ernest Hemingway
This Side of Paradise - F. Scott Fitzgerald
Memories, Dreams, Reflections - C.G. Jung
A Vindication of the Rights of Woman - Mary Wollstonecraft
The Prince - Machiavelli

Realistically I don't think I will be able to read all of these books this year. Even though I read a lot, I am kind of a slow reader. And I read a lot of things that aren't books, such as essays and short stories. Averagely I probably read fewer than 20 books a year.

As a student of literature there are always books I feel I should have read. This list is a compilation of 20 titles that I have always been meaning to read and felt I should have read long ago. There are a whole lot more that I leave out. I didn't include a lot of plays, just because there are way too many to list. In other words, I'll be doing as much as I can to read these books while spending a whole lot of time reading ones that aren't on the list too. Thinking about this makes me feel overwhelmed and excited at the same time.

It's already March. How the fuck did we get here?

"The Stupidest Angel" by Christopher Moore

It was time I allowed myself to read some contemporary novels, and since Christmas was rolling around, I thought it would be fun to read a novel about Christmas. I went with Christopher Moore's "Stupidest Angel." I hadn't read anything by Moore before and had been curious about him for quite some time, seeing that he was pretty popular. I listened to an episode of Live Wire where he was on, and thought he was pretty funny. I didn't expect this to be great writing, and I thought I would get some laughs and entertainment out of it.

I was wrong. This book is stupider than I could ever imagine. I didn't even think this kind of writing was allowed to be published. The plot is pure trash, comparable to really bad TV shows or straight-to-DVD movies. The writing style is immature and cheap. I don't remember the last time I read anything that was this awful, and can't imagine what kind of people find this kind of writing worth the time.

To sum up the plot without giving too much away, the story is about the citizens of a small town that was visited by an angel on a mission to grant a child his wish. A lot of people hating each other. A lot of troubled relationships. A lot of over-the-top characters inspiring cheap jokes. Zombies. Et cetera.

I wouldn't have as much problem with the plot if the book were well-written. Moore does have a great imagination. The talking bat and the conversations among the dead in the graveyard could be clever. Unfortunately he lacks the talent to breathe intelligence in to his creations. They all seem to have come straight from sitcoms. Sitcoms characters, however, belong on TV and nowhere else. Translating that kind of storytelling into the written form can only produce crap. Moore's writing sounds like it was written by somebody who watches a lot of TV and doesn't read much. He cites Steinbeck and Vonnegut as his influence, which isn't really apparent to me.

It was a quick read, and I'm glad I didn't waste too much time on it. It did teach me a thing or two about writing, and it was nice to read something heavily plot-driven once in a while.

I went to the library yesterday, wanting to check out some more novels. This time I know enough to open each book up to a random page and read a few paragraphs from it to see if the writing style is worth my time. You may or may not enjoy the plot--there is no way to know that until you read the book and find out--but the writing style is, to me, is more important. An intelligent and eloquent writing style is not only enjoyable to read but also beneficial to the brain and the soul. Why read if not to better oneself? What book is worth the time if it doesn't help you to grow?

"A Dialogue on Love" by Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick

What fascinates me most about this book is how much I enjoy reading it despite the lack of enticing story or characters that I care about. I just really love the way she writes.

Sedgwick, who passed away not too long ago, is truly an inspiration. I was used to her intellect as a literary and cultural critic, but had no idea she was such a poet. This book isn't about queer topics or literature--although there are, as should be expected, references to those things and their roles in her life; instead it is about herself as revealed in a series of therapy sessions. I'm not sure if she arrives at any conclusions about any of the topics she explores here, but there are great insights offered here in such a captivating way there is no need for closure.

Biographies are always convoluted. Autobiographies, though generally regarded as more accurate, are possibly even more convoluted. What you read is what the author wants you to know, and how can you know if they want you to know the truth? Fortunately the truth isn't what I'm interested in; Sedgwick's intelligence is, and that is what we get here. As she explores her childhood, beliefs, and dreams, we get incredible insights into her thought process, her struggle as she turns her critical lens toward herself.

It is purely a pleasure to read, an experience like no others I have had before.

About the Absence / 100th post

Things that have always been difficult: reading and writing about what I read. Yet I chose to make it my profession.

It takes me forever now to finish reading--but then again, hasn't that always been a problem?

I stopped blogging because I just didn't know what to write anymore. I'm back because now I know--for now I know.

"On the Road" by Jack Kerouac

Oh, where to begin. It took me way too long to read this book, and way too much effort. I didn't enjoy it at all, and think it is among some of the dullest books I have ever read. Seriously, what is there to like about the story? There isn't a single event in the novel that I think is even slightly intriguing. His prose is rich with descriptions about people and places that I cannot care less about. I kept expecting a Cyclops to show up. I've talked to several people who loved the book and asked them why they liked it. The answers were similar: they liked it because it is a fantasy, because we can't hitchhike across the country and go on adventures with barely any money in our pocket anymore, and because he goes to these interesting places and meet these interesting people. Well, interesting isn't the word I would use to describe anything in this book.

I wish I had enjoyed it more. It is on so many lists of great books that I feel like I should like it. I don't even like it in context. The last paragraph is gorgeous, though.

"A Boy's Own Story" by Edmund White

While the main reason I fell in love with "A Boy's Own Story" was Edmund White's superb writing style, I did not fail to recognize the qualities that makes it a great work of literature. The semi-autobiographical novel illustrates the life of a closetted-homosexual boy as he grows up and struggles to find his identity--this is something to which I can relate.

The journey of the narrator involves sexual experiences with many men in his life. We don't get to know much about these men; instead we get to know more about the narrator as his character is explored through his experiences with the men. These experiences, instead of enriching his life, torment him further with shame.

The men with whom he is romantically or sexually involved can be roughly divided into two categories. The first are those with whom he falls in love and imagines spending his life. These men are heterosexual, who teaches him the notion of unrequited love, with which he enjoys despite the pain in causes. He stresses several times that he wants to love them but not to actually be with them, because that would make them homosexual and therefore ruins his fantasy. The second category is men who use him for their pleasure. He wants them to, and becomes resentful when he hears of them using other boys and not him. The young narrator is dying for attention, for experience, and not getting it makes him feel worthless. At the same time, getting it doesn't make him feel either, because it doesn't fulfill his fantasy to have a life partner.

The narrator is struggling between two conflicting desires: one in which he lives a picture-perfect life, and one in which he is a vicious seducer who ruins men's lives. Growing gay without a role model can make finding one's identity difficult. Aside from the sexual encounters, the book spends a big portion describing the narrator's exploration of different religions and ways to be spiritual, as well as his attempt to cure his homosexuality. He takes his fate in his own hands and doesn't abide by the rules, which I think is what makes the story so rich. He is daring, driven, and doesn't settle for what is handed down to him.

What I've been reading

In case you think I've been slacking off, I have in fact been reading a whole lot. Here are a few titles that have been occupying my time:

Winnie the Pooh by A.A. Milne
Having not spent my childhood in the US, I missed out on a lot of great literature for children that my friends grew up with. This is one of those titles. For me to read a book like this, I really have to be in the mood for it, and I was. As an adult I find this book charming. There is a lot of humor that derives from the childlike imagination of the author. It reminds of of what it feels like to be a kid. The characters are adorable and their tales entertaining. I find these elements in children's books necessary for the soul, and am glad I took the time to enjoy it.


All About Love by bell hooks
Bell hooks rubbed me the wrong way when I was first introduced to her work. It took me a while to realize that my judgment as a young scholar was neither valid nor worth holding on to. Many friends of mine had praised the greatness of this book to me, so I thought I should give it a try. The work is insightful and inspiring, and I enjoyed it almost thoroughly. Hooks discusses the common perception of love, and how people choose to express it and the consequences of their expression to themselves, their lovers, and their community. Toward the end the narrative wandered too far off into the endorsement of religion and the supernaturals, which I thought undermined the seriousness of the work. Her intelligence, however, is present throughout, and no matter what your view of love or how much you think you understand the subject, I think you will learn something from this work.

Wit by Margaret Edson
Wouldn't it be nice if we can all write our first play and win a Pulitzer for it? Maybe, but I'd rather not win any award but constantly get my plays produced throughout my life, unlike Edson. "Wit" is her first and only play to date that has been produced on stage, and I wonder what other tricks she has up her sleeves. I didn't find the work particularly genius. It is about an English professor who is dying of ovarian cancer. I'm sure it can be moving if performed well, but I don't find it a great work of drama. I thought the way Edson incorporates into the play her knowledge of John Donne and metaphysical poetry as well as the literary discussion of witticism both amateurish and uninteresting. There are works that make literary references in intelligent ways that make you admire the knowledge of the authors--this is not one of those works. If it were a musical, Andrew Lloyd Webber will probably score it. It wasn't a bore to read, but wasn't particularly a good read either.

"Distance" by Raymond Carver

A few days ago I was having a conversation with my friend Don about Raymond Carver. We expressed our admiration for his work, especially his ability to tell intensely painful stories in a simple writing style. Some writers receive praise for their flowery prose or the complexity of their language, but a series of small paragraphs compacted into a concise story, which gives the same effect as a punch in the stomach or a slap on the face, is no less of an achievement.

Once in a while between reading big books I would read a few stories from my Carver collection, "Where I'm Calling From: Selected Stories"--a classic. Having not done so in a while, and being reminded of it by the conversation, I pulled the book out of the shelf and started reading from where I left off--a story called "Distance."

In the story, a father recounts to his daughter the story of when she was a baby, on the night when her parents were kept awake by her crying. It is about the relationship of a young, impoverished couple and the emotional struggle in their relationship. It is also about the mortality of love, which is a theme that I have seen in his other stories. What I like about it is the way he portrays a troubled relationship while hinting that there is another side of the story that isn't being told. While all we see is two people fighting, we also know that there are days when they are happy together, even though he doesn't tell us about it--it is integrated into the fight, as if they fight to show their love and longing for each other. While I don't like that he portrays the female character as the hysterical mother, I feel he does justice to motherhood anxiety and the feeling of being left behind to do all the work alone.

I have no conclusion for this. It's a good story. Get the book. Read the stories.

"Cinnamon Skin" by Edmund White

This is my first Edmund White, and a tragically beautiful short story. It is written to seem autobiographical, but as always we should never make that assumption. Besides, there is always some degree of fabrication in all autobiographies.

The story begins with the narrator introducing himself and the people in his life. Many characters are introduced, and it seems at first like a great opening chapter of a novel. The characters are developed through small events, told in flashbacks. Later, the story turn to its main event, which is the narrator's trip to Acapulco with his father and stepmother, and turns into a story about sexual discovery.

The way the narrator sees the world helps us to see who he is. There are moments when nothing monumental happens, but so much about the character is realized through his commentary about gender roles and stems from his interactions with other characters, and sometimes through his sexual arousal caused by the sights of men he sees throughout the story. How often do writers ask themselves what important event they can come up with so that they can have a great story and develop a great character? Sometimes, when the character already exists vividly in our mind, all we have to do is to let him live and so much will be revealed. The way he sees things can show us who he is, and the things he believes in can affect the way he lives his life and the relationships he has with others.

White uses very few dialogues, yet the story moves quickly and is captivating throughout. Nobody would think to ask if there are too many or too few dialogues if there are the right amount of them. I don't think there is one amount that is appropriate for every story; these things need to come naturally. White seems to let the dialogues emerge naturally, and the voices of the main characters sound clearly to me even though they are heard so rarely.

As is clearly demonstrated in this story, White is a superb writer. Aside from being a great craftsman, he also has a poetic voice and a shameless honesty that is required in order to fill his fiction with truth. I highly recommend "Cinnamon Skin."

"A Farewell to Arms" by Ernest Hemingway

I feel like I always have to find a new way to write about the book I have just read. Each time it is a struggle. Usually if something about the work really moves me, then it is that very thing that takes the focus in my response to the work. But a lot of time I have to ask myself what it is that I can write about the work. Sometimes the simplest question such as what is the book about is very tough to answer.

I thoroughly enjoy reading "A Farewell to Arms," mostly because of the writing style. Hemingway's prose is simple yet poetic. He keeps the story moving all the time while making every scene and every emotion very vivid in the readers' mind. He has a way of describing a lot of things without wearing the readers out.

It is a story about World War I, and at the heart of it is a love story between Frederic Henry, the narrator who is most often referred to as "Tenente," and Catherine Barkley, his nurse. The novel portrays the soldiers' mentality superbly; what I find lacking is the emotional effect in the love story. Despite being inspired by Hemingway's own affair, I don't feel moved by the love story. Too often I found myself unsure of the love they felt for each other. Most of the scenes in this novel, including the scenes between the two lovers, are constructed with one spoken line after another with barely any narrations incorporated into the dialogues. That might have made the romance more believable and effective.

Despite not being completely enthralled by the story or the characters, I find the writing style infectious, making me want to read more of Hemingway's works soon. I didn't mention that this is my first Hemingway. It is a surprise I had waited this long. I have been spending most of my time reading British literature and missing out on a lot of American goods. Now that I'm not in school anymore I'm learning to give myself more freedom to explore the world of literature. I don't think my ever-growing list of books to be read immediately, or books I should have read years ago, or books I have been wanting to read in forever, will ever end. My life will before it does.

“The Road” was my first Cormac MacCarthy, and certainly it will not be the last. I picked it up for two reasons: 1) I’ve been trying to read more contemporary works, and; 2) a few years ago everybody seems to be reading this book, and I had heard great things. I knew the style was going to be unconventional, and that the plot was going to be depressing. Already I anticipated having a hard time with it.

As it turned out, however, it only took a few pages to get me completely into it. MacCarthy’s prose was eloquent and moving. I didn’t have a hard time with his refusal to use dialogue tags or quotation marks, because he wrote so well it was clear what was going on at every moment. The story doesn’t really go anywhere, but there is something fascinating in watching the characters live and survive among the unusual and seemingly impossible circumstances. I don’t particularly sympathize with the characters; what is captivating is how they deal with the situations, and what they reveal about themselves as they face challenges.

I have had conversations with people who are turned off by writing styles that aren’t easily accessible. I, too, am not particularly fond of unconventionality, especially when it seems forced or unreasonable. I don’t think that is the case with “The Road,” even though I can’t exactly explain why it had to be written this way, nor do I think MacCarthy has an answer for that. But the thought that occurred in my head as I was reading it was that somebody had to write like this—that there cannot be only one way to write the novel. Readers shouldn’t set any expectation on what the pages should look like when they open the book. It should always be an adventure to discover what style the author chooses to employ in order to tell a particular story. Because I didn’t have a hard time with the style in which this book was written, I appreciated it, not because I thought it was genius, but because the form must constantly change and grow in order for it to survive, and because somebody found a way to change it and make it work superbly.

"Desire Under the Elms" by Eugene O'Neil

There are few things as effective as sex in art. Because it is so primitive in humans, it appeals to the majority of people. It seems that when picking sex as a subject of a work of art, you already have half of your work cut out for you. That doesn't mean, however, that writing about sex requires no effort. Just because something has the power to affect people doesn't mean that the people are going to want to touch it. I personally don't read erotica—it's not on my bookshelf or reading list, even though I have no doubt that it could be pleasurable. I don't read for the purpose of getting pleasure or getting turned on, but for education. Therefore any books that use sex as a subject would have to use it in a certain way that will educate me in some ways.

Because I often write about sex, it is interesting to look at how other writers write about sex. A lot of times I find that descriptions of sexual desire or sexual activities serve as a good device that writers use to reveal something about the characters. In “Desire Under the Elms,” Eugene O'Neil demonstrates how sex can be used to develop both plots and characters.

The main characters in this play are driven by their desire for each other. Eben, the youngest son of Ephraim Cabot, shows strong hatred for his father's new young wife, Abbie. At the same time he is unable to deny his feelings for her. She, too, is interested in him, though her intention is less conspicuous. Once their desire is realized, they are on the road toward their downfalls.

The play is about sex because it shows are the desire begins, progresses, and subsequently ends the story. It shows the power of sex to control actions and emotions. The play is based on a Greek myth, so that love and sexual desire are relatively interchangeable. Eben and Abbie may not love each other in a sensible sense, but they do in this tradition of storytelling.

The main struggle of the characters is not adultery but themselves and their lacks of trust in each other. Eben thinks that Abbie is using him to get the house, and Abbie, in an attempt to prove herself, ends up murdering her own child. In this way, the play doesn't steer from its course—it doesn't change the subject to the struggle between desire and society, but stays with the struggle between desire and self. It is their desire that brings them to their ruins.

This play is a bit of a melodrama, and is perhaps less interesting now than at the time of its publication. It is also probably more interesting to see than to read. I almost feel as if it has to be staged out of this world in order to make the audience believe in the story. I will recommend it for its prominence in American literature rather than for its entertaining quality.

"Coriolanus" by William Shakespeare

"Coriolanus" is said to be the most political of all Shakespeare plays. it is about a great Roman war hero who knows his way around the battlefield but not into the hearts of his own people. Refusing to soften his image and conform to social customs, he turns the people against him and causes his own downfall.

The image of a politician is perhaps even more important that what he and his party stands for. We live in a culture full of celebrities and false idols. What the play shows, which remains true until today, is that one's good deeds are not enough; one has to magnify and display them for all to see. Politicians lie, whether or not they want to, because they have to; they will do whatever it takes to be liked because they can achieve nothing without. Coriolanus is willing to not be liked, unable to foresee that being liked is necessary for him to keep his position. As the play goes to show, he cannot continue to serve Rome because he refuses to comply with the people's will.

The play is not one of the best cases of character studies. While Coriolanus is well-developed enough, he pales in comparison to other Shakespeare tragic heroes. He has many great fiery moments, but the tenderer, more humane ones are not sufficiently explored. Aufidius, the main villain, is inconsistent and shallow, and never quite grows into a well-rounded person. The most interesting character is Volumnia, the mother of Coriolanus, who raises him to be a war hero and later persuades him to reconcile with Rome after everybody else had failed. Through Volumnia Shakespeare once again shows his value of women and his ability to create strong female characters that triumph over men.

I enjoyed reading this play a lot more than the previous tragedies based on Roman histories, including "Julius Caesar" and "Antony & Cleopatra." It moves at a fast pace and focuses only on the main story line (no clowns or whores here). This play is not nearly as well-known as it should be, but it is one that, I believe, will always be relevant.

"Jacob's Room" by Virginia Woolf

"Jacob's Room" is not about the story of Jacob Flanders as it is about the character as told from different characters' perspectives. The style is experimental, and there is something special in the way an artist like Woolf tries to do something different with the novel form, because by doing so it helps to keep the form alive. As a novel, however, I didn't find it nearly as enjoyable as the other works of hers that I have read, including "Mrs. Dalloway" and "To the Lighthouse." I don't feel like I really know who Jacob Flanders is, or any of the other characters for that matter. Despite the fact that it is written from different perspectives, Woolf's voice remains the same throughout. I don't think there is really any reason why anyone would enjoy this novel, unless you are a die-hard fan of Woolf and Experimentalist or Modernist literature.

Note on Reading Short Stories.

Short stories and short poems are the two things that I don't spend nearly as much time on as I should. They are just as important to my studies as the bigger works, since I study literature and want to know about all literatures. A big aspect of reading that I enjoy is the satisfaction of having read something big, which is probably why I don't read shorter works much.

But because one needs to read what one writes, I need to read short stories more. I often find answers to problems I have with my writing in reading short stories; a good story often contains examples of all the things you need when you have writer's blocks. It is also stimulating to read a brief, self-contained piece of work that is truly brilliant. Great short stories writer can make the characters so interesting you remember them the way you remember characters in novels. I had a discussion in a writing class a while back, in which we discovered that most of the stories we had read for the class focused on the characters than the plots. This, of course, isn't true to all short stories, but I have discovered that this proves to be true in most of the stories that I have read. And I enjoy these stories tremendously.

Reading short stories can help you to discover authors with whom you are not familiar. It is a quick way to get to know their writing styles. There are many authors whose names I recognize but whose works I have never read. Reading their stories help me to decide whether or not I want to read their works.

Last week I went and bought a new short story anthology--it was published in 2008, so not that new, but new to me. It is titled "The Ecco Anthology of Contemporary American Short Fiction" selected by Joyce Carol Oates and Christopher R. Beha. So far I have read two great stories, one of which is "The Love of My Life" by T.C. Boyle, which I highly recommend. I might write a more in depth discussion on it later.

NO SHAKESPEARE THIS MONTH!!!

I'm so sorry to say that I won't be reading and writing about a Shakespeare play this month.

In September I made a decision that I was going to start reading one Shakespeare play every month. I knew then that it was a promise that I would like to try to keep for the rest of my life, or at least for a few years, but that it was the promise I wouldn't always be able to keep. I knew that eventually life would get in the way, and that I wouldn't always be able to make time for it.

Well, the time has come. This is the first of six months that I won't be able to read a play. I have too much going on in my life, and I find that it would do more harm than good to force myself to do this--I said "force" because I'm really not in the mood for it, and Shakespeare is most enjoyable for me when I'm REALLY in the mood. I started reading "Coriolanus" a few days ago and felt like I needed to stop. And so I did.

I am acknowledging the fact that there is something missing from this month. I won't make up for it by reading two plays next month; I am simply acknowledging it and moving on, and will try my best to not let this happen again. But if it does, I'm sure it'll be for good reasons, and that I will be able to forgive myself.

My Affair with Foucalt

At this stage in my studies, reading theory is still difficult--although it had gotten easier over the years. Michel Foucault was one of the first theorists I had read. I remember how difficult he was, how I detested reading his works simply because I could barely understand him. Well, things have changed now. I'm sitting here with the first volume of "The History of Sexuality" next to me. I meant to read it from cover to cover the last time I took it out of the shelf--probably a year ago--but stopped after I got about two-third into it. I realized that it had gotten easier to read, and I very much enjoyed his composition, yet my patience didn't sustain long enough for me to finish the book.

Towards the end of last month, I decided that I would finally finish it. Only a few days ago I took it out of the shelf again and reread the first four chapters of the fourth part, "The Deployment of Sexuality." It was even easier and more enjoyable this time around; I was surprised by how much fun I had trying to understand his complex argument and the pleasure I got from succeeding. I no longer furrow my brows, and sometimes even smile.

It is a love affair. I like him more the more I read him. And now, as he has continued to become a part of my life, to benefit my studies and my understanding of the world, I feel as if there is a bond between us. It's different from the affair I have with Shakespeare. Because Shakespeare's plays are fictional, the relationship I develop is with the story, the themes, and the characters; while there is an intimate connection I feel with Shakespeare--or, rather, his work--I don't feel like I am getting deeper into his mind the more I read his work, since the words I read come from his taking on different personae--something he does so brilliantly but also something that shields us from getting to know who he really is. With Foucault, however, the voice I hear is the voice of this "Michel Foucault," and it is the voice that I have come to know and grown accustomed to. I don't presume that I know who he is from reading his work, but what I know is this persona--the brilliantly thoughtful man whose insights continue to challenge and expand my mind.

I have been accepted into four MA programs so far. My writing sample is a paper I wrote in Queer Theory class about Monogamy, drawing largely from Foucault. While I didn't have much confidence in the work--and even now I still feel that it doesn't fully represent me as a scholar--it is probably one of the main reasons these schools find me a desirable candidate. It seems, then, that Foucault had helped me to get into these schools, and therefore strengthening my relationship with him.

If ever would i teach a theory class in a university, I would tell my reluctant students that there is a lot of reward in trying to understand theoretical texts. There are authors who intentionally make their writings difficult so not to undermine the complexity of the ideas, but I don't think Foucault is one of them; his texts are difficult because there is no easy way to write about these issues. Anybody who studies the art of composition can read his texts and see how carefully constructed his sentences are. His use of punctuation is impeccable. There is a lot you can learn from him.

I intend to finish Volume 1 within the next few days. Instead of moving on to Volume 2, I want to read bits and pieces of his other works. I have just bought "The Foucault Reader" edited by Paul Rabinow, which I cannot wait to start.

"Nausea" by Jean-Paul Sartre; Lloyd Alexander, trans.

This month I planned to spend most of my reading time on French literature. This book was my first choice.

"Nausea" is well known as an Existentialist novel. I knew next to nothing about Existentialism, and didn't really take the time to research it before reading the novel. But it didn't matter. I read the book the same way I did any other novel.

The philosophy behind the work is pretty obvious; it drives the whole story. Most of the book takes place inside the narrator's head. His name is Antoine; he is a writer and historian. The novel is written as a compilation of journal entries, and there is an indication in the beginning that the journals were "found" rather than published by the author, so he might have been dead or somehow not responsible for the publication of his work. The events aren't all that exciting, but they all lead him to the conclusion of the meaninglessness of life. This climax is then followed by his realization that one is free to give life any meaning one wishes.

What I found impressive about the book is the writing. The book was so well written that I thoroughly enjoy it, despite it being heavy with philosophical ideas that I don't particularly care about. The book made a big impact on the readers when it was published in 1938, but the ideas that it presents are nothing new in our time. What made it so enjoyable to me is how well it is structured and orchestrated. Everything that happens has its purpose. As the character goes through his simple life, his thoughts continue to develop into a grand revelation.

Aside from being packed with ideas, the book is also a well conceived novel. There are many elements here that would benefit students of literature and creative writing. It might not have been so famous had it not been for the Existentialistic impact, but it is a good novel nonetheless. And since one of the important aspects of literature studies is looking at the work in accordance to the society, I would say that it is necessary to add this book to your repertoire.