Lost...in books

I was introduced to Lost at the end of its first season. My parents (who never watch TV shows) set up the computer with the TV because the parents (who never download anything) had downloaded every Lost episode off of iTunes. And they proceeded to watch me watch Lost. I watched the first episode with an eyebrow raised. By the fifth episode I was hooked.

And for the next 6 years, like everyone else, I kept coming back to it--because of the questions, because of the numbers, because of the name calling, because of the flashbacks, because of imaginary peanut butter and songs about the sea, because Sayid is really hot.

I almost gave up on the show a couple of times. Like after the first flash forward when I knew they got off the island, when we got gypped half our episodes in season four, when Charlie died, when in season five, I had more questions than in season one, when we pulled out an atlas and based on the flight plan of 815 and the size of the small plane carrying drugs, tried to locate the island and found it impossible, when the logic just plain didn't work, when they completely ignored and left Walt's character unfinished, unanswered.

But I stuck with it through the finale. Yeah--about the finally. I loved it and I hated it. The Jack/Locke fight on the cliffs in the rain on a shaking, sinking island simultaneous with Locke's operation was very cool. The quality of love being the very thing that triggered everyone's memories of the island was an interesting concept.  Hurley had some great scenes, love the spectrum of his character. There were lots of edge of the seat moments and lots of questions answered--finally. Basically everything the finale needed to be...until the last 10 minutes. They presented the whole dead thing and I was silently screaming No, no no!! That was the conclusion I had reached somewhere mid 3rd season. What if they're all dead, if they all died in the crash. And I spent the rest of the show hoping they would find a different way to end it. My biggest problem in the theory: You can't kill someone who is already dead. It makes every death we've mourned for nothing. Shepherd Sr.'s statement some died before and some after was key, but still, dead?

So Lost is over. Some people have written ballads of mourning and posted them on YouTube. I'll closing out these six years of "obsession?" a different way--with a reading challenge. I'm working my way through all the books Sawyer read during his six years on the island. Might give me an interesting perspective.

Books Read in April

I meant to post this a while ago, but the time got away from. Oh well. I suppose better late than never. I only read two books in April, not the norm. April was a busy month, although I honestly cannot remember why.

Diamond of Darkhold by Jeanne DuPrau
This is the forth in the City of Ember Series. I enjoyed the books, especially the first. City of Ember was made into a movie, terrible disappointment. Don't watch the movie first or you might not enjoy the book, and that would just be unfortunate. The series is a work of speculative fiction, a sort of primitive futuristic concept. Book four picks up where book two leaves off. Book three takes leave of the story line and gives a prequel view of the events that led the City of Ember to be built. Though I enjoyed it, I was ready for the series to end. For her to write another book would just draw it out too much and spoil it for me. This was a quick read and a satisfying conclusion to the Ember Saga.

The Host by Stephenie Meyer
Stephenie Meyer describes this book as science fiction for people who hate science fiction. I don't know if I hate science fiction. I haven't read enough of it to form an opinion. I roll my eyes at Star Wars and can't get past the corniness of Star Trek, so from that viewpoint, I guess I've always found alien stories a little silly. But, something in this story connected with me. Odd as it was to identify with a main character that isn't even human, I was intrigued and read for many late hours into the night. I like the idea of a reality outside the realm of possibility. I recognize that this is not what would be considered hard sf, but I think I might be opening up to a new genre. We'll see. Thanks Marilyn for the suggestion.

Unfinished Books

I'm having trouble finishing books that I've started. I'm not sure why. I think it has something to do with the previous book I read.

Some books I'll finish. I'll finish books that I feel an obligation to. Books that come highly recommended by friends even though I might not understand why. Classics that everyone is supposed to know but that may or may not withstand the test of time for me. Books I read just to say  I read them. And of course I'll finish remarkable books. You know the ones. The books that become your friends. Books that make you smile when you see their spines. Books that soon have rippled pages and cracked binding.

But what about the dozens of books that I hold with such high hopes, but never managed to see past the first few chapters. I blame the good books for my problem, the books that come to the dinner table with you, the flashlight under the covers books, the books that leave their imprint on your face with distinct 90 degree angle.

I finish one of the good ones, close the cover shut, and it's like saying goodbye. And even with the most perfectly plotted conclusion, I want more. I want to find a book with the same tone. I want to see my new friends, my beloved characters reappear on another page, in another story. I know they wont, but until I get caught up in a new story, I can't help looking for a while. When I can't find what I'm looking for in one book, I close it and move on looking somewhere else. I'm probably passing up perfectly good books in an effort to repeat a previous book's charm.

Here is my book breakdown so far.

January:
Harry Potter and the Sorcerers Stone
(I know I only read one book that month, but I was just coming off of a movie streak, trying to get caught up on some films I've missed)

February:
Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets
Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban
Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire
This is my second time reading the Harry Potter books. I got the set for Christmas. The interesting thing is, by February the rest of the family started reading the same books. Between my sister and I, we have two copies of the books, three of book one. My sister has read the books I don't know how many times. My dad picked them up for the first time. He's on book five now which is saying something as I don't think he's read more that half a dozen books in all the years I've known him. And Mom, who's always been very skeptical of the series has picked it up as well. I'm not really concerned with what the verdict is when she finishes. I'm just proud of her for reading them before forming her opinion. And I started reading the first book to the six-year-old niece. It's fun because it's become a family event, kind of our own family book club.

March:
Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix
Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows
Tales of Beedle the Bard
I came of the end of the Harry Potter books first, feeling a little depressed, like I'd been kicked out of the book club. I actually think I enjoyed reading them more this time than I did the first time. I was more alert this time to the structure of the books and trying to understand how JK Rowling did what she did.


Next begins my phase of starting and not finishing books. I read the first page of The Chosen. It's good. I want to read it, but not right now. I'm saving that one for later. I tried The Golden Compass. I didn't make it through the first paragraph, an all time record for quitting a book.
The Penderwicks
This book I finished within the day. I really enjoyed it. It was a very gentle story. That's the best word I can think of to describe it. It struck me the same way The View from Saturday and Criss Cross struck me. I didn't keep reading it because I wanted to know what was going to happen next; I read because I liked the language, and I liked the characters. It was charming.
The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe
I needed something that was going to take me a little longer to get through. I intended to read the whole set. I havn't read them since I was a kid. I only made it through the one book. I was ready to move on.

April:
April continued with not finishing what I start. I started The Letter by Richard Paul Evans. I read and enjoyed the first two in his series. Not amazing books, but pleasant enough. This one I felt he was writing just to write one more. I'm not too impressed. I Started The Book of Air and Shadows by Michael Gruber. The first few pages were filled with positive reviews. I was sorely disappointed. I read the first few chapters. There were actually a few good lines worth underlining. I read them out loud to my sister. But then I was skimming paragraphs just looking for the author to say something interesting. I was bored. Maybe I'll try again another time, but it's going to require a personal recommendation. I started The Historian by Elizabeth Kostova. This one's a little better. I might finish it. It's a vampire story. I don't usually read vampire stories. I'm not opposed to them. I've just never found one I really wanted to read. Speaking of vampire books, I started Twilight just to see what the big deal was. I didn't get far in that one either. It on my shelf of disappointments with the others. So I'm not glued to The Historian yet. But I think it might get better. It jumps back in forth between two time periods via one character telling a story to the other. It changes point of view and tenses at the same time which is leaving me just a little confused.


Now I'm reading Crafting Stories for Children. This one I'll finish. The NF is actually helping to break up my reading dilemma I think. I'm also reading Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. I don't think I've read it before. Don't know why I thought to read it now. Maybe inspired by Tim Burton's latest film. I haven't seen it yet by the way. And my reviews were limited to "It was okay," by someone who is not familiar with the story and "It was boring," by someone who slept through it. 


You know how it is when you're in the mood for a perfect book, and none of the 1,300 books already lining your shelves are quite what you're looking for. So let me know if you have any good recommendations, something I'll want to finish.

Jane Who?

I picked up this delightful little book. It's called Overheard at the Bookstore. And that's all it was, just a little thing with a quote on each page of things people have said while browsing through shelves of books. As much as I love books, watching people is just about as much fun. But watching people with books combines the best of two worlds.

Here are some of the better quotes:

• You'll never finish that here--why don't you just buy it?
• I think I could probably write this book.
• Do you have anything for dummies?
• I don't know the title or author, but the book's purple.
• It doesn't make any sense--it's called modernism.
• This was such a good movie.
• You definitely don't have it, or you just can't find it?
• I'm afraid I have to disagree with the reviewers.
• These are the two that I'm going to buy, and these are the twenty I'm not.
  

I laughed because many of these I've heard myself. Sadly a few of them were spoken by my mother. So I was reading through them out loud when my parents came over to visit my library. I was already laughing when I read to them my all time favorite--

• Should I buy a Jane Austen or a Stephen King?

I don't know--somehow that one just hits me funny.

"Wait a minute," mom said. "Now what did they write?" My jaw dropped, and I am still greatly distraught every time I think of it. Don't get me wrong. I love my mom, and she is a very intelligent woman. We just don't read the same things. I directed her to my bookshelf. Ironically Jane Austen and Stephen King were sitting next to each other. (It's the one shelf I haven't alphabetized yet.) And though she was very attentive through my emergency literary lesson, I suddenly feel as though there is this great chasm between myself and my parents that can't quite be bridged.

Ending Bad

Nothing gives me greater respect for an author than having the courage to end a book badly. That is not to say they ruin an otherwise good book by ending poorly. I mean when they stray away from a customary happily-ever-after and allow an alternative solution. When the girl doesn't get the man she loves. When the happy couple dies young. When the hero saves everyone but himself. When good intention becomes miscommunication.

After all, what is realistic about a fairytale ending? It's depressing really. It sets an absurd expectation that real life should some how parallel the blissful sunset scene. And when it doesn't, the fuzzy feeling accompanying a good book fades into resentment. But bad endings have a way of stirring things up

Of course, this can't be done carelessly. It has to be done with purpose. And it has to have some other form of resolution.

With the exception of Romeo and Juliet, I love the Shakespearean tragedies. (And Romeo and Juliet has some great lines and some really wonderful adaptations, but I just can't take them seriously). Shakespeare had a gift for knowing when to kill everyone to make a point.

How can you trust an author who never kills off a main character. You can attack the hero with any combination of calamities and hang them suspended in the most impossible circumstance. Your reader will breath easy. The character is safe. But have the courage to brutally kill someone the readers love and you will have earned their fear, and ultimately their respect. And that is the beauty of a wonderfully bad ending.

Things I did this week that I've never done before:

• Bought a book I had never heard of just because it was on the New York Times bestseller list
• Watched an entire movie in Chinese, reading the English subtitles
• Made fried oreos
• Subscribed to receive dating tips via email and unsubscribed 10 minutes later because I thought it was stupid
• Set a picture of a total stranger as my desktop background
• Attempted to solve a Rubik's cube backwards to see if I could return the pieces to their original messed up locations (I'll never know if it worked)

A Midnight Inspiration

I've had several teachers tell me that the best ideas come in the middle of the night, and I should keep a notebook by my bed so I can write down all these things that end up forgotten by morning.

What they don't tell you is that in that semi-sleep state, the mind generally talks itself back into sleep before any action happens in the writing aspect. One time, I did half wake up thinking I should write down some random piece of thought, but I couldn't see what I was doing. I guess I was too asleep to think to turn on the light.

Last night, I woke myself up with profoundities and determined to record these gems of thought before they slipped away. I did manage to get the light and find a pen. Odd thing is, in the morning, none of it made any sense.

Maybe it works for some--I think I'll stick to writing when I'm awake.

Unfinished

Twenty-five pages between myself and the conclusion of the book. I've raced through the climax, rising and falling with the intended emotions. The antagonist still lives, but I am confident his fate is settled.

All that remains is the explanation. It is the point of no return in a book. It is the downward slope from here to the end that will only accelerate, gaining momentum until the final word.

This is the revealing in which the characters fianlly learn the why and how, the moment that finally uncovers the story behind the story that has kept the reader intrigued since about page 50.

Twenty-five pages remain, and I am already two minutes late for work. I cannot justify taking a moment more. I am condemned to a few hours of agony.

Many years back, I picked up a book that facinated me. It was a mystery, some sort of library reject I had picked up for a quarter. I came to the end only to discover the last chapter and a half had been torn from the spine. I was cut off mid sentense, left in a dreadful suspence that was never satisfied. Title and author have been lost to time, but I cannot forget the settled unknowing.

Kind of an odd time in life. Feels like I'm suspended in that point twenty-five pages from the end. I've passed through all the elements of a story, seen the conflict, the rise of the climax, observed the character changes. I've stood face to face with the enemy. He still lives, but his demise is decided. I've endured the sacrifices, but can safely assume the outcome.

All that remains is the revealing. All I need to know now is the why--why the events transpired as they did, how good is to be rewarded, how evil will be destroyed.

And what if God decides never to tell? What if like a that childhood memory, I never know the final chapter? Perhaps through indefinite agony, all that remains is to trust God's sovereignty.

Purple Like Rap

• There is a distinction between being unteacheable and standing firm in your convictions
• Those who claim to be openminded tend to be closeminded towards those they percieve as closeminded
• Arguing seldom solves an arguement
• Everyone judges; if they do not judge, they will judge judgers
• Correcting a wrong with an oposite extreme creates an equal wrong
• No two minds can be completely agreed
• There is absolutly no substitute for truth
• A right can hide a lot of wrong just as certainly as a wrong can hide a lot of right
• And yes, there is a real issue beneathe all the surface problems but who remembers it?

Brothers Grimm turn KJV

And it came to pass that a young maiden in scarlet raiment with her head covered in cloth of crimson did sojourn in the wilderness. And she did purpose in her heart to carry loaves and fishes to the grandmother and there to sup with her.

And so it happened that while she was there she came upon a beast who did hiss and gnash his teeth and who moveth his tail like a cedar. And out of his mouth issued all manner of vile speaking. And the beast said unto her, whither goest thou? And she answered saying, I go unto the home of the grandmother there to sup with her. And the maiden of scarlet raiment did sojourn unto the house of the grandmother.

And it came to pass that when the maiden did draw nigh unto the house of the grandmother, the beast having arrived ahead of her didst consume the grandmother and lay in wait seeking whom he may devour. But the maiden knowest it not.

And when the maiden saw the beast, she was moved with compassion and she said unto him, Thine eyes are as doves. And he answered her, the better wherewithal to see thee. And she said unto him, Thine teeth are as a flock of shorn ewes. And he answered her, The better wherewithal to chew thee. And she said unto him, Thy tongue is as a horse's bit. And he answered her, the better wherewithal to taste thee. And with that, the beast swallowed her up. And the maiden spent three days and three nights within the belly of the beast. And after three days and three nights, the beast spat her up and the grandmother with her.

Shall we try this again?

This is for the handful of you who were astonished to hear that I have never read Pride and Prejudice. And for the few of you who have been rooting me on through all my vain attempts. It started two years ago when my high school English teacher found out. I'm told this is intolerable--especially for an English minor! With the best of intentions, I bought a copy (for a quarter). I think in my first attempt, I made it as far as page 7 before I got sidetracked, and the book found itself back on the shelf. So over the past 2 years, I have tried at least 6 times to get into that book, each time resulting in increased failures. I never made it past chapter 3. Understand, this is not at all like me. I love to read just about anything I can get my hands on. With each attempt, I grew more proud and prejudiced toward this exasperating book.

After all, this directly defies the "Rules of Readership Satisfaction" #1. which of course states that the first few pages of any book should immediately draw the reader into the story. I fear the second rule was also in danger of being violated. Any book that prompts a reader into a slumber on more than one occasion is thus vanquished to the new function of 'doorstop.'

However, due to the number of gasps I received at the neglect of this precious classic, I am giving it yet another chance. Drum roll please.....I am past chapter 10 and could scarcely put it down in order to write this post.

Those of you who are loyal to the end to this book, please don't have me drawn a quartered for not appreciating it from the start. (I think that is also somewhere in the "Rules of Readership Satisfaction"--something about the proper recourse towards those who refuse to pledge their allegiance to the value of good books).

I will blame my original perception of the book, not on its character which I had thought boring, but on the fact that I must have been too busy. Thus any book of substantial length would have received the same treatment. For all intents and purposes, I am sufficiently hooked and will see this book to the last page (at least once).

The End of the Beginning

One of my favorite kid books is a book by Avi called "The End of the Beginning." If you haven't read it, you need to. But if you haven't read the Phantom Tollbooth, read that one first. They're similar, but Phantom Tollbooth is better. Back to the other book which is the one I actually wanted to write about--It's the story of an ant and a snail and their journey from the beginning to the end, or rather from the end to the beginning.

The two adventurers were going along. Avon was singing.
"Stop!" cried Edward. "We've reached the end of the branch."
With great care the two creatures edged to the very tip.
"The end of the branch," said Avon.
"The beginning of the sky," said Edward.
"Which is it?" asked Avon. "The beginning or the end?"
"It depends what there is more of, the tree or the sky. Think of all the things that get in your way along the branch--leaves, bark, other creatures, a million things to slow you down. Now look at the sky."
Avon looked. "There's nothing there."
"Exactly. Which means it will take longer to climb the branch. And if it takes longer, the branch must be bigger. And if the branch is bigger than the sky, that means we're at the sky's end, but only at the beginning of the branch."
"You mean," asked Avon, quite amazed, "that after all this time, we're just beginning? I had no idea how far you have to go before you can start. Almost makes me want to stop."
"You can't do that either," said Edward severely.
"Why?"
"Can't very well stop if you haven't started, can you?"
"Edward," cried Avon. "I never knew how important it was to start before you begin."
And turning around, they began.

("The End of the Beginning" by Avi)

Bear with me—how many times have I thought I was at the end, when in fact it was only the beginning? The end of high school, the start of college. The end of college, the start of the rest of my life. The end of a semester, the start of the summer. I could go on, but that’s only the surface of what I’m trying to get at.

When God brings us to the end of ourselves, it is the beginning of His work. And what hope! “That He which hath begun a good work will perform it until the day of Jesus Christ.”

My work, futile as it is, stops where His begins, and His work is perfect. He will not leave the job half finished. He will not cut corners or neglect details. He is thorough, going beyond every expectation. When I have drained all of my resources, if I have not yet tapped into His, I have not yet begun. At the end of my weakness is the start of His strength. When I come to the end of myself, I have at last begun to see what He can and will do in His power alone.