Fiesta: The Sun Also Rises – Ernest Hemingway

Even the title of the book is gorgeous. This was my first ever Hemingway, and I fell in love. This book is a masterpiece of a debut novel. Normally a writer’s first book doesn’t even compare to their others, but here Hemingway really produced a strong competitor. I felt it didn’t tear me up, per se, but it certainly affected me, and I adored Jake Barnes as a narrator. He seemed so real, despite all of the fake relations around him, and he was so lovely – he even tried to be nice to Cohn, which was near impossible, given what an ass Cohn was. And Brett, despite being the quintessential Hemingway book, was so great, being ridiculously strong minded and uncontrollable and wild, but still soft and feminine and I want to be her, basically.

The Room – Hubert Selby Jr.

I didn’t enjoy this book as much as I wanted to. Selby’s narrative was of course fascinating, but the book itself was so dark. The torture scenes were miserable and I found them difficult to read, because they literally made me feel sick. I guess this is testament to what a powerful storyteller Selby is, but this book is certainly not for the light-hearted. It of course captured the American anguish and just the sheer horror and mental torture of social injustice and indeed loneliness. It did, however, lack the beautiful downfall of Requiem, which I think weakened the book. I still give it 4/5.

Song of Solomon – Toni Morrison

This book was also totally wonderful. I really enjoyed it, and the characters were more interesting than in most books I’ve ever read. Every single character was like an onion, you would keep peeling away layers of the character and you were never quite sure exactly where the core was. I think the most interesting characters were Pilate and Guitar, although of course all were complex. The book is beautifully written and the sentences are intricately woven. Morrison created a really poetic tone throughout and I loved it.

Requiem for a Dream – Hubert Selby Jr.

Requiem for a Dream tore me apart. It was so unbelievably depressing and repulsive, yet simultaneously so beautiful and amazing. I find Selby himself to be incredible – he became a writer on the grounds that he knew the alphabet, having dropped out of school at fifteen. I think in a way, that adds to his writing. It has this raw savageness to it that I don’t think a writer who had been trained by tertiary education could capture. This book is so underrated and it kills me inside. Admittedly, it is a hard book to read – the style itself with elisions in punctuation etc., but also because of how sad the book is. Towards the end I didn’t know if I could finish it because it was so heavy. I was too sad to cry. I kept reading to find out where they ended up and I am so glad I did. It is the most beautifully devastating book I have read to date.

Money – Martin Amis

I DESPISE THIS BOOK TO ITS CORE! It depresses me how much I hate this book. I feel bad, because many people have said it to be a defining text of the 20th century. But if that is the 20th century, there is no hope! Amis creates absolutely despicable characters, and even weaves himself into the book, which I found a rather pompous and arrogant thing to do, to be truly honest. I just hated his writing style and his story and his characters and literally everything. Although the twist was indeed rather unexpected, I still feel like the book had no plot, as the plot was so dull until the very end. And the last couple of pages are absolutely empty, with no substance! For most authors, the last few pages is when you let your reader absorb the story and you also create some beautiful imagery. Examples?

“Tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms further… And one fine morning –

So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past”

– The Great Gatsby, F. Scott Fitzgerald

“If I were a younger man, I would write a history of human stupidity”

– Cat’s Cradle, Kurt Vonnegut

“For weeks Tyrone feared he was going to die any minute, and there were times when he feared he wasn’t going to die”

– Requiem for a Dream, Hubert Selby Jr.

Money is a pretty worthless book, incidentally.

 

In the late summer of that year we lived in a house that looked across the river and the plan to the mountains

I must admit that I am indeed a massive Hemingway fan. He and Steinbeck are probably my favourite writers. Anyhow, A Farewell to Arms is one of those books that rips you from the inside when you finish it. I cried for a solid 20 minutes after reading this book, and it was one of the biggest book hangovers I have ever had. Ever. Hemingway’s writing is so beautiful and I just adore everything about this book. In some places it moves rather slowly but I feel like that fits in with the novel. I think Hemingway was the ultimate master of  “show, don’t tell”. The only thing that bothered me about the book is that I couldn’t picture Catherine with a Scottish accent, and even that was easily rectified by just reading her with an English accent in my head. Hemingway, I salute you.

In my younger and more vulnerable years, my father gave me some advice that I’ve been turning over in my mind ever since.

Given that this is a book blog, I think I will start with the obligatory Gatsby post. I am a Gatsby lover. It is the quintessential Jazz Age novel and is so beautiful and poetic and I adore it. It is one of those books that simply cannot be flawed, much like The Old Man and the Sea, I dare say. Fitzgerald’s writing just has this incredible vitality and poignance to it, it’s so wonderful. I genuinely think this is one of those perfect books. Whenever I think about Gatsby, I get this weird surge in my chest and I have almost cried when talking about it because I adore it so damned much. I think it has this vibrance and movement to it that so few books do. There is this massive contrast of beauty and emptiness, like when Fitzgerald is describing the shirts. It is sheer literary brilliance.