My bed is calling to me like a siren, but before I go, the tallies of the Readathon this time around:
Books read: 5
Books completed: 3 (1 in progress at the start of the readathon, 1 reread, 1 never-before-read)
-1 poetry collection
-1 YA/middle grade
-1 historical/horror/literary/thriller (whichever you’d want to call The Historian)
Pages read: 1,122
I will hopefully be back later in the week with more detailed thoughts on The Sea Shall Embrace Them and The Historian, assuming real life hasn’t buried me alive first. But for now- to sleep, perchance to dream.
I have a decidedly morbid interest in maritime disasters. I don’t know where it comes from, particularly since I tend to flinch away from them after examining them for long stretches. There’s something viscerally horrifying about the power of the ocean, and perhaps it’s this terror that makes it so fascinating. There’s an awesomeness to it. Stories of the things that happen at sea almost always have to be considered in that context, and it was with that in mind that I picked up The Sea Shall Embrace Them, by David W. Shaw, as my third readathon book.
The sea’s awesomeness is an undeniable backdrop in the disaster of the steamship Arctic, but what makes the disaster of its collision with the Vesta so agonizing to read is how much of the loss of life might have been prevented if meeting scheduling hadn’t been such a pressure that the captain opted to churn at top speed through a thick fog by Newfoundland. If regulations had been more of a concern at the time. If the captain of the Arctic, Luce, had made the choice to try to aid the ship he rammed in defiance of the bad position his ship was in for honor’s sake (the Vesta, though it ironically looked done for at time of collision, ended up making it back to land and might have been able to help the passengers and crew of the Arctic had turned back. But with the Arctic itself floundering, it’s very hard to blame Luce for trying to keep his ship afloat as long as possible). If the crew had had more courage, enough to let the passengers off instead of opting to rush the lifeboats and save themselves.
All I can say is that the murder mystery I have planned to follow will come as an uplifting and sunny change.
My second readathon selection is a book that I read over and over again when I was a child- I wanted to see if it still had the magic and I wanted something that would be a relatively quick read. Given hockey playoffs, it did not turn out to be as quick as I was hoping, but the game ended well, and the book still has its power.
I think The Thief Lord, by Cornelia Funke, is the first book I read where I became acutely aware of the power of words as devices to move, to stir, to paint as vivid a picture as a photograph. I read it at some point between the ages of 12 and 13, probably closer to age 12, and the power that it had over me was a strange one. I was moving past the age of children’s books, but this one has a captivating power beyond most. And when I reread it for the readathon, there is so much that still resonates (and a lot that made me laugh, this book has some amazing lines and exchanges). As an older sister, Prosper’s situation as he tries desperately to care for his little brother hits even closer now that I know a little more about what is needed to watch over of people. Victor still makes me smile, and Ida Spavento remains a role model for me in terms of her generousness with the children and in the hints that she’s overcome and forgiven a painful past. The book captures the magic and the beauty of a new place, one of possibility and history, where legends can- just maybe- come to life.
Greetings, ladies and gentlemen! If any of you follow me on Twitter, you will know I have signed up for Dewey’s 24 Readathon, a day devoted to book-reading. How faithfully I’m going to be able to follow this is open to question, given how much laundry I have to do, but I’m going to give it my best shot. Given how much of my life is spent reading anyway, I’m sure the hours I’m going to lose are already more than made up for.
Anyhow, I have finished my first book of the reading madness just at the end of the sixth hour and it was glorious. If you love history, reading, academia, legend, the preservation of history, travelogues, and Dracula, read “The Historian” by Elizabeth Kostova. It is magnificent- a twisty, wild book that juggles a labyrinth of storylines and showcases the wonder and the awe that knowledge, literature, and history have. It’s a testament to the power of the past, the power of stories, the hold of culture, the joy of travel. It reaches back into the centuries and shakes into the layers and layers of years covered in the story. The horror sprinkled throughout adds bits and pieces of terror, but what kept me turning the page was the searching for the bits of documents, the books, the legends, that every generation featured in the book undertakes in their search for the source of the Dracula story- Vlad Tepes. It’s a wild, almost ridiculous undertaking and premise, and it’s all the more magnificent for it. I cannot wait to give it a proper review, one that doesn’t involve my flailing.
Now to the other books in this pile:
When I was a middle/high school student, I had a flair for finding meanings in various literary constructions in the poems and short stories that we read. For most of these, I was spitballing because no one else in the class would raise their hand, but it was still fun to poke around at the possibilities. This stayed through college; I once jokingly told a friend that I could come up with all sorts of “deep” interpretations of a webcomic we both followed and did so. A joke cult became a comment on religion’s masquerade and a running gag of a purse was transformed to a comment on the menace of consumerism. It was a ton of fun and made up entirely on the spot.
I had the tables turned on me when one of my poems came up for critique in a poetry class. A classmate expounded on a complex interpretation related to art and the perils of taking its pursuit too far. It was incredibly insightful- and had nothing to do with anything I’d had in mind for the poem. Continue reading
“It was on a dreary night of November that I beheld the accomplishment of my toils. With an anxiety that almost amounted to agony, I collected the instruments of life around me, that I might infuse a spark of being into the lifeless thing that lay at my feet. It was already one in the morning; the rain pattered dismally against the panes, and my candle was nearly burnt out, when by the glimmer of the half-extinguished light, I saw the dull yellow eye of the creature open; it breathed hard, and a convulsive motion agitated its limbs.”
This is one of my favorite books ever. Continue reading
To celebrate the month of October, all the weeks of which are steeped with ghosts and goblins by association, I’ve been delving into my favorite horror reading, and since today is apparently the UK’s National Poetry Day (and the world’s too if Twitter is any indication), today seems like a fitting one to talk about “The Raven,” by Edgar Allan Poe, one of my all-time favorite poems and an exceptionally creepy tale. Continue reading