To kick off the Vegan Dessert Book Club -- and allow me a head start on the reading -- here are a few suggestions.
Selected Poems, by Zbigniew Herbert. I'm not sure if either poetry or compendiums qualify for the Book Club, but we can leave that caveat to our lawyers. Herbert gained international fame in 1968, when the other great Polish poet, Czeslaw Milosz, and the Canadian Peter Dale Scott translated Selected Poems into English. I imagine that my bibliophilic uncle discovered this volume at Amherst upon its publication in the United States, and decided to send it to his nephew 40 years later as a holiday present.
Herbert's poems are simultaneously avant garde and traditional. Unique for a disenchanted Soviet bloc writer, Herbert wrote ironical streams of consciousness yet invariably resorted to Shakespearean, mythological, and classical Greco-Roman allusion. Herbert withstood the dehumanization of Stalinism and the rigors of the Polish resistance to Nazi rule and found the truest expression of modern tribulations in the ancient world. Following is a favorite of mine in Selected Poems. It encapsulates Herbert's style.
"From Mythology
First there was a god of night and tempest, a black idol without eyes, before whom they leaped, naked and smeared with blood. Later on, in the times of the republic, there were many gods with wives, children, creaking beds, and harmlessly exploding thunderbolts. At the end only superstitious neurotics carried in their pockets little statues of salt, representing the god of irony. There was no greater god at that time.
Then came the barbarians. They too valued highly the little god of irony. They would crush it under their heels and add it to their dishes."
Archives of Empire Volume I: From the East India Company to the Suez Canal, edited by Barbara Harlow and Mia Carter. The other day, a friend's father asked whether anyone reads primary sources anymore. I was pleased to squash his argument with an answer in the affirmative. In a way, Archives of Empire cheats in terms of primary source material, since it culls the best documents of British Empire during the time span of the book's subtitle. There is no dead end journey to the library, no scholarly disappointment, and also, no miraculous random find in the stacks of C level.
Yet Archives of Empire, as exhaustive and carefully compiled as the O.E.D., occasionally sends a chill down the spine of my intellect as only the dustiest and most disintegrating of tomes has the capacity to do upon discovery in the library. Required to purchase this book for a history seminar last semester, the professor never got around to using it. Instead of letting the book go to waste, I decided to educate myself on the Suez Canal. Gladstone's speech advising against British intervention in Egypt after the Arabi Uprising and further expansion of an unsustainable empire rings true to American ears after Afghanistan and Iraq. "For the romance of political travel we are willing to scour the world, and yet of capital defect in duties lying at our door we are not ashamed."
Founding Brothers, by Joseph J. Ellis. Over Thanksgiving break, I got through a few chapters of this Pulitzer Prize winning book and now have time to finish it. Just under 250 pages, Ellis's book paints biographical portraits of the marmoreal men of the Revolutionary generation: Washington, Adams, Jefferson, Franklin, Madison, Hamilton, and Burr. Ellis, a professor at Mount Holyoke recently chastised for classroom bragging about Vietnam War exploits never had, upholds the nearly mythological stature of those founders. He contends that in spite of their human foibles, they recognized the precarious nature of the democratic experiment and reached deals to give the United States a best chance of survival. (The obvious exception, which Ellis addresses, is that of Hamilton and Burr.) I'm not far enough into Founding Brothers to comment further, but this book would be an excellent founding choice for our great literary experiment.
Selected Poems, by Zbigniew Herbert. I'm not sure if either poetry or compendiums qualify for the Book Club, but we can leave that caveat to our lawyers. Herbert gained international fame in 1968, when the other great Polish poet, Czeslaw Milosz, and the Canadian Peter Dale Scott translated Selected Poems into English. I imagine that my bibliophilic uncle discovered this volume at Amherst upon its publication in the United States, and decided to send it to his nephew 40 years later as a holiday present.
Herbert's poems are simultaneously avant garde and traditional. Unique for a disenchanted Soviet bloc writer, Herbert wrote ironical streams of consciousness yet invariably resorted to Shakespearean, mythological, and classical Greco-Roman allusion. Herbert withstood the dehumanization of Stalinism and the rigors of the Polish resistance to Nazi rule and found the truest expression of modern tribulations in the ancient world. Following is a favorite of mine in Selected Poems. It encapsulates Herbert's style.
"From Mythology
First there was a god of night and tempest, a black idol without eyes, before whom they leaped, naked and smeared with blood. Later on, in the times of the republic, there were many gods with wives, children, creaking beds, and harmlessly exploding thunderbolts. At the end only superstitious neurotics carried in their pockets little statues of salt, representing the god of irony. There was no greater god at that time.
Then came the barbarians. They too valued highly the little god of irony. They would crush it under their heels and add it to their dishes."
Archives of Empire Volume I: From the East India Company to the Suez Canal, edited by Barbara Harlow and Mia Carter. The other day, a friend's father asked whether anyone reads primary sources anymore. I was pleased to squash his argument with an answer in the affirmative. In a way, Archives of Empire cheats in terms of primary source material, since it culls the best documents of British Empire during the time span of the book's subtitle. There is no dead end journey to the library, no scholarly disappointment, and also, no miraculous random find in the stacks of C level.
Yet Archives of Empire, as exhaustive and carefully compiled as the O.E.D., occasionally sends a chill down the spine of my intellect as only the dustiest and most disintegrating of tomes has the capacity to do upon discovery in the library. Required to purchase this book for a history seminar last semester, the professor never got around to using it. Instead of letting the book go to waste, I decided to educate myself on the Suez Canal. Gladstone's speech advising against British intervention in Egypt after the Arabi Uprising and further expansion of an unsustainable empire rings true to American ears after Afghanistan and Iraq. "For the romance of political travel we are willing to scour the world, and yet of capital defect in duties lying at our door we are not ashamed."
Founding Brothers, by Joseph J. Ellis. Over Thanksgiving break, I got through a few chapters of this Pulitzer Prize winning book and now have time to finish it. Just under 250 pages, Ellis's book paints biographical portraits of the marmoreal men of the Revolutionary generation: Washington, Adams, Jefferson, Franklin, Madison, Hamilton, and Burr. Ellis, a professor at Mount Holyoke recently chastised for classroom bragging about Vietnam War exploits never had, upholds the nearly mythological stature of those founders. He contends that in spite of their human foibles, they recognized the precarious nature of the democratic experiment and reached deals to give the United States a best chance of survival. (The obvious exception, which Ellis addresses, is that of Hamilton and Burr.) I'm not far enough into Founding Brothers to comment further, but this book would be an excellent founding choice for our great literary experiment.
3 comments:
"Not to offend the reader, but to me, the reader didn't especially matter."
Well, this reader is offended. If you don't care about what I think, why should I care about what you think?
I'm afraid, "g", that you took my statement out of context. I write for myself but enjoy when other people read my posts. As JT's most loyal reader, I don't expect him to write about what I like, just to cater to me. And if I value the reader so little, why did I bother, at the end of the contentious post, thanking you for reading?
So I matter?
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