Distraction: Hyperion by Dan Simmons

Hyperion, the 1990 Hugo Award winner, qualifies as a Distraction because it’s definitely not older than me. It’s not so much a Distraction, however, as a holdover from last year’s reading. I had put it aside for some reason I can’t remember, and I finally just got around to finishing it.

You see, here’s where I qualify as a bit of an oddball. I love this book. It’s one of the most satisfying science fiction stories I’ve ever read. It qualifies as literature, not just entertainment. Simmons’s writing is superb. His story-telling style is brilliant. The future universe he created is fascinating. The suspense is thrilling. And yet I took months to read Hyperion this time around.

Perhaps it is because of all those good qualities that I linger over wonderful pages such as these. I don’t really want such a story to end. Most of this novel consists of stories told by the individual characters embarking on a pilgrimage. They are each on their way to the backwater world of Hyperion where the elusive and terrifying Shrike, a creature of lethal blades and no mercy, makes its home. Each has his or her own reason for being there and each tells his or her story on the way, Canterbury Tales-style.

It’s the fantastic science fiction setting that makes this novel’s invitation to escape into its pages irresistible, but it’s the different voice of each character that makes Hyperion something to truly appreciate as literature. Since each character is so different from his companions, each voice is pleasantly unique and allows the author to demonstrate significant talent as a story-teller.

I can’t tell you too much about what happens and/or why without giving away enough to spoil the fascination and suspense of this novel. I will tell you, however, that this reading confirmed that Hyperion is one of my favorite books of all time and of all sorts. I’ll also tell you that the end of the novel is not by any means the end of the story, or of any of the stories. There is a sequel, The Fall of Hyperion, which I’ve read but don’t remember much about. I wonder how long I’m going to be able to stick to Books that are Older than Me before I cave in to that Distraction.

A Year of Books that are Older than Me

Favorite Lines Friday

I quite liked this little philosophical bit from Hyperion by Dan Simmons, a Distraction I finished recently:


It might be argued that the Siamese twin infants of word/idea are the only contribution the human species can, will, or should make to the raveling cosmos. (...Yes we weave real-fabric things from the dreamstuff of mathematics, but the universe is hardwired with arithmetic. Scratch a circle and π peeps out. Enter a new solar system and Tycho Brahe's formulae lie waiting under the black velvet cloak of space/time. But where has the universe hidden a word under its outer layer of biology, geometry, or insensate rock?)




I hope to have a few more thoughts on this delicious Distraction soon.






A Year of Books that are Older than Me

Wednesday Word

baching: Well, okay, there's enough slang in this term to keep it out of my Webster's dictionary, but I know I heard it before reading it recently in The Long Winter, where Almanzo and Royal Wilder are "baching it," that is, living a bachelor's life through the winter.

Of course, not too many young men would even blink an eye anymore when faced with living by themselves or with a few guy roommates, let along give a name to their lifestyle. I have a hunch they might just agree with Royal Wilder, however, when he says: "We eat when we get hungry...That's the advantage of baching it. Where there's no women-folks, there's no regular mealtimes."

The Long Winter by Laura Ingalls Wilder

This has been either a really great or really terrible winter to read The Long Winter. On one hand, it’s easy to get into the spirit of the novel when one is in the midst of some of the coldest stretches on the calendar in many (many!) years. On the other hand, when one is already cold, this book can only make one feel colder. I hate to admit that I stopped reading The Long Winter in bed just before sleeping because it seemed like I just couldn’t get warm afterward.

 

 

 

I actually hadn’t read this book before, which is probably considered somewhat of a moral failing by the rest of my regional community. (I’ve lived in the upper Midwest most of my life and currently live in southeastern Minnesota.) It’s hard not to be somewhat familiar with the story, however, since just about everybody seems to know something about it. “They had to twist hay because there was nothing else to burn for warmth!” was something I remember hearing about the Ingalls family when I was a kid. I also toured De Smet, South Dakota when I was about 20 years old (and therefore about 50 years younger than most of the other folks on the tour), so I had picked up a good chunk of the story from the tour guide: “This is the building Laura brushed against when they all were lost in a blizzard while walking home from school.”

This novel is about enduring cold on the frontier, but it’s also about family and discipline and endurance. Laura has always been a positive, energetic and optimistic heroine, a character that so many little girls want to be. In The Long Winter, however, her limits seem to be tested. There are more instances than I can remember in any other book in this series where Laura is crabby and impatient. Of course one cannot blame her, especially when her point of view is described as so near the end of the story:

 

            There were no more lessons. There was nothing in the world but cold and dark and work and coarse brown bread and winds blowing. The storm was always there, outside the walls, waiting sometimes, then pouncing, shaking the house, roaring, snarling, and screaming in rage.

            Out of bed in the morning to hurry down and dress by the fire. Then work all day to crawl into a cold bed at night and fall asleep as soon as she grew warm. The winter had lasted so long. It would never end.

 

Of course (spoiler alert!) the Long Winter did end eventually. The near starvation and boredom lasted a little longer than the cold weather, however, since the folks on the frontier could get nothing new until the trains could run through the snow-packed cuts. One cannot burn coal or make bread when there was no train to bring either.

Some of this story is also told from Almanzo Wilder’s point of view, since he also endured the winter in the same place Laura Ingalls did. Almanzo is quite the heroic figure in this novel, which is amusing when you know how Laura Ingalls got her married name. Somehow, he and his brother, Royal, don’t seem to have suffered as much from lack of supplies as did the Ingalls family, but I don’t know if that was a better estimation of need or simple luck.

It’s hard for us with a complete lack of remaining frontier and modern technology and weather satellites to really understand why most of the folks in this story were not able to better prepare for such a miserable winter out in the middle of nowhere. I guess pioneering is all about figuring out what needs a new environment will demand. And part of being a pioneer is not really knowing what you’re getting yourself into.

A Year of Books that are Older than Me

 

Why so many books?

I was recently reminded by a conversation I overheard that I’m probably not in the majority when it comes to reading habits. It seems that most readers I know like to stick to one book at a time, or possibly have two books not at all like each other (say a mystery novel and a science book) going simultaneously. My Distractibility does not allow me to remain faithful to one book (or even two) cover to cover.

There are probably many complex reasons for this that might be unearthed by way of several psychoanalysis sessions. Frankly, I’m not sure I need to know myself that well. I have, however, nailed down about three main reasons why I almost always have and probably will continue to have several books containing bookmarks indicating my last stopping place at any given time.

Probably the simplest reason is that Distractibility I mentioned above. I tend to lose interest in even the greatest books, often right around the middle. Since I have an ever-growing pile of other books, one of those will inevitably tempt me away from the book in which I’ve become mired. This probably happens to just about everybody who owns a bunch of books or visits their local library often, but most of those people are probably sane enough to recognize that the book they have abandoned isn’t interesting enough for them to finish. Not me. It’s rare that I’ll completely give my interest up for dead. I usually put the book aside for a while and play around with another one.

Another reason I’ll move on to something else is to create a sense of progress. If I’m reading something extremely long, like The Book of Genji or Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell, which I re-read last year, I can feel like I’ll never finish. Then, I’ll pick up something shorter, like The Wizard of Oz or something by Laura Ingalls Wilder so I can be involved in a story that’s moving right along. This particular practice has become even more useful since I began The Distractible Reader. Reading books of various lengths at the same time helps me to have more to post about more often.

As factually based as the above two paragraphs are, the greatest reason I keep a few books rather than just one book going at the same time is that I love (love, love!) starting a new book. The excitement! The potential! The idea of days (or, in my case even weeks) of wonder ahead! Who can resist that? Who would want to?

Many years ago, I somehow found myself with not enough to do. Thoughts of starting a new book before finishing the one I was reading became overwhelming. I wanted to do it all the time. There was something weak in my character, I thought, if I just gave in to such irresponsible urges. I can’t live like this! And so I limited myself to Fridays for starting new books. Now, my Friday book is almost a ritual. It’s something I look forward to all week long. I don’t always start a new book each week. Sometimes I actually am content to sit with one of the four or so that I’ve already started.  Imagine that.

The bottom line is that I love to read. Experiencing more than one story, commentary, history, or conglomeration of facts at a time is fulfilling. I think I’ll always be giving in to distraction, needing to give myself a sense of progress, or desiring to experience a new opening paragraph. And really. There are so many books. So many books.

 

 

A Year of Books that are Older than Me

Favorite Lines Friday

I love this line from Pride and Prejudice. It's spoken by Mr. Bennet, the heroine's father, to his wife:

I have a high respect for your nerves. They are my old friends. I have heard you mention them with consideration these twenty years at least.


A Year of Books that are Older than Me

Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve read this book. I’m always excited to read it again. I wanted to read it last year, but didn’t get to it, and so I’m particularly happy that it’s older than me and therefore has a place in this year’s reading schedule.

I’m also particularly happy about the novel itself. This has to be the most enjoyment I’ve received from a reading of it, even though I knew exactly what was going to happen around every turn of the walking path. Some of that satisfaction may have come from the verified disappointment that was my second reading of Mansfield Park. Let me explain: I was a little scared that if Jane Austen had written something that I found so boring and irritating, perhaps my tastes had changed. Perhaps Elizabeth Bennet wasn’t as witty as I remembered. Perhaps she was just as prudish as Fanny Price. Since I found Elizabeth as enjoyable a heroine as I had before, however, I may have had so much fun this time through at least partially out of relief.

When I read Pride and Prejudice for the first time, it was under the recommendation of a friend, who described it as “light and fluffy” reading. There is little use in denying that this novel isn’t heavy stuff. There’s no real action or adventure. Nobody’s life is in real danger at any point. The villains aren’t in a position to really do much damage unless the protagonists allow them to affect their happiness.

But there are characters that are easy to love. There are secrets and a few lies. There is wit and banter. And, above all, there is a supreme use of the English language to tell a simple and believable story. Light and fluffy it may be, but I turned pages (actually swiped the screen; I read this as an e-book on my tablet) like never before. I was actually excited to get to the next part. Excited for Jane and Bingly to fall in love. Excited to laugh at Mr. Collins and his obsequious devotion to Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Excited to see Darcy revealed as a kind, generous, worthy companion to Elizabeth. Excited to see Elizabeth come to recognize this and come to learn to laugh at herself.

“It’s a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife,” is the famous opening line of Pride and Prejudice, and, while it may sound like the beginning of a rather common or perhaps even dull topic, it in fact begins a charming story. Even if this novel’s plot is no longer full of surprises for me, I still find myself pleasantly surprised by how much I like it.

 

A Year of Books that are Older than Me

The Wizard of Oz by L. Frank Baum

aka The Wonderful Wizard of Oz

Just about everybody knows this story. A little girl gets blown to a magical land by a tornado, makes some odd friends, travels with them to see the Wizard who is supposed to be powerful enough to get her back home, suffers disappointment that said Wizard is a fake, destroys a wicked witch more or less by mistake, and eventually gets home again using a power she had at hand (or rather at foot) the whole time. The little girl, Dorothy, is pretty easy to like. She’s rather resilient for just a little girl, and she brings out the best in all her new friends.

I’ve read this book several times, of course. Many American girls have, I suppose, and I have enjoyed it on each occasion, even though I’ve always been hard pressed to let the printed word be the “real story,” since I saw the movie many times before I ever peeled open the cover of the novel. I do like that Dorothy is a very young girl (as compared to Judy Garland in the film), simply because it makes some of the silliness that takes place during her adventures more fun and less weird.

I’m a big fan of the fantasy genre, and this story was one of my earliest exposures to it. I like just letting The Wizard of Oz be a cheerful and wonderful fantasy story and really don’t need any more heft or “deep hidden meaning” to enjoy it as an adult. In the introduction to the novel, Baum himself wrote:

 

Modern education includes morality; therefore the modern child seeks only entertainment in its wonder-tales and gladly dispenses with all disagreeable incidents.

    Having this thought in mind, the story of “The Wonderful Wizard of Oz” was written solely to pleasure children of today. It aspires to being a modernized fairy tale, in which the wonderment and joy are retained and heart-aches and nightmares are left out.

 

I can’t completely agree that all the nightmares are left out. Dorothy lives for a time as the slave of the Wicked Witch of the West. And, really, the Tin Woodman had cut his own body to pieces. That’s kind of horrible. There must be something to conquer if one is to be the hero or heroine of one’s story, however, so some serious obstacles must remain. And while I don’t like seeking for morals to this story, I have always found it interesting that Dorothy’s friends, the Scarecrow, Tin Woodman, and Cowardly Lion continuously prove that they have plenty of what they are searching for: brains, heart, and courage respectively. Each is tested along the way and proves himself well-equipped without ever realizing it. The Scarecrow has all the best ideas, the Tin Woodman is the most sensitive, and the Lion must perform all the most dangerous physical tasks.

And this is why I like Dorothy. I feel like she’s the one who has brought this out in each of her new friends, even if she doesn’t notice or at least doesn’t mention it. I also like her for the same reason just about any little girl might like her: she doesn’t scream or cry or faint when plunged into a strange place with magic and witches and talking scarecrows. “But, you see, the Land of Oz has never been civilized,” says the Good Witch of the North, and such a land is the perfect place to play and have adventures, especially if the “heart-aches and nightmares are left out.” Mostly.

 

You might also like: Wicked by Gregory Maguire from A Year (Plus) of Books I Should Have Read by Now (a seriously adult view of this story)

 

Coming soon: Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

 

 

Preface to A Year of Books that are Older than Me

Well, this new year is slightly used at this point, but here is the reading challenge I intend to tackle this year. Really, I’m still a rather Distractible Reader, so it will be more like a reading focus in which I hope to engage for the next 12 months. I’ve already spent a year on books I’ve read before and a year plus of books I should have read by now.

This year I’m going to read books that are older than me.

I’ve made no restrictions on the volumes I’ll read beyond the publication date. I hope to have them range from ancient classics to, well, somewhat modern books published just before I was born. Some will be books I’ve read before while others will be books I probably should have already read, and still others will be books I don’t know much about but have nevertheless piqued my curiosity.

I usually get quite distracted from my self-imposed reading challenges, especially by new books, tempters and temptresses on the public library shelves, and by books generously given to me as gifts. (Actually I’ve done much better at sticking with my reading plan in the last couple years than I thought I might be. I did recently acquire some new books that are burning a hole in my bookshelves, however, so we’ll see what happens.)

In addition to being distractible, I’m also not a very fast reader and I have a bit of a busy schedule (which includes keeping up with my other blog), so - and I feel a little bad about this – I don’t finish books or write about them as often as I’d like. That being said, this is just a personal reading journal by an amateur reader with no formal training in analysis of literature. I like to read, plain and simple, and here’s where I communicate to whoever cares to follow along what I think about what I’ve read.

And so begins the Year of Books that are Older than Me…

 

Coming soon: The Wizard of Oz by L. Frank Baum

 

 

A Year of Books that are Older than Me