They're Just People, People.

Lately I've been thinking about genius. Not my own, obviously, though I AM a genius pasta sauce maker- but the "genius" of classic authors. And new authors. And authors in general.

You see, I tend to regard the term with a fair measure of scorn when applied to literature. The pattern seems to be that an author is labeled a genius by...someone...usually his editor (posthumously) and then every jot and tittle the person ever wrote or scribbled onto the back of a napkin is regarded as Absolute Truth. This person was a GENIUS and therefore what they thought about Ramen noodles is FACT and must be injected into the consciousness of high school students across the country!

But why? What actually makes an author a "genius" or even fairly smart? Is there really a link between being able to spin a good yarn and having the mental authority to speak into the lives of everyone who wants to consider themselves well-read? I think maybe no- and a lot of that comes from the fact that "good" writing rarely has anything to do with spinning a good yarn- at least to the literary community at large. (Not bloggers, however. We are a breed that seem to realize that books should first and foremost be good story-telling, which I think is one of the reasons Big Book Reviewing publications look on us with such icky ickiness.)

So, to me, a literary genius is someone who can tell a really, really good story. And in fact, those skills can be learned- so literary genius isn't inherent. The rest of it is just fluff. Without the basis of an engaging tale, I could care less whether you invented stream of consciousness or won a Nobel Prize for getting drunk.

Which leads me to another thought- a lot of classics authors were not geniuses in their lives in any way EXCEPT in literature. They were jerks or drunks or couldn't keep their families or themselves together. They were hermits with no social skills, they couldn't hold down a job, they were bankrupts. Basically, they were just people. So when people gasp when I say I don't like The Catcher in the Rye because, after all, Salinger was such a LITERARY GIANT-BRAIN, I have to shrug. He was just a guy who spun a yarn I didn't care for. I'm not saying (of course) that literature isn't important. I'm saying authors- even authors established as pillars of the literary canon- are just people. Screwed up, mistake-laden people.

Which is why I don't feel bad about hating on the ones I don't like.

I'm looking at you, Franz Kafka. I've got my eye on you...r grave...?

The Most Difficult Book I Punched in the Face

Oh, the hard ones (snicker). Those books that are so terribly difficult to get through that at the end, you either feel a little Rocky-on-the-steps jubilant, or Rocky-in-the-ring-with-Apollo exhausted. Maybe both.

Honestly, I don't think I've had this experience with anyone other than Virginia Woolf. Her books are very dense, sorta non-linear, and not heavy on the narrative, so skimming or lightly reading are not possible. BUT I wouldn't say they're the hardest book I've ever read, and here's why: the hardest books are the most boring or gross books, and hers aren't either.

SO. What are the two hardest books I've ever read? It's a two way tie, and up first is Naked Lunch by William S. Burroughs. This book was the scourge of my high school reading experience. It was the thing that most singlehandedly scarred my innocent brain for life. It was both the grossest and most boring and pointless thing I had ever read up to that point...and may still be. For those of you who are unfamiliar, GOOD FOR YOU IT'S AWFUL, and also, here's what it's about: drugs, having sex while on drugs, maybe dying while having sex while on drugs, and doing more drugs while dying while maybe having sex while on drugs. I'm sure there are people out there who find this book "important" and I have a feeling they're the same people who think those elephants who paint pictures with their trunks are artistic visionaries. Doing a bunch of heroin and then writing about your fantasies about autoerotic asphyxiation= not important, and also, you need therapy.

The second hardest book I've ever read was hard because it was so effing boring, and that would be The Sorrows of Young Werther by Geothe. Essentially, boy loves girl, girl marries someone else because boy is annoying. Boy WHINES FOR A MILLENIA, then (spoiler) kills himself. And the audience says: GOOD RIDDANCE. I later learned that Goethe himself disliked the book intensely in his later life, and tried to distance himself from it. It's histrionic and melodramatic, but not in a fun, Real Housewives of New Jersey way. More in like a watching Heidi cry on The Hills way. Shiver.

Note: Never actually seen either of those shows and am basing opinion purely on commercials.

Note 2: I have a problem with having to spend an entire book with nasty protagonists, and of that I am not ashamed.

To see what other tomes the literary blogosphere finds difficult to wade through, check out this week's literary blog hop at The Blue Bookcase where the topic is: what I just said.

So what's the hardest thing you've ever read? Seems like most people automatically go to the LONGEST thing they've ever read. Is that true in your case?

"Nine Stories" by J.D. Salinger: A Review

I find myself stuck in an odd little category: those who love Salinger, would've considered sneaking into his house and stealing lint from his dryer and framing it in adoration (ok maybe not), but who really, really, DON'T like Catcher in the Rye. Although I have considered getting the line "ask her if she still keeps all her kings in the back row" tattooed on my body several times. Just really like it. Totally irrational. However, I find the rest of the book completely irritating.

I think I've figured out why, and it's totally superficial and silly. It's the dialogue, for Chrisake. It's the way all the characters talk in these goddamn italics. I mean they talk in italics. And every other sentence starts with I mean. Everyone sounds the same. I mean, exactly the same for Chrisake.

I just can't take it for 200 plus pages. BUT it's much easier to stomach in Nine Stories because...well..they're short stories. You have breaks. And I know you can put down a full length book at any time and take a break, but the great thing about a short story is the narrative takes a break with you and your brain can cleanse. Or maybe I'm just nuts, and this is just me.

At any rate, I HEART Nine Stories. Salinger's strength really was short fiction, in my opinion. Every single story in the book is funny, heart-breaking, and punch-in-the-gut intense without being melodramatic. They are razor sharp and exactly what they should be. If you're a Holden-hater and haven't picked up a Salinger since high school because you're still scared, I encourage you to give the shorts a go. I'm not going to go into plot summaries because there are nine of them and I'm lazy, but most of them are about quirky people doing quirky things. While drinking highballs. And smoking. And maybe eating a chicken sandwich.

And honestly, who doesn't like a good fictional highball every now and then?

Five stars out of your mom.

Literary Blog Hop: In Which I Don't Know What I'm Talking About

The Blue Bookcase has a new blog hop that focuses on blogs of a literary nature. This is a big relief for me, as combing through the masses of YA/urban/paranormal whatever on other blog hops gives me both a headache and a case of the grouchies. So. Much. Sparkly font on black background. Growl. Anywoot, I strongly encourage those bloggers/readers with a more "literary" reading preference to check it out.

This week's question on the Literary Blog Hop is: what is one of your favorite books and why do you consider it "literary?"

Enter my stumpage. Literary? I've never tried to define that word before. I can define a classic up down and all around- timeless! Inventive! Long and hard (haha just kidding...uh..yeah)! But the word literary is a little tougher. There are modern, literary books that haven't proven anything about standing the test of time. SO. I give you my definition a a literary book: ONE THAT DOESN'T SUCK.

Because really, can you get more specific? There's literary genre fiction, literary children's books, etc. An initial gut reaction to a definition of "literary" would include the word "serious," but I think that's bullocks. Funny things can be well written, and really, if it's not well-written is it even funny? So to prevent my disappearance down the mental rabbit hole that is defining the word, I'm just gonna chalk it up to: doesn't suck. And really, I think that's everyone's definition if you boil it down and remove the big words and suede elbow patches.

AANNDD one of my favorite books that doesn't suck that I haven't already talked about in these parts is Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut. Who is dead now, so he counts (snort).

Slaughterhouse-Five, aside from being a favorite of disaffected high school students everywhere (and the source of many, many bad hipster tattoos) is an odd little thing. It's hard to classify since it is anti-war re: serious and also really funny re: uh-oh, losing literary merit, AND includes time travel re: WARNING, DANGER WILL ROBINSON that SMACKS of sci-fi and cannot therefore be literary.

Except it is. Because it doesn't suck. How many well-written books do you know that have a serious theme while remaining super-hilarious and also maybe could be sci-fi but don't have aliens? Hmmmm? THAT is inventive. And it has pictures. Double win!

So define literary for me. Does Senor Vonnegut's most well-known book fit your definition?

"The Heart is a Lonely Hunter" by Carson McCullers, A Review

One of these days, a Southerner will write happy books about sweet tea and daisies. I look forward to that day as Carson McCullers joins the long line of Southern authors I have dubbed: Folks Who Are Depressing As A Three Legged-Puppy.

The Heart is a Lonely Hunter is (on the surface) about a deaf-mute and the people he befriends in a town somewhere down south. In reality, the book is about how hard it is to be African-American in the south. And how hard it is to be a communist in the south. And how hard it is to be an African-American communist in the south. Or disabled. In the south. Or a white girl (uh) in the south. Or poor, pretty, ugly, Catholic, Jewish...

Ok, really? After the first 50 pages, I get the point. Life is hard in the south. Outcasts are lonely, and pretty much everyone is an outcast, which means that no one is, and we should all just get along. Unfortunately, there are 303 more pages of sad-bastard-ing after you get that point. And none of those 303 pages have any plot occurrence that is interesting. Someone gets sick. A girl gets a job. An angry guy gets in a fight. La la la. In between, you just get the characters thinking to themselves how hard life is in the South. Gee-willikers. Poke my heart out with a spoon.

Carson McCullers, herself quite the sad bastard- I dunno, I can't make up my mind about her. I know some people lump her in under "Southern Gothic" but there's not really any extra-gothicy grotesqueness or big, dark houses or what have you. Others lump her under "Southern Realism." I think that was more what she was going for- it's just that her real south was all weepy. The problem here is that all her characters have the same issues (loneliness) and basic personality (angry), which is far from realistic. In the end, it just comes off as many, many pages of whining. Incessant, drunken whining.

Bleh. I'm going to go watch Youtube videos of babies laughing now.

Two starts out of your mom.

I don't cry. I don't have tear ducts. THANKS FOR RUBBING IT IN.

Not really, I do have tear ducts. I'm just a cold, heartless wench. Which brings us to this week's Top Ten Tuesday: BOOKS THAT MADE YOU CRY! Top Ten Tuesday is a weekly broo-haha hosted by The Broke and the Bookish and honestly, this is a tough one. I can't think of ten, and most of the ones I can think of made me cry when I was ten. Back when I had a soul.

1. The Little Princess. Her knight in shining armor was NEXT DOOR. THE WHOLE TIME. Ugghhhh sniffle.

2. Of Mice and Men. I just don't want to talk about it. Why did Steinbeck write the most depressing books known to man? Did he need a hug?

3. Gone With the Wind. Scarlett just breaks poor Rhett's heart and nothing will make me weepy like seeing a manly man be all hurt and achy-breaky. And when he won't come out after SPOILER their daughter dies, I need to take a break.

4. Atlas Shrugged. Not because anything sad happens, just because I made myself suffer through that ENTIRE 20 million page effing speech. I DON'T CARE WHO JOHN GALT IS DAMMIT.

5. The Great Gatsby. Uhh the most moving last page of a book ever. Also, the most tear-making funeral scene. The dad. With Gatsby's goal list. (That's the sound of my soul shattering)

Yeahhhh that's about it. Honestly, my usual reaction to sad books is throwing them across the room because they're either too sentimental/melodramatic and it distracts me, or because anger is the route I generally take when faced with strong emotion. You know, like a mature adult. At any rate, I'm much more likely to cry during a movie- I'm a visual weeper.

So are you a crying reader? Maybe I just haven't encountered enough bookish tragedy. Maybe I should read more nonfiction that isn't about the Revolutionary War. Not very sad-making.


*ETA I forgot To Kill a Mockingbird! That book makes me a weepy mcweeperson. And I don't even care that there's a precocious child narrator. Thanks for the reminder, Catherine!