Monday, October 17, 2005

Strange and Norrell

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I made it! I feel as if I can not read another book for several years after finally making it through Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell last night, which I mean to be much less of an insult than it sounds.

Have I gotten into some sort of hyper-frenetic ADD state of mind? I worry, with my reaction towards this book, that I may have. Because, you see, I loved the book, I found it entertaining and beautifully written and full of insight, but... I was almost driven mad by its languorous pacing and seemingly infinite length. So mad that I decided I was going to finish the book yesterday if I had to kill myself to do so, that I couldn't let one more day pass and still be reading it.

Which, by all accounts, makes me a bit of an ass. I don't really know how to explain it better, though. How can one enjoy a book and at the same time be so completely desperate to finish it already? I don't know. Such are the contradictions that make me such an insufferable piece of dung.

So I was up until nearly 2am last night, and I am pretty sure it took me a full hour to read the last ten pages because I kept falling asleep mid-sentence. What a way to fully appreciate a book, huh?

All of this sounds like the faintest praise ever bestowed. But the book is really wonderful, some of the images Clarke conjures are breathtaking (loved the ships made of rain, the library of ravens, and Lascelles' fate), and there are moments of real fright and rollicking humor throughout the book. What I'd suggest, I guess, is to attack the thing very slowly, when you are filled with a surplus of patience, and feel as if you can set the book aside for periods and pick it back up a little later and dive back in.

I have a horrible habit of, if I set aside a book for any period of time and maybe start to read something else, I never pick up the book again (I promise I'll finish you one day, Choke). So I panicked myself this would happen and forced myself to finish it without touching another book. Which, the book being as long as it is, began to make me feel trapped beneath. It was a ridiculous mental cycle of self-defeat in motion. Or, in other words, me.

But, yeah... uh... the book... it's good. Read it!

Next up, I am going to read some Stephen King short stories, because it's October, Halloween approaches, and my brain craves simplicity.

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