Anyone who has written anything knows that writing is an intensely personal act. One of the reasons certain books are so powerful is that they are honest; such stories aren’t escapist but confrontational, and we’re better off for experiencing that confrontation.
It’s little surprise, then, that Yukio Mishima’s Confessions of a Mask, is so powerful, given just how comprehensively it explores the psyche of a young Japanese man, Kochan, who, from a young age, knows he’s different. At the very least he’s homosexual, but there are moments throughout where we see a sadistic side to the protagonist’s desires. Those moments, though, only serve to make the character more sympathetic – Kochan is totally alone, unable to establish an honest, meaningful relationship with anyone. That isolation is communicated in stunning prose that makes this my absolute favorite confessional novel, bar none.
Confessions of a Mask is a great novel, but it’s not unique, and researching the cultural background of this work led me to discovering another great Japanese writer altogether.
Continue reading “The Power of the Japanese I-Novel: Yukio Mishima and Osamu Dazai”
Haruki Murakami’s books are weird. I don’t mean that as an insult, just a fact – as anyone who has read his novels, nonfiction, or short stories knows, his books always have a touch of magical realism to it, taking place in the real world, but not quite.
It’s almost pointless to recommend Murakami given his immense commercial success. The release of a new novel by him is reminiscent of Harry Potter mania. He’s also had considerable critical success, often floated as a contender for the Nobel Prize.
But instead of recommending Murakami to you, I thought I’d offer a weirdness scale for his novels. This isn’t a ranking based on their quality, but purely how much magical realism pervades the works, some of which go beyond magical realism and become outright surreal.
So without further ado, here’s your guide to how weird Murakami’s novels are and hopefully you can use this to decide where you want to begin:
Continue reading “The Murakami Weirdness Scale: A Ranking of His Novels From the Not-So-Weird to the Downright Bizarre”
We all see tabloid newspapers every day, with absurd headlines and photos that are obviously fake. Many people pass them by, scoffing derisively along the way. But have you ever asked yourself how you would feel if you were the one on the cover? Maybe you’d be fine with it, since it’s obviously just trash and people will pass by and scoff, like you do yourself. But then you realize that these “newspapers” are only in business because people buy them. How many? I don’t know. But enough, and there’s a chance a few, or more than a few, are going to believe what they read.
How would you react to being publicly shamed in this way? And how far would you go to get revenge on the strangers who set out to ruin your reputation for no other reason than they wanted to make money?
This hypothetical is an all too real reality for the protagonist of Heinrich Böll’s The Lost Honor of Katharina Blum, a searing indictment of what can happen to an innocent person in a world that loves a good story, whether it’s true or not.
Continue reading “Ruined Reputations: Heinrich Böll’s The Lost Honor of Katharina Blum”
Most mysteries follow one of two formulas. The first is the Sherlock Holmes model, where a (typically idiosyncratic) detective solves the mystery. Details may change – Hugh Laurie’s Dr. House on the TV show House solves medical mysteries, the heroine of many Agatha Christie novels, Miss Marple, is a totally different kind of protagonist than Holmes, and J.K. Rowling’s Cormoran Strike has a military background – but really, these seemingly different characters are all brilliant, all outside the law, and in addition to solving mysteries, tend to have adventures along the way (although House’s adventures tend to be fueled by Vicodin). The second formula is the institutional, or Law and Order model, where a group, usually official in some capacity, solves the crime. Yet even here, stories in this model tend to follow the same pattern as the first.
I mention all this because I want to make it clear how much I admire Leonardo Sciascia’s To Each His Own, which manages to be a different kind of mystery entirely.
Continue reading “A Meta-Mystery: Leonardo Sciascia’s To Each His Own”
When I think about existentialist fiction, I tend to think of three names: Albert Camus, Simone De Beauvoir, and Jean-Paul Sartre, all of whom are French. In fact, while I know plenty of people consider the Danish philosopher Soren Kierkagaard and Russian novelist Fyodor Dostoevsky precursors to the three aforementioned names, to me there’s still something quintessentially French about existentialism.
After reading Argentinian writer Ernesto Sábato’s The Tunnel, I realize how wrong I was.
Continue reading “Existentialism – It’s Not Just for France Anymore: Ernesto Sabato’s The Tunnel”
It’s fitting that Tim Pat Coogan’s riveting 1916: The Easter Rising draws so heavily on the past. Every country is, of course, shaped by its history, but time hardly seems to exist in Ireland in a neat past, present, and future. Centuries-, even millennia-old enmities not only inform contemporary events, but are their driving force. It’s fair to call the various uprisings, revolutions, and conflicts that have been waged on this small island merely individual battles in a long, long war that has finally (and hopefully permanently) given way to relative peace.
But, you may ask, what if I’m more into reading fiction? I usually am, too, but the bloody history of Ireland is frankly as engaging, if not more so, than any novel I’ve ever read. Ireland is a particularly literary country, too, with myths as memorable as any other nation, and a rich tradition of revolutionizing literature itself. James Joyce, Samuel Beckett, and W.B. Yeats are famous Irishmen but did you know Oscar Wilde was Irish, as was George Bernard Shaw, and Bram Stoker (the author of Dracula…who incidentally married Oscar Wilde’s one-time girlfriend)?
Continue reading “The Greek Tragedy of Irish History: Tim Pat Coogan’s 1916 – The Easter Rising”
It’s hard to imagine a book being shocking these days. Novels like The Catcher in the Rye, once considered obscene by many, now seems quaint and prudish in comparison to some contemporary works. And Fahrenheit 451, which also sparked a backlash, is now part of a dystopian canon that feels vital rather than something to avoid. There are obviously still parts of the world – towns, cities, entire nations – where some books are still banned, including the two mentioned above. The Handmaid’s Tale is another perfect example, where despite its critical acclaim and popular success (particularly with the Hulu series), it’s still banned in certain places.
Nevertheless, Philip Roth’s Our Gang shocked me, which is all the more impressive because it’s a political satire, and it’s hard to imagine a political book crossing any line given the times we live in.
But to be clear, Our Gang is not shocking because it uses bad words or evokes obscene or outrageous situations. It does all this and more, but what jarred me most was how brutal and intelligent the satire itself was. That, and the fact that it was so much fun to read.
Continue reading “Satire as Scathing as it Gets: Philip Roth’s Nixonian Novel Our Gang”
Fences, written by August Wilson, is a powerful, deeply American play. But before I explain why you should immediately read the play yourself, I want to confess something – until recently, I had never heard of August Wilson. I consider myself a pretty well-read person, who is aware of plenty of authors and works I’ve never read. But sadly, Wilson, a distinguished poet and dramatist, wasn’t on my radar. Now, however, I’m looking forward to diving into his many works, including a ten-play series called The Pittsburg Cycle, each of which focuses on a different decade. I’m sure I’ll have plenty to say about the entire cycle once I get through it, but for now I want to focus on the play that deals with the 1950s, Fences, which as I said, is not only powerful, but deeply American.
Continue reading “An American Story: August Wilson’s Fences”
Yukio Mishima is an author so intense that he makes Dostoevsky look like a clown. Maybe that’s taking it too far, but not by much. And as powerful as Dostoevsky’s novels certainly are, there is something so visceral, so violent about Mishima’s style that all his works exude a muscular quality I have yet to find in another author.
As for Mishima’s life, well, considering he died in the process of trying to overthrow the Japanese government, you can see why most authors seem so tame in comparison.
Continue reading “The Samurai Writer: The Absurdly Intense Life and Death of Yukio Mishima”
It’s hard to be informed about what the hell is happening in the world these days.
I suspect you’ll agree with me. But even though “fake news” and “alternative facts” (or whatever phrase we’re using instead of “lies”) pose serious problems, that’s not what I want to talk to you about today. Because while there are significant issues with the media in terms of its quality, the way it potentially traps us in confirmation-bias-bubbles, I think the scarier truth is that, even if we didn’t have to worry about bias or the manufacture of consent (to borrow from Noam Chomsky and Edward S. Herman), etc., I think it would still be difficult to stay informed. And that’s because the world is not that simple.
Before you accuse me of stating the obvious, trust me when I say that it’s not nearly as obvious as it seems, and I have the perfect solution for you if, like me, you’re interested in having informed views on our world.
Continue reading “How to Inform Yourself in an Age of Information Overload: Columbia University’s Global Reports”