She is too big, I hope, for me to compass.

I've been reading Infinite Jest for a little over two weeks now and my progress has been, well, a little slow.  Which I should expect really, this book is in one word, massive.  It clocks in at a hefty 1076 pages, and they're 1076 giant pages at that.

Infinite Reading

Since I started reading this omnibus, I've been trying to stick to a schedule of 20 pages per day.  At that pace, I would finish it on or about March 1st.  Yes, that means it will take me nearly two months to finish one book, but I figure the books I read after will fly by, reading more like comic books than novels compared to this behemoth.  See to the right for a good comparison between what so far has been the quickest and shortest book from The List, and my current read, by far the longest and biggest read from The List.  Compared to Infinite Jest, the quickest read on the list, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, seems like a mere pamphlet; not a book.  I guess it makes sense then, that while I was able to read that in four hours, Infinite Jest may take over seven weeks.

Of course having said that, I'm not keeping to my pace so far, and am actually 60 pages, or three days behind.  Not too much I guess, but I need to make sure I'm not losing that same amount every two weeks, or I won't be finishing this book until April.  It wouldn't be too good of a start to 2011 if I'd only read two book through the first three months, when I'd planned to read 2.5 per month.

So what are my reasons?  First off, I'm not really enjoying it so far.  Well, perhaps that's not quite right.  There are a few different storylines, a couple of which I'm enjoying and a couple of which I'm loathing.  I find it very hard to slug through I book when I'm not enjoying the story.  Next off, the size of the book is intimidating.  Just seeing it on the table, nevermind picking it up, fills me with a sense of failure and dread.  It really is that big.  After a good reading session, I slip the bookmark back in and realize that I'm not even close to halfway.  In fact, I just hit the halfway mark to the halfway mark.  I figure the size also presents another problem, as it is difficult to carry around.  This book doesn't fit into the average pocket, or even an over-sized pockets.  It really isn't ideal for reading on the train or while you're waiting in line.  I even have trouble reading it in bed, as my arms tire out after a few minutes.  A couple of times, I've felt my arms go to sleep from the sheer weight this book places on my blood vessels.  I haven't weighed it yet, but I doubt my bathroom scale can handle it.

Despite the roadblocks, I will continue to read of course.  I suppose the worst thing that could happen is it takes me a few months to finish.  I can make it up with other books.  It has altered my reading list however, as I had planned to read Gone with the Wind 30th, but it isn't really much smaller than Infinite Jest, so I may delay it until 34 or 35, giving me a little time to squeeze in a few shorter reads.

Despite not enjoying the read that much, there are a couple of things to note about Infinite Jest.  In one story, teenage drug dealers mention William Burroughs, author of Naked Lunch, #3 on The List.  That marks the fourth time there is a reference in one book to another from The List.  Secondly, I've come across the first mention of Calgary in a book from The List.  Much the way the crowd gets excited at a concert when their hometown is mentioning by the band, I couldn't help but get excited by this.  Now it wasn't a setting or anything, only a mention.  In fact, it was mentioned on an RCMP list of Terrorist groups.  Among many Quebecois groups, was the 'Calgarian Pro-Canadian Phalanx,' whose only description states it is both environmental and violent.  Sure, it isn' much, but I'll take it.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have a little light reading to do.

#27 - "The Berlin Stories" by Christopher Isherwood

I have finished my first book of 2011, or is it my first two books?  The Berlin Stories is two books combined into one; The Last of Mr. Norris  and Goodbye Berlin.  While the two are not directly linked, they do have a common narrator, boarding house and landlady (all the essentials to a great story).

Book one follows the narrator (presumably the author) on a trip from his native England, on the train, to Berlin, where he shares a berth with the odd, yet intriguing Arthur Norris.  The story explores their relationship in inter-war Berlin where they become involved with the local communist party, while Hitler and the Nazis rise to power in the background.  Arthur Norris is simply a great character.  I liked him, but wasn't sure why, and I loathed him for the same reasons.  I found him inexplicably interesting and mysterious, and didn't know what to make of him until the end.  At times he seemed as if he would fit right into a Le Carre spy novel, while at other times he seemed as if he could double for Willy Loman.  Add a little political intrigue into the mix and you get quite a story.

The second book follows a bit of a different format.  While it still revolves around the same narrator, almost all the supporting characters are different.  The second book reads more like a diary or journal, with six different entries, each about people the narrator spends him time with in Berlin.  Most famous of these is no doubt Sally Bowles, who Liza Minnelli won an Oscar for portraying in "Cabaret," but there's also his relationship with Peter and Otto, a gay couple struggling with their relationship in a soon-to-be-Nazi-run Germany, and Natalia Laundauer, a wealthy Jewish heiress, who's family isn't prepared for the fate we all know now they must have met.  Like Arthur Norris from the first story, the characters in the second book are so well written and developed.  They all at times seem oddly likable, but strangely repugnant.

I'm torn as to what to think of this book.  When I finished reading, my first thought was no doubt that I had enjoyed reading it, but when I look back, I'm not exactly sure why.  The first story was quite interesting, especially as the two get more and more involved with the communist party, all while Hitler is rising to power, but the second story didn't really have any story, nor any conclusion.  That isn't to say I didn't enjoy the second half, it just didn't seem to have any real point.  As I mentioned earlier, it was more a series of diary entries, which when I think about it, is exactly how it was intended.  I've always thought that a great story is what make me enjoy a book, but here the story wasn't the best part, rather it was the characters and the setting, both so well written, I couldn't help but get wrapped up in the period.

But I think what I enjoyed the most was the writing style.  More Hemingway than Woolf, Isherwood writes more like a storyteller, and less like a psychiatrist.  Instead of 'philosophical introspection' (a term I once saw used to describe boring, modernist novels like To the Lighthouse), he uses a more direct style of prose; describing the character and their actions, instead of their inner thoughts about their actions or other characters.  Combine this with his interesting characters, and Isherwood gave me an excellent read.

It was also interesting to read this book, knowing what was to happen in Germany and the world in the years following its publication.  When published in 1935, although the Nazis were in power, the war was yet to start, the world was unaware of the atrocities that were to occur.  While many of the characters in both books doubt war will ever happen, the narrator is less certain, predicting not only war, but ethnic mass murder.  If only Neville Chamberlain had thought that way, things might have turned out very differently.

You can read TIME's original review from May 20, 1935, right here.  They only review The Last of Mr. Norris, as the two were not published together at the time it was written.

I've forged ahead into my 28th book, Infinite Jest.  I almost went with a smaller, less intimidating book, but realized that I'm going to have to read this sooner or later, so I might as well dive in right now.  It's going to take some kind of effort to finish this thing before the snow melts (in May).

And mark how well the sequel hangs together:

I've been reading The Berlin Stories by Christopher Isherwood for the past week and a half; since Christmas I guess.  It's bit of a different book from any on the list so far, as it is really two books in one.  Isherwood first published two books called The Last of Mr. Norris and Goodbye Berlin in 1935 and 1936 respectively.  Then, in 1946, they were combined into one novel, The Berlin Stories and have appeared as such ever since.

I'm about half way through the second 'book' right now.  I'm not sure if this will change, but so far, they have little of anything to do with each other.  The main character is the same (who happens to be named Chris Isherwood) and his landlady is the same, so I'll assume the setting is basically the same as well.  However, he interacts with completely different people in each.  I guess it almost makes it seem like a sequel in a way, but the story from the first book did reach a conclusion.  It wasn't like in "Back to the Future," when the DeLorean disappeared, destined for the future, leaving the audience hanging.  This is more like Toy Story 2, where it is just another wacky adventure for the main character.

So far, I'm enjoying this book (or these books rather) quite a bit.  I'm liking the writing style, the characters and the inter-war Berlin setting.  I hope to finish it soon, Sunday at the latest.  Then, I'm moving on to Infinite Jest, one of the books I've truly been fearing.  Not because I think I won't like it, or that I'll find it boring, but because the last page has a tiny '1076' in the bottom right-hand corner.  It is truly gigantic.

#26 - "Play it as it Lays" by Joan Didion

If you're looking for a pick me up, I might recommend watching It's A Wodnerful Life.  What I would not do, is hand you a copy of Play it as it Lays, my 26th book from Time Magazine's list of 100 great English novels.  Simply put, this story was a downer.  The story was depressing, the characters were depressing, the settings were depressing; it was like watching a car wreck, in the rain, while being hungover.

The story follows Maria, a B-List actress whose life seems to be in tatters.  She's divorced, currently separated from her second husband, isn't working, drinks too much, has a child she can't see and hangs around with shallow Hollywood types.  The book alternates between a remote desert village where her estranged husband is shooting a movie and her LA home, where she lives alone and doesn't have any friends.  She spends her days killing time mostly, seeing people who would claim to be her friends, but who in reality would turn their back on her in a second if it would benefit them.  The story includes such heart warming moments are Maria getting an abortion in a hotel room (they were still illegal when this book was written) and holding one of her 'friends' hands as he kills himself with an injection. Oh, and she was also date raped and arrested for stealing a car.  Sounds like the sequel to "Love, Actually."  Merry Christmas!

Not only is it depressing, it's also a very odd book. By that, I don't mean the story, which despite being depressing isn't anything outlandish, but rather the way it was written. It was like The Da Vinci Code, as it was only 200 pages long, but had 85 chapters, the majority of which were only one or two pages. Some aren't even half a page, and a couple were only one or two sentences. But despite being a little odd, it was well written, the story was interesting and I suppose from a literary standpoint, I enjoyed the book; it was strangely hypnotic and I couldn't stop reading.  I'm not sure if I was pulled in by the story or the characters or simply because I thought something had to go right for Maria at some point, but I basically read this book straight through, save a break for turkey dinner.  When all was said and done, I read this book in a little over four hours, making it the second fastest book after The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.  I wonder if part of the speed can be attributed to the short chapters, where I'd find myself saying, 'I'll read one more chapter, because it's only two pages long.'  Before I'd know it, I'd have read ten more chapters before claiming again, 'just one more chapter.'

My next book, which I'm about a third of the way through, is The Berlin Stories by Christopher Isherwood.  I'm not sure where the story is going, but it is set in inter-war Berlin, which should be right up my alley.  And so far it isn't in the style of Virginia Wolf or William Faulkner, so I should be safe there.