Someone just posted reference to the 100 best novels in the English Language from the 20th Century.
Here is the list. Conveniently, the webauthor included links for a lot of the books. Thank you!
This is a neat list of books. I’ve read a lot of them, but maybe I’ll try to read some more of them.
I don’t think I agree that these are the hundred best. But “best” is a highly subjective word.
Let’s just say they are good, and maybe I’ll use it as a guide for some new books to try.
My new blogfriend, NathanNelson, wrote a great post about what blogs are and where they came from.
I know that a lot of my readers (hi mom!) have asked me about the word blog and been quite confused by my explanation.
I think if you’re confused, you should go read Nathan’s Post.
It might clear a few things up.
You know, I’ve had to be at work at 7 a.m. every morning this week. That’s not so unusual, but today I have to stay until 6 p.m. or even later.
I thought I would drive my car.
Driving at quarter to 7 in the morning is kind of nice, traffic is light, and it’s pretty. Usually I get to the parking lot and think, “I could have left even later.”
This morning was going to be a little tough; i had two video conferences to launch at the exact same time, on two different floors.
Launch time was 7:30, so I was glad to be getting to work early.
In my pretty car, listening to the first broadcast of NPR’s coverage of the bombings of Iraq, I pull onto the 5. ooh. Backed up. I listen to the traffic report, and nothing is mentioned.
Typical. They never talk about where I am. I guess that means traffic everywhere else is WORSE.
I am hopeful that when I pull onto the 110, the traffic will be faster.
I have a lot of time to cherish this hope. It’s 7 a.m. before I get on the 110.
There are a lot of very pretty wildflowers at the exit right now. I got to examine them in detail.
I also thought about the fact that I had no back up for the two conferences I needed to start this morning. NO one else was in today.
I made it to my parking space at 7:30.
RUNNING up to the elevator, my cell phone rings. It’s the New York site. “Murphy!” my tech says. “Someone has pulled all the cables out of the back of the video unit! I don’t know how to put them back!”
I tell her I”ll call her when I get up the room. On the elevator, I try to figure out which conference is what, and which one that New York room is involved in.
Clever tech, she figured it out by the time I got up to the room. With just a few minor adjustments, she was up and ready.
She says, ” I don’t know WHO would have done this, they had to get all the way behind the equipment to pull it out.”
“Michelle, ” I said. “It’s terrorists.”
Next on the list:
Find those folks who didnt show up and/or didn’t turn on the equipment. THere seemed to be a lot of them this morning.
I have to check on the other room, the one located a floor below. I dash off to the elevator and punch the button. I feel a little silly, thinking I should have just taken the stairs. Just as I start to try to think about where the stairs even are, the elevator opens, and I jump in.
It’s the wrong elevator. I figure that out when the doors close and I drop fast to the ground floor.
So I rush out, get on the RIGHT elevator, and move into the next room.
My cell rings again: “we don’t like the conference room we are connected to. We want to move to another one.”
Fine, okay, just tell me which one.
*Ring*
“Um? hello? I think I’m supposed to do something with the video?”
“Yes, you are, actually. Would you mind going to the room that you were supposed to be in a half hour ago and turning on the equiment? Thaaaaannnkkksss..”
“Half an hour? I can’t do that…I turned the TV on…”
“Yes, but you do need to turn on the actual video conference equipment. Do you know how to do that?”
“I guess…”
“Okay, why don’t you do that, and I’ll talk about showing up for the half-hour set up later..Okay? GOOoood.”
Now they are set up, rush back upstairs, get that one set up. Oh look, the main speaker is completely blocked by a chair positioned in front of the camera. But before I can tell him, the introducer guy starts in:
“Okay, let’s get started already…”
when he pauses, I have to jump in.
“Hello, this is Murphy Horner. I’m the Video Conference Administrator. Could the persons in Silicon Valley just step around the table and move the chairs directly in front of them and the camera? I’m sure the folks in this conference would prefer to see more of you, and less of the chairs. Thank you.”
They were good sports, they moved the chairs.
Shwew.
Thank god.
I’m finally set up.
I walk downstairs, very slowly, waiting for the adrenaline to seep out of my body.
Yikes.
What a morning!
I’m gonna eat my yogurt now.
I was very sad to discover that one of my favorite books from my childhood has been cuffed by the PC police.
I hate to think that anyone would be made to feel inferior or bad about themselves because of this book. I have so many fond memories of it. But I just don’t think it’s true. Tell me I’m wrong.
Doctor Dolittle, in the book, started out as a people doctor, but he loved animals. Eventually, his parrot taught him parrot language and other animal languages. He had so many adventures and interesting things happen to him.
In the first book of what became a series, The Story of Doctor Dolittle, the Doctor wants to meet the greatest naturalist the world has ever known.
His parrot scoffs at the idea that any naturalist could be better than Doctor Dolittle, but even she admits that this naturalist is a pretty good one.
He is an old old native american, an Indian who has spent his life learning about plants and animals. Doctor Dolittle is sure they would have a lot to teach each other.
On the way to finding the Indian man, Doctor Dolittle has to go to African countries. The king and his people have been mistreated by the white people that came before, and are not welcoming. But the doctor is clever, and he has a lot of help from the animals. He makes it through and escapes for the African king.
The book was written in 1920, and the illustrations are typically racist in the way of that era. The inhuman caricature of the African peoples, with the big lips and strange hair are not realistic or appropriate.
I would be happier if they were not part of the books, even though i really love the artistic style of all the other illustrations.
In fact, I remember as a child wondering about those pictures. I was confused, I thought that the illustrator had suddenly lost his skill. I asked my mom whey they looked so funny. She said that people used to draw black people like that, and that I was right, it was silly.
The characters, the africans in the story, are not treated in a racist way. In fact, the Doctor defends the Africans’ suspicion of him as a white person, saying it was understandable since they had been mistreated. The Africans are a little silly, but no sillier than any of the other characters in the book (the pirates, the cat’s meat man at Puddleby).
I am disappointed that they have “improved” upon Hugh Lofting’s original work. I think it is fine the way it was written.
I know that I, my brothers, and all our friends would discuss at length the Doctor Dolittle books. We wondered what the Solid gold collar would look like, and I am now very aware of the different smells of water.
All of us became fascinated with ship’s biscuit, and forced our mothers to buy it for it.
I still like hard tack (aka ship’s biscuit)
I like Dr. Phil. He’s not as judgemental as Dr. Laura, but they both have this get-it-done attitude. They both say, Why you do what you do may be interesting and important, but How to do what you wish you would do is way more important. So if you can skip the ‘why’ and go straight to the ‘how’, you should.
I remember Dr. Phil was giving this one woman advice, I forget about what, but he handed her what I assume to be a well-worn platitude:
You did the best that you knew how to do. When you know better, you do better. Now you know better.
I think he was right. I think the woman was trying to do the right thing.
But at the same time…
“best” is a squishy word. How do you know if you’ve done your best?
Doing your best…That would be when you stop and carefully think about something, judiciously decide on the correct course of action, and then put forth strong and consistent effort to take that course of action.
Boy, that sure would be doing your best. Gosh, i wish I did that every time I had a goal to accomplish.
But what if you did that–did your best–and you were wrong?
There are all kinds of ways that can happen.
Like, what if you did your best to keep your car in good shape. You noticed that the brakes were soft, you took it in to be checked. The mechanics looked at it, and said it was fixed. What if you drove that car, the brakes failed, and a child died in a car accident?
You did your best!
And the child remains dead.
What if
You choose to become involved in a relationship with someone, and because of what you know of that person, fall in love and get married. You tie your life and your future to that person.
What if that person had lied to you about who they were and misrepresented thier life?
You would remain tied to them.
What about this?
What if you looked at the world around you, saw suffering, injustice and poverty and decided you had to step in and help. What if you thought long and hard, and discussed with your friends, the wisest ones you could find, and read and studied books to find a solution. What if you came upon a plan to stop that suffering injustice and poverty, and you worked hard to put into place that plan. What if you were able to do it?
And then…
What if you were completely wrong? What if your cherished, well-thought-out plan did not end poverty, suffering and injustice? What if, instead, it brought on an inhumane system that was far worse than the previous situation? What if those same wise friends you talked with were persecuted, tortured, and killed? What if discussion were outlawed, and poverty increased?
And your plan, the one you worked hard for, had been the cause of this tragedy.
This is what the character in The Unbearable Lightness of Being contemplates. He is caught in the middle of the communist revolution in Czechoslovakia, as an intellectual, and he sees what was done in the name of communism.
He is shredded by what has happened in his country; and he remembers the story of Oedipus.
I hated the story of Oedipus when I first read it. He killed his father and married his mother. In a nutshell.
But the gripping drama is not in a nutshell. It doesn’t tell the story.
The story tells that Oedipus did everything he knew how to do. He really did his best. He didn’t want to kill his father; he ran away so that he wouldn’t.
but he did kill his father.
And do you remember his response? His wife and mother hung herself. Jocaste figured it out a split second before he did.
Oedipus put his eyes out.
And when I was a teenager, I was so upset by this! What else could he have done? He did the best he could! There was no way out for him, he tried his best.
But the consequences of his actions remained.
And what about the communist activists in Czechoslovakia? They were, perhaps, doing the best they could.
But the consequences remain.
Here is my story:
A married couple, tired of the middle class stifling morality and hypocrisy of suburbia go looking for sincerity and being REAL. They try the usual 60s things, talking, reading and thinking about new ideas. This path eventually takes them to becoming involved in community. They want to help build community in a church. They really join in.
They stop being around their old friends, and some family members. Those folks drink, and the church members don’t do that.
The woman gives up her feminist magazines. Church women aren’t feminists.
They dive in, work for the church even.
Then, the pastor of that church wants to move on. “God is calling me to leave the pastorate”
So a new pastor comes in. He’s dicey, because he is hyper-opinionated and has been insensitive to other people’s needs in previous situations.
But the couple wants to preserve the community. They think, we should be a loving and accepting community. Let’s work with this new pastor; we want our community to be healthy and intact.
And so they tolerate some things; it’s a transition period.
This dicey pastor moves in. He demands respect for his God-given opinion. And they aquiesce.
as time goes by, more and more toleration occurs. This man twists words, and pietizes all his actions. As time goes by, they learn to consult him in any major and many minor decisions, since he claims to have the special ordainment of God.
Their youngest child looks at them and says “Who are you? What do you really think? What is YOUR opinion?”
And her father says: “I sincerely believe what the pastor tells me.”
As time goes by, the pastor is not satisfied with his control. He decides to flex futher power. The youngest son, upon reaching adulthood, is instructed to shun his oldest brother. “Your brother is the enemy of Christ” the man says.
and the son says: “my heart is black with sin. I cannot trust my own judgement. I must always consult the pastor before I make a decision.”
The family is sick and wounded. The community is betrayed and sincerity is a word without meaning.
But the couple did the best they could.
Thomas, in Unbearable Lightness, was angry with the communist revolutionaries. He wanted them to understand that they had done something wrong.
Like Oedipus.
They were busy crying “We are innocent! In our hearts, we know we did the best we could!”
And what about the consequences? The consequences, the pain caused by their innocent best–what about them?
What about that poor dead child from the bad brake job?
What about that spouse, lied to?
What about the family, the church, the children that were part of the community?
Actions have consequences.
Bad things can come from good motives.
The greeks knew that. LONG ago. We know that still, even though it makes us profoundly uncomfortable.
“The Human Condition”
I heard a guy tell me once, and who knows? He was always spouting crap…
But he said he had done a study of lots of religions, and the difference between Christianity and the rest of them was that Christianity offered forgiveness.
Forgiveness.
Jesus said it: “All have sinned and come short of the glory of God.”
Like I said before, I don’t always do my best.
But sometimes, even when I do, even when everybody does their best, the consequences accuse.
THomas said, “You are responsible, you czech revolutionaries! This did not come out of nowhere! What intentions you had, good, bad, rose-colored from the past, these heinous consequences remain.”
What shall they, what shall we, what shall _I_ do with these consequences?
Oedipus put his eyes out.
I believe that Oedipus was a better human being than I am.
But what shall we do?
That is what haunts me, that is what made me pace up and down when I read The Unbearable Lightness of Being.
Tomas did not want the communists to put their eyes out. He wanted acknowledgement.
Because how do you move on, unless you acknowledge where you are?
I could stand and accuse. I could point my finger. The dicey pastor taught me that.
Or maybe I learned it before.
Or maybe I was born with it.
Or maybe it doesn’t make a damn bit of difference when I learned it. Maybe it is important to move on.
To open the hand, and give a hand out to others to move on.
Like Dr. Phil, who says it doesn’t matter why, only how to get to where you need to go.
I don’t think that covering up pain has to be part of the forgiveness.
Shame, judgement, accusations–guilt or innocence–these are not relevant.
We all have tried and we have all had the best of intentions. And we have all had not so good intentions at times.
That just doesn’t matter.
What if we could make forgiveness so much a part of life, that it is a given, just the way that we get by?
Just help each other move on, keep going and keep trying to do better.
What are you supposed to expect, with a title like that?
This is the book my fabulous book club chose this month. I had honestly never heard of it before. The blurb just starts out “A young woman in love with a man torn between his love for her and his incorrigible womanizing; one of his mistresses and her humbly faithful lover–these are the two couples whose story is told in this masterful novel.”
When i read that in the bookstore, I said, “Oh goody! It’s a book about sex!”
Well, that idea was killed on the first page, and I was upset.
Until I read a little further.
Masterful, yeah. And a few other words i haven’t thought of yet.
My favorite parts were how he addresses ideological movements, and the smallness of individuals in the face of large forces.
His discusison of Oedipus had be pacing all night, chewing on all the ramifications and talking to myself.
Well, talking to my cat.
That’s why I have a cat. So I don’t talk to myself.
I finished it, and immediately wanted to read it again. That hasn’t happened in a long time.
The funny thing is, I read a book that was a parody of this one. It was a parody of other books too, but as I was reading this one, I kept thinking, this is familiar.
Then I remembered, It’s the sort of book that If On a Winter’s Night a Traveler was ripping on.
And I suddenly realized that If On a Winter’s Night A Traveler was a lot funnier than I had realized.
But hey, the point is, I love this book. I will not be selling it back.
My question, after only a few pages into this book, is Why haven’t I heard more about it?
This is a really great book.
It’s kind of like crossing a good Tom Clancy with Hitchiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.
Just imagine the marvelousness of that, and you have Catch 22. It’s very funny, it’s very profound. It works on almost any level you want to take it.
I heard that Tom Brokaw, in his younger days, was totally enamoured of this book. He went around writing “Yossarian Lives!” on things.
I can kind of see why.
And therefore, more people need to read this and put it on their favorites list.
I have a blog friend. PURELY from the blog world.
He’s kind of funny, check him out:
Nathan Nelson
But you know what else? He actually took the time to help out with the search for Elizabeth Smart. I am impressed. I have never done anything like that.
He gets the good neighbor/Samaritan award of the day.
Abducted Girl’s Relatives Say Her Captor Brainwashed Her
“Meanwhile, Elizabeth is playing the harp so much that she has blisters on her fingers, said Angela Smart, her aunt, adding that her niece has a new goal — to go to New York City and study music at the Juilliard School.”
I feel so much for Elizabeth Smart. I feel it in my heart, I can understand how she could have been kept with this man Emmanuel for 9 months and not escape.
Don’t abused children protect their parents? “I fell down the stairs.” And I know that when I was married to an abusive husband, I was very careful to explain away suspicious noises and defend his treatment of me.
how hard is it to believe that Elizabeth Smart turned around to defend her captor? He was supposed to be an emmisarry of God! According to himself.
Your logic is a little crazy when you are fourteen years old and kidnapped at gunpoint from your home. This man talked in the same type of language as all the respected men in her family. THose men who got up in church and talked about God will and the lost sheep and such.
It would be so comfortable for Elizabeth to believe that her captor was acting benvolently towards her.
And now, she is home. And she has to find a way for life to make sense again.
I understand how music must be such a comfort to her. Not words, not talking. Talking is too concrete and frightening. But music can give her some expression.
I pray that her family can give her the kind of support she needs.
I was looking for a different book, but it wasn’t there. So I just grabbed this one:
Jim Valentino’s A Touch of Silver Book One: A Sociopath in Training
I was looking for comic books, since this funny guy at work is all into him. Every time I pass his cube he tells me the Superhero (or villain) of the day.
THese are selected by his “Superhero of the Day” Calendar. There was a time when my brothers were all into comics…And so I read a lot of them, slipping the precious booklets out of their plastic sleeve and turning the pristine pages very carefully.
The Superhero of the day is usually someone I’ve heard of, which amazes the heck out of me.
And it reminded me that comics are fun.
WHich is why I checked out this “Graphical Novel”. That’s what my comic buddy reminded me to call it, “It’s not a cartoon,” he said.
Okay, fine.
This book was not about superheroes, but about a kid who liked superheroes. He used them to escape from his icky life and not-very-nice family.
I like the devices Valentino uses to progress the story every once in a while, going from in the moment to after the fact. THis builds a little tension and lets the reader feel more of what’s going on internally.
I’m going to check out book two…