Lost: A reading list

I was going to open this post with one of two desperate leads: a quote or a joke. Except the quote was more of an accusation and the joke is still not funny, and even I could smell the desperation like the tang of my own unbrushed breath at five in the afternoon. Instead, I am beginning with this slightly less desperate (but not quite minty fresh) self-reflexive apology. I am just out of practice. Be glad I didn't sink to starting with "The dictionary defines...".

So, how is Lost (the TV series) like a TS Eliot poem? (See, I warned you the joke isn't funny.)

With its very first word, Eliot's epic The Wasteland introduces itself as a friend of the great-grandfather of English poetry, Geoffrey Chaucer. The poem ends with guttural syllables that sound like a baby's first swings at speaking or the phonics of Chaucer's early English, but are to those in the know Buddhist principles laid out in the text Brihadaranyaka Upanishad.

Like The Wasteland, Lost is a catalogue of our times and texts that conspire to make the average viewer feel somewhat below average.

To start with, many of the characters in Lost are named after philosophers. For example, there is Danielle Rousseau, a French women driven mad by her isolation on the island, who is named after Jean-Jacques Rousseau, he of the 'noble savage'. Desmond Hume, a Scotsman trying to prove his love for a woman he dumped in an act of inexplicable cowardice, is named after David Hume, the philosopher who wrestled causality away from God himself.

These characters act out their brands of social philosophy and metaphysics against plots, ideas and symbols dragged from stories as varied (but still mostly predictable) as Alice in Wonderland, Heart of Darkness, Lord of the Flies and the Bible.

But most of this background belongs to other blogposts (suppress your joy at learning the extent of my obsession with this very obsession-worthy series). This post is about the books that the characters are seen reading in different episodes, specifically those read by the character Sawyer, himself named after the tween adventurer written by Mark Twain. The director and camera-man go to great lengths to show the covers and titles of the books, so we might as well make these lengths worthwhile by reading some of them. Or, at least, planning to.

However, this list constitutes a promise to read these books, which is why it is not a quintessential list. I left off the books I don't want to read.

• The Third Policeman by Flann O'Brien. The idea for this list started when Desmond Hume puts aside the copy he is reading to discover the madness that is the character named John Locke. I noticed because, instead of using a bookmark like a civilised reader, he sits it down spreadeagled, thereby damaging the spine as well as bending the pages. The author was contemporary and countryman of James Joyce, which bodes both well and ill for this book.
• A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L'Engle. Sawyer is reading this book when he starts to have severe migraines and Jack diagnoses him as hyperopic - as a result of reading so much. As the title suggests, the novel is an adventure in time travel, in which a young girl and her brother have to rescue their scientist father.
• Lancelot by Walter Percy. Kate interrupts Sawyer as he is reading this book to ask for a gun. The book is about a man who blows up his house and murders his wife, much like Kate did her father.
• Bad Twin by Gary Troup. This book was written for Lost: it is the unpublished manuscript of one of the casualties of Oceanic 815.
• Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck. Sawyer is reading this novel in a flashback to his time spent in prison, proving that Sawyer was a closet bibliophile before being stranded on a tropical island with excess time on his hands. You know, when he isn't struggling to survive.
• Watership Down by Richard Adams. Sawyer is reading this when the former owner of the copy accuses him of hiding his sister's asthma pumps, which were in the same suitcase. Sawyer doesn't have them, but only reveals this after a beating and a kiss. The novel is also an animated movie, mere stills from which bring tears to my eyes and a lump to my throat. Which is the same reaction I have to the last two episodes of Lost.
• The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand. This novel appears twice, in two separate episodes, suggesting it takes some time to finish even if you have all the time in the world. I just know this book is going to rile me up. I can feel it like a static force field surrounding the book.
• An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge by Ambrose Bierce. This novel is one of a shelf of books in the hatch that Locke is alphabetising. In it, a man time travels just before he dies. Sounds like a sure winner. 

In the fifth season of Lost, Jack asks why Sawyer is sitting and reading a book instead of making decisions and taking action. Sawyer says what we all want to say, just more succinctly: that he is thinking, rather than reacting, as Jack did when he was in charge. That, my friends, is why we should all be readers.

PS. Our Mutual Friend by Charles Dickens gets its own list. Our dear Des plans to read this book before he dies - as in just before he dies, rather than at some point before he dies - because obviously these things can be planned. This is also one of the few books that I have started and never finished. A list that is growing longer and longer, I'm afraid.

A Canticle for Leibowitz: Part 2 of 2

What is the attention span of a gnat? I am figuring that we find out its life span and divide that into something objective, like the attention span of a fly, or by the amount of time they can spend on a single task. Then we could wander through a few academic halls and land up considering the consciousness of tiny flying animals or fall through the moldy hall that is when a baby becomes a person. As you may have surmised (and as intended) you may have noticed I have a short attention span, which I would compare with that of a gnat's - no, I will compare it and tell you it is two minutes and 3.2 seconds, because I can and I did.

I have also realised that I have said 'would have' a few times today. There are three 'have's in that sentence alone. What the heck is the point of that word? (And before you get snarky, you, I am well aware there is a linguistic answer, but my point still holds because this is my blog and if I say a gnat can only focus on a single task (as defined by me) for two minutes, that is valid.)

So, I finished A Canticle for Leibowitz by sheer force of will. My opinion hasn't changed. Although the structure is interesting, the symbols are heavy-handed. I could not empathise with a single character until the last 2% of the book, but by then I could also not subjugate my lack of suspension of disbelief. (I am really trying here. Whenever I want to point out how illogical something is and that it is a result of laziness not plot, I hear the 'eh' of Dwight from The Office every time he wants to point out something illogical - usually to do with bears. It builds up at the back of the throat and pops from the nasal cavity like a buzzer in a game show.)

This isn't a spoiler, unless you are inclined to belief: the book is set over centuries upon centuries, where humans build up their technology over and over to a point when they can create nuclear bombs. How? How could this happen?

Geologists tell us (although this may be a fringe group of rogue scientists who do not believe in pollution) that the poles are overdue for a shift, whereupon north becomes south, confusing swallows, polar bears and brown bears, as well as pirates and hopefully radar linked to bombs. It may or may not kill us (dust storms, rampaging polar bears and swallows, bombs). Also, (and FYI) a certain degree of climate change is normal, judging by the ice age and the fact that Europe was a desert. (Interesting point: the size of dinosaurs was only possible because the density of the air was lower than it is now.)

Given this was written in the 60s, this would take us way into the 5000s, when (hopefully for the planet) we are extinct, because, entropy. More than a few of the surviving populations would have some kind of mutation (not the X-men kind, but if I could choose, something that gives me the ability to sprint and climb like a mountain goat, because, zombies) from the recurring nuclear bombs, which they would need anyway for the fittest, which no offence, cannot be almost exclusive to monks!

Here's another meaty one for the academics: technological determinism. This book assumes a single pinnacle of human discovery and creation. Bombs, intercoms, phones, planes etc. But a) I can imagine oh so many alternatives, like, what if we discovered the more eco-friendly (and therefore smarter) solutions to electricity, fuel and, errr, general human habitation, first? And b) does this 'pinnacle' really make society 'better'?

This a controversial topic and my gnat brain has moved on. Name of the Rose depicted a monk and a monastery in Italy that captivated my imagination. In this book I met three monks I did not like or only learnt to like in the very last pages of their chapter. It is one thing to kill off characters like a gnat flaps its wings and another thing to just move me to another monastery and then tell me they died of old age while I wasn't looking. It, in fact, makes me care less about your very stupid because they are very human characters. I have compared my brain to a gnat more than once today, therefore your argument is invalid.

Initially my foray in the world of insects was intended to justify A List. First, I did not want to talk about that book of invalidities as it shall be known from now on. Second, I am already bored, so I figured that bullet points would be more my speed. Since this argument is so very compelling, I shall add A List now, in the same blogpost, because I do not feel like writing out more than one tweet.

In the spirit of the above review (don't groan, you) I am going to pick five of the least dis-believable books I have read. I will however use short phrases instead of full, therefore very boring sentences.

1. A Canticle to Liebowitz
2. A Stranger in a Strange Land: life on Mars, general 60s-like (and spirited) shenanigans, a human taking on the physical abilities of another species as if sprinting like a cheetah were a combination of will and absence of will
3. Heart of Darkness and Atomised: more a lack of liking and an abundance of hatred than of disbelief
4. Zoo City: animal familiars that appear when you commit a crime, the final scene
5. Her Fearful Symmetry: ghosts, the characters' complete absence of character, other characters, plot - all of it, narrator (and all this from the writer who made me believe in time travel!)

While we're at it, let's add Gulliver's Travels

I always feel the need to point out that magic is meant to be compatible with physical laws, like gravity and the conservation of mass. Even zombies have an (albeit loose) explanation! So if something that didn't exist before is magicked into existence and it is made of atoms, where were those atoms before? Because so many other tricks rely on the existence of atoms - and I do not mean an interpretation of quantum laws, because *insert game-show sound effect*. Oh, I'm overthinking? Well - ok, the gnat has flown off.

In other words, if an animal familiar appears, was it lurking around waiting for you to do something awful? Is it missing from a zoo somewhere? Is it a manifestation of some communal judgement? Someone, somewhere, must have a clue - must have noticed a trend of disappearing animals - even if it isn't yet verified. And what trend is there regarding the type of crime considered worthy of a (really awesome - and if you're handing them out I'll take one) animal? Legal, societal, religious? Just one real clue, please. (I also want the awesome inseparable animal. Imagine walking down the street with a tiger, a polar bear, a tortoise, a wolf - do they come in extinct too and if so, hello, black rhino.)

Impressive - my attention is holding more like a fly battering itself against a window. (As I typed that, my bunny sat on my stomach, so maybe I am sorted. Still, a polar bear? I adore polar bears.)

What a meandering post. I think the most meandering I have ever written. Perhaps this is a good thing, because it gives me more wiggle room in future. To sum up: every book mentioned in this post, except for the Umberto Eco, is ridiculous. According to the woman with her gnat in her skull. The unconscious doesn't restrict itself to dreams. Do you see it? I asked for a polar bear when I had already been given a gnat. Does the extent of the crime affect the size of the animal? Could an insect be a familiar? That seems a bit of an anticlimax. Like this conclusion. (I walked right into that one.)

The list of magnanimity

Dear reader, have you been paying attention? Have you? Here's a test: do I prefer chocolate or strawberry ice cream? You could answer: by 'I' do you mean the tapper of keys behind this blog or the one who just took a sip of coffee? When in doubt always answer a question with a question. (Just one of the many nuggets I have pilfered from The Office.)

That's not the test. The answer is obvious: chocolate. We'll tackle this later. Now, the real test is whether you have noticed that I have been speeding through some of the classics and some of the strawberry-flavoured books in my local library. Your reply? Should I have noticed? You learn well, my young padawan.

My number one survival strategy is lists, whether written down and colour-coded or mental and therefore quickly lost. This is core to my zombie apocalypse slash hunger games strategy, so I will tell you only that it involves post-its and a tree.

Anyway, last post I abused Borges' library, a really innocuous building that happens to have swallowed all eternity. Which should be paradise for us bibliophiles. (Dibs on 'F' in the fiction section. Ok, fine, 'M' then.) It isn't. It is terrifying. You've heard about the marketing study where they found that too much choice actually drives consumers away. And every salesperson knows to only give a person three options and to place the option that gives you a higher commission first.

The scale of published fiction in the last 100 years is like counting the human population since we first started practising pressing the buttons of video games with our thumbs. Confining the headcount to literary fiction, I mumble guiltily, still doesn't help. This isn't a choice between different scents of floor cleaner (FYI, no scent, especially not made-up ones like Bright Sunshine), no, this is literature!

This eternal library is a case of survival. Instead of killing zombies and other children, we must read everything. That's an exaggeration, you snort (I can hear you, through the microphone, so be please be polite about my bibliophilic delusion).

In the absence of chocolate and strawberry coloured stickers along the spines to guide my quest, I have made a list. Ok, many lists and some were colour-coded. Some are stuck on my fridge but are so faded and blotched with coffee stains you can't read them, others are pinned to a ribbon knotted onto my bedroom door handle, and some are lost in the right hemisphere of my brain, because that's where lost and found is.

The winners of this game are the titles posted on this blog, to the right >>, and those saved on my phone. The one occasion I deviated from this list ended badly, not in a zombie bite, but in disappointment. Point proven; lists are the key to survival. Also, apparently, technology.

Now that I have distracted you from the impending reappearance of the Dreaded List on this blog, here is a condensed list of my approved reads (and future reviews), gleaned mostly from the internet (the most trustworthy, obviously) and recommendations (a mixed bag, except for the ones on FB, obviously):

• 1Q84 by Haruki Marukami (unread; alternate history) I think I've bored you enough with my ravings about this and Kafka on the Shore. That's why bloggers use labels (below right)
• Chronic City by Jonathan Lethem (unread; cross-genre) having read a couple of his other novels, I wouldn't rank him above David Mitchell in this category, but then I don't think many short of James Joyce could
• Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury (read; dystopian) the character of the girl at the beginning cinched this novel for me, although I wasn't so thrilled with the book-burning
• Flaubert's Parrot by Julian Barnes (unread; literary) I hereby admit that I have never read this classic novel
• A Hologram for the King by Dave Eggers (unread; post-modern look how smart I am) we studied A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius and I hated it for exactly the same reason others adore it: the the iconoclastic, self-conscious self-deprecation, but I'm willing to give him another go. I'm magnanimous like that
• The Maddadam books by Margaret Atwood (two of three read; apocalyptic) post in proximity, so work, you
• The Member of the Wedding by Carson Mccullers (unread; literary) I'm magnanimous but not perfect. I hate Mccullers just a teensy bit because she published The Heart is a Lonely Hunter, which is beautiful, at 23. Pure jealousy. I will read this but I will feel sorry for myself the entire time, so prepare yourselves
• The Postman Always Rings Twice by James M Cain (read; noir fiction) only 116 pages but perfectly paced. I don't usually enjoy crime novels but this was a satisfying, meaty use of the conventions
• Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut (unread; satire) I have faith but I need it because I read Cat's Cradle recently. It is a few marbles short of Philip K Dick's drug-fuelled novels. So, yes, I need it
• Stranger in a Strange Land by Robert A Heinlein (partly read; science fiction) the beginning reminds me of A Brave New World, although I can't say why. Also reminds me of the soundtrack to Lost Boys: "People are strange when you're a stranger"

My closest library loans out books for two weeks at a time. That gives me 16 weeks to finish all eight of the unread books. But don't worry, I'll sneak in some unexpected reviews just to see if you've been paying attention. You.

Top 10 authors I'd love to meet

While I researching the previous post I found this: Top Ten Authors I'd Love to Meet. I can't resist. But I'm not going to tell you why - I leave it open to interpretation (by my hypothetical readers who may or may not be simulations blah blah blah you get it by now).

1. AS Byatt

2. Haruki Murukami

3. William Faulkner

4. Virginia Woolf

5. Philip K Dick

6. David Mitchell (I'd also give LIMBS to have his talent)

7. Czeslaw Milosz

8. Italo Calvino

9. Umberto Eco

10. Milan Kundera

Maybe this list is obvious, maybe weighted with modern authors; maybe it doesn't take into account enough genres. (If so, I'd give another limb to meet Christopher Nolan.) Who cares - it's my list! You don't like it? Go make your own.

My favourite ghost stories

I use the word 'ghost' in the title of this post as shorthand for Gothic. I love Gothic literature - the good stuff, not the penny 'orribles. The stories in which the ghost or monster is a metaphor for some social or individual repression (conscious on the part of the author, not accidental). In which the ghost leads you into some larger conspiracy with each step and ultimately, sometimes, to some kind of enlightenment, or at the least revelation.

So, here goes:

• The Turn of the Screw by Henry James. (Disclaimer: I adore James as I do EM Forster, Rebecca West, Virginia Woolf and most of the Modernists. I assert that I am a Modernist trapped in a Post-Modernist's frame of reference, which is a ghost story in itself.) The Turn of the Screw is the story on which the movie The Others was based, although the movie takes the plot and its sub-text in a different, more existential (more Post-modern) direction. James' version shows the preoccupations of the time, in which people were searching for transcendence and finding only traces of it in nature, human interaction and even human psychology. Also touching on the dichotomy of male and female, and sexuality. There is so much written about hysteria that I won't even touch on it here. Let me just say that this book made me a little jumpy.
• Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte. The same issues that haunt James' story haunt this novel. Bronte's symbolism is rich and its sexual metaphors far juicier. However, unlike James' story, this mystery is solved. But even this solution brings in more questions, about the role of women in a household and in relation to men. Again, there is so much written about the Madwoman in the Attic that I won't go into it here. But once you have read Jane Eyre, read the Wide Sargasso Sea by Jean Rhys, a post-colonial novel that unpicks the psyche of the Woman. Then consider, by comparison, whether Bronte's novel is proto-feminist, or perhaps not. That's my ghost here.
• Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte. Even if you haven't read the novel, you must have heard of Heathcliff and Katherine and their violent love. They spend their lives haunting each other in various forms: torturing each other, being tortured by memories and what-ifs, and finally a literal haunting in a setting that seems conducive to these kinds of things. Their longing for each other is so extreme that it seems almost to take on physical form. Wuthering Heights is an ancestor to Twilight and self-destructive/abusive relationships. But, in the former, there is meat that Twilight lacks and that lingers with you.
• Other Rooms Other Voices by Truman Capote. Mr Capote is my latest find, and I wonder what took me so long. His writing is always haunted by something, perhaps a mocking voice, a cynicism that is without the failed idealism that most cynics have. In this novel, a young boy whose mother has died is sent to live with his father, who no one knew was still alive. The boy is filled with hope at all his dreams coming true. However, all he finds are the ghosts, physical and metaphysical, that anyone must face if they are to mature, evolve. This is a coming-of-age novel that rings with the uneasy truths of Catcher in the Rye. There is a theory about the presence of the orphan in the great coming-of-age stories: Cinderella, Snow White, Great Expectations, Jane Eyre, Portrait of a Lady. We all as children had the fantasy about being orphans and the steerers of our own ships. Perhaps there was some greater truth here than just an interesting psychological fact: perhaps our parents do have to die in order for us to grow up.
• The Story of Edgar Sawtelle by David Wroblewski. Ok, I know I keep going on about this novel, but it is great and I did warn you that I was lost in it. (To be precise, I am lost in a cornfield with a dog in front of me and a fire raging behind me.) There are a few ghosts in this novel, apart from the obvious one (the boy's father). There is a second ghost, of a farmer, who haunts a shed that Edgar is cleaning out and who tells a love story - two, actually. Then there is the ghost that Edgar becomes and who returns home to exact vengeance. There are the ghosts of the conflict between the Sawtelle brothers, a man named Henry, who is the ghost of his own life, and a dog named Forte.

I think five is a good number at which to stop, although I could go on (Frankenstein, Dracula...). These are some of the ghosts that haunt me, and believe me, it's crowded in here.