schweblog

I like books. A lot. In fact, one of the most appealing parts of being finished with school is that I’ll finally have time on the weekends and in the evenings to read whatever the hell I want. I’m very much looking forward to this.

At the same time, I’ve been trying to trim down on my possessions–books included–to make the move that will inevitably take place easier for me. I don’t plan on moving any time soon, but better to start cutting back now than have to deal with it all at the end.

To facilitate this process, I’ve resolved to read and give away one book on my shelf before acquiring a new one. I have a “To Read” list where I write appealing candidates found at the bookstore or in a review, but won’t let myself buy another one until I have read one I already own and get rid of it (sell it, give it away, or put it on BookCrossing).

The end goal is to narrow my book collection down to those that I absolutely cannot live without. The few diamonds in the rough that I’ll be compelled to read two or three more times. The ones I’ll lend out to friends and actually want back when they’re finished. I’ve reserved myself to a list of ten books here, but that will most likely turn into 20 or so when it comes time to give them away or keep them.

A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius by Dave Eggers
I’ve read this twice already and find myself craving another go-round with it every 1.5 years or so. As my coworker put it, “The world is honestly a better place for having this book in it.” It’s just a good story written very, very well. That, and it really encapsulates the 90s better than any other book that I’ve read–it is probably my nomination for best period piece ever written.

Nine Stories by J.D. Salinger
Probably the singlemost underappreciated work of Salinger, but arguably his best. Every story speaks to you in different ways and every one of them tells a story that is on par with his two other “big” works: Franny and Zooey and The Catcher in the Rye. I’ve read this three, maybe four, times.

One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
The story is epic in scope and insanely imaginative. Marquez manages to create an entire world with tenuous ties to the real world, while ignoring just about every single law therein. It is taboo, hilarious, tragic, and brilliant. And it ends in a way that feels appropriate, chronologically and otherwise.

Les Miserables by Victor Hugo
Never mind the condensed version. To really appreciate this book, one should read it in its entirety. The book touches on just about every single emotion that I can conceive of, with the exception of lust (too taboo for Hugo’s time, I imagine…they might have accused him of being the next de Sade or something). The real beauty of it, though, is the way Hugo manages to mingle a vast historical account with an enthralling fictional tale. And yes, it’s almost 1500 pages. It’s still really good.

Infinite Jest by David Foster Wallace
DFW annoys a lot of people. He invents words, writes unnecessarily long sentences, and is altogether incomprehensible at times. Regardless, he tells a really, really damn good story. And although I’ve only read halfway through this one, I constantly find myself recalling bits and pieces of the text as I study various academic fields and read other texts. He manages to cram enough theory, humor, and absurd twists into the story to make reading it (~1100 pages with 100 pages of footnotes) worth it. I will finish this book this summer. And I’ll probably read it again immediately afterwards.

The Crying of Lot 49 by Thomas Pynchon
This book is incredibly short for what it accomplishes. Pynchon manages to weave an intricate conspiracy theory involving–of all things–postal mail distribution companies. The real beauty of the book is that the author manages to make the reader feel as if they’re following the heroine along through the book and makes us part of the process of discovery. When she’s confused, we’re confused. When she’s upset, we’re upset. The end result is an incredible novel, set in 1960s southern California (managing to capture an entire era in a single fictitious snapshot).

Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance by Robert Pirsig
An interesting blending of narrative and philosophy, this book gave me back my soul after I read Atlas Shrugged. It’s a pragmatic approach to life that aims to make sense of the world in light of modern capitalism, told through one man’s quest to find the answer to a timeless philosophical question. The sequel, Lila, is better philosophically, but not as engaging on a fictional level.

The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera
I’ve read some of Kundera’s other stuff and actually think that they’re better books, technically speaking. This book appeals to me more than his other works, however, because it speaks volumes about the fundamental human experience of love in its various manifestations. It is a book about love, though–it is not a love story. It is real and it is raw. And I think that’s why I like it.

Fathers and Sons by Ivan Turgenev
I’m unfairly partial to this book because of its Russian roots, but the text by itself is amazing. It is an artfully crafted tale of two young men emerging into the “real world” and experiencing the realizations therein. On top of being fun to read, it also manages to underscore a trend I’ve observed–Russian literature generally manifests characters that embody western European philosophical movements 50-100 years before the actual movement generates in Europe. In this instance, it’s the quintessential nihilist, Bazarov. The book is, in my opinion, the best Russian text produced at the advent of the modern era in the country–or any country, for that matter.

Catch-22 by Joseph Heller
Before Quentin Tarantino and before Christopher Nolan, there was Joseph Heller. He manages to encapsulate the World War II experience–the real experience. He mainly writes about life at the base, outside of the heat of battle. And he does so in a way that takes a single event and retells it several times over from various viewpoints. The result is depressing, gritty, and incredible. My roommate and I have had a couple of drunken debates over whether or not this or the aforementioned book is the first postmodern novel.

Filed under: literature by Jesse