BOOK WEEK: Recursive loops, or something

I've got to say, I'm not a big fan of "genre fiction," for the most part. People get in discussions about George R. R. Martin, or whoever it was that was having his novels turned to comics by DBPro, and my eyes just... glaze over. It's not that there's inherently wrong with "genre fiction," which I keep tossing in quotes because I don't necessarily believe that a piece that deals with the tropes of any style/content/themes related to fantasy, sci-fi, mystery, romance or whatever should be dismissed with a stock critical response. Rather, I just don't have any specific interests that move me to find works with similar topics... I just "kinda like books," to get folksy. So I'm having trouble focusing on "themes" for this unofficial "book week" we've got going, so if some of my pairings come across as goofy or illogical, that's why.

So, today, "recursive loops," which probably isn't the right term for it, but I like the technobabble sound it makes. You know how when a microphone gets too close to a speaker, and makes that nasty-ass sound? That's kind of how I'm approaching this. These are some books that are about books or writers. Instead of just, you know, reading and responding to the books/poems/bodies of work that these books discuss, I get a kick out of reading the responses of others, and letting the "feedback" from my thoughts, the source material, and the book in question do its groovy dissonant thing.

Delirium: An Interpretation of Arthur Rimbaud by Jeremy Reed is not a book without it's flaws - Reed succumbs to self-importance at times, and the book really can't be called a "biography," because it's more of a fictional interpretation of what Reed has read about Rimbaud. That said, the prose itself is chaotic and beautiful, and the book includes some translations of Rimbaud I wasn't previously aware of, as well as some of Reed's poetry (there's the self-importance bit again). It's almost like reading a novel where Rimbaud is the flawed protagonist.

The Art of Shakespeares Sonnets by Helen Vendler has a perennial place in my bathroom. It's the perfect "potty reading" for the snobby-snob-snobs among us - Vendler provides each of Shakespeare's sonnets, and follows each with a short essay that deals with poetic form, place in Shakespeare's sonnet ouvre, historical context, recurring themes and images, and the figures in Shakespeares life that may or may not have inspired the sonnets themselves. Vendler provides a close, critical reading of the sonnets, but she writes in a way that's accessible to people who don't really care for reading critical studies for fun.

Of course, I have a big fascination with the works and writers of the '20s, so a book that I've read, but do not own: That Summer In Paris, by Morley Callaghan. I borrowed a well-worn copy of this from a professor during my undergraduate years, and just fell in love. Unlike Hemingway's A Moveable Feast, which recounts the same general time period, Callaghan doesn't misremember as much (which is a nice way of saying he doesn't lie as much as Hemingway does). The reader can trust Callaghan more than Hemingway, because Callaghan isn't trying to protect his persona. I should mention, though, that I still do love A Moveable Feast despite its flaws (particularly the passage - the truth of which probably can't be verified - where Fitzgerald complains to Hemingway that his penis is too small) because the prose itself is of merit, but Callaghan's book is really the stronger work, if only because it's more frank.

Also worth mentioning is Michael Olmert's Smithsonian Book of Books, which sits on my coffee table for easy browsing. The book traces the history of, well, books - books of all shapes and sizes, books that predate the printing press, illustrated manuscripts, the relationship between writers and printing... It's just a fun little collection of anecdotes, historical perspective and information for those fitting the strictest definition of the word "bibliophile."