The perils and pleasures of re-reading

I've been a voracious reader all my life but I have never gone in much for re-reading. Until last year (not counting books I re-read books for school, as a student and as a teacher), I'd hardly ever re-read books for pleasure: The Great Gatsby, Mrs. Dalloway, some Ray Bradbury, some Ernest Hemingway, some Henry James. But in my retirement, in addition to catching up on books that have been piling up in the basement over the years, I have been doing some re-reading. I've probably read Bradbury's Something Wicked This Way Comes four or five times, but a new attempt last year left me cold. It threatened to spoil my lovely memories of the book so I quit. Oddly, with one of the major characters, the dad, being an old man figure a bit like me, I thought I would find new resonances in the book, but the opposite happened--I found myself bored by the father and by the philosophizing. I will keep my Bantam paperback, bought in 1967, with me forever but I probably won't be tempted to read it again. I'll let my memories remain unsullied.

Some things I've re-read with success, finding even more to enjoy in them now. Julian, Gore Vidal's historical novel about the last pagan emperor of Rome, first read in my 20s, was one of my favorite novels and I worried that revisiting it would be disappointing (I had tried about 20 years ago and didn't get very far) but my older vantage point was actually an asset as I understood more, about the history and the philosophy, than I did back then. The same thing happened with A Canticle for Leibowitz by Walter M. Miller Jr. It's a post-apocalyptic story told in three parts, covering three different and widely separated time periods. A nuclear war destroys civilization as we know it, but humanity, along with religion and science, claws its way back, and soon we have an even more advanced technology that we had in the 20th century. But have we learned enough to avoid our old mistakes? I read it in college (mid-1970s) and have fond and vivid memories of stretching out on a couch in the student union building and reading it, but when I picked it up now, I remembered almost nothing about it. This time around, I liked the first and third sections very much, but the middle chunk was tedious and I almost gave up on the re-read. I'm glad I didn't. I think the first and third parts felt more like science fiction than the middle part; they also have more "world-building" going on. I'm a little surprised that it hasn't been adapted for streaming television.

I got an even bigger jolt when I re-read The Carnivorous Lamb by Agustin Gomez-Arcos. In 1984, it was a highly esteemed literary gay novel about two brothers in 1950's Spain who have a lifelong sexual relationship. In 1984, the book felt like a fever dream and I raced through it in two or three sittings. It's erotic but also political, with the fall of the Republicans and the rise of Franco after the Spanish Civil War affecting all the characters. This time, the writing style felt awkward, with a stop-and-start flow that bothered me. The erotic feel was still there, but I was surprised how little sexual description there was--it doesn't come close to being pornographic. Overall I was a little disappointed, but I was glad that the last 30 pages or so were still a bit "feverish." I've been thinking of re-reading Garcia Gabriel Marquez's One Hundred Years of Solitude, another book I remember as dreamlike, but I'd hate to be disappointed. Hence the perils and pleasures of the act of re-reading. If I could somehow clear my memories of the first read out of my head, I might be less worried about it. But the past and present experiences will always, I think, be in contention.  So I'll keep going with this project but I'll allow myself to give up on a re-read if it feels like it is spoiling the past experience too much.

My first Top 40 summer

In Columbus, Ohio in June of 1969 when I was 12, I became hooked on top 40 radio. Though I was well versed in the Beatles from the tender age of 7, having watched them on Ed Sullivan in 1964, I didn't much listen to current pop music until a few years later. Between 1964 and 1968, if I owned records, aside from Beatles albums, they would have been Broadway cast albums or soundtracks--yes, I was a theater kid that early on. But somehow by 1968, I was listening casually to pop radio. The first non-Beatles 45 RPM singles I bought were Daydream Believer by the Monkees, Chewy Chewy by the Ohio Express, Those Were the Days by Mary Hopkin, and Bang-Shang-A-Lang by the Archies. By the summer of 1969, I had a transistor radio which was tuned permanently to WCOL-AM, 1230 on the dial. I was earning an allowance by doing dishes and I would prop my radio up near the sink and listen; soon I was putting it under my pillow and listening at night. This was also the age when I started going downtown on the bus all by myself, and I would spend much of my allowance at the Lazarus department store on singles. Below is the very first WCOL "hit line" list that I ever brought home--they were free in the record department.

Columbus was a fairly vibrant top 40 market back then. WCOL was the biggest youth oriented station at the time, aside from WVKO which played "soul music", the genre name for Black R&B music, and at the far end of the dial, it was sometimes difficult to tune in. WCOL would often break records before they became national hits. For example, the week of June 2, "Good Morning Starshine" by Oliver was #1 in Columbus, but only #57 on the Billboard Hot 100. It would eventually make the Billboard top 5 in mid-July. Other top 10 hits on WCOL that week that were just getting going nationally include "Israelites," "Medicine Man," and "I Can't Quit Her." "Ruby Don't Take Your Love to Town: by Kenny Rogers, #10 in Columbus, didn't even appear on the Hot 100 until a week later, down at #98, though it would eventually hit #6 weeks later.

Almost all the songs on that chart are still ones I can conjure up over fifty years later; I don't remember "Medicine Man" by the Buchanan Brothers or "Marley Purt Drive" by Jose Feliciano. But I was the kind of listener who would turn off the radio or switch to another station if I didn't like the song that was on the air. With car radios, I was a constant button-pusher, jumping from station to station, something I do to this very day when I listen to Sirius XM. I try to resist the temptation to be a boomer who claims that his music from back then is better than the music of today; I know that tastes change, and today's music isn't being made for this 69-year-old. But the music of the late 60s and early 70s will always have a special place in my ears, my head, and my heart. I plan on posting and briefly commenting on other WCOL charts from those early years frequently on my blog.

All That Glitters Is Not Gold: Notes on Theo of Golden

Theo of Golden by Allen Levi was originally self-published, became an underground hit, was taken up by a major publisher (Atria, an imprint of Simon & Schuster), and now sits near the top of the New York Times bestseller list. A friend who normally doesn't read mainstream fiction recommended it to me so I bought a copy and read it. I was left feeling, as my late mother would have said, comme ci, comme ca about it. I'm a bit baffled by this novel's popularity but I'm also baffled by those who intensely dislike it, and if Goodreads is any indication, many do. 

A mysterious old man comes to a small town in Georgia, discovers a coffeehouse that displays portraits of town citizens done by a local artist, buys the pictures, and gives them to the subjects of the portraits in little rituals he calls bestowals, enriching their lives with his compassion and insight as he chats with them, and in some cases, becomes involved in their lives. That's about it. It's a nice idea, feeling to me like a Hallmark Christmas movie directed by Frank Capra (though Christmas only makes a cameo appearance). The author has disowned the label "Christian fiction" for this, though on some level, it is, even as the religious aspects are for the most part downplayed or sugarcoated. Readers who label this "literary fiction" are wrong--this is written in a clear mainstream style, which is not the same thing as a "literary" style.

What I liked about it: the concept is interesting and Theo comes off as a genuinely nice guy, though his rationale for doing this is kept secret until the end; several of the characters are well-drawn and memorable (Asher the artist, Simone the cello player, Tony the bookseller); it's generally a good-hearted read that stresses the importance of human connection and compassion. 

What I liked less: most of the writing is clear and simple, which makes it easy to read, but there were sentences and word choices and plotpoints that felt wrong (I don't know how much extra editing was done for the Atria edition, but a little more would have been nice); at 400 pages, it's far too long and drags out the mystery of the title character too much; the explanations, when given, are tediously presented, and I agree with some readers who think that Theo's strategies for remaining mysterious are ultimately hurtful to some of the characters. It's all quite predictable, except perhaps for the climax which seemed awfully out of the blue. Readers who really dislike the book say it's for lack of narrative, though I think there eventually is one: it winds up being the story of Theo. Others bitterly resent it winding up as a Christian book in disguise, but it's pretty clear it's headed that way from early on. To its credit, it never gets ponderous or proselytizing. [Below is the author, Allen Levi.]

Some have speculated that its popularity shows how much kindness and connection and true Christian behavior are missing in our culture today, which is true. But the whole thing ultimately feels like a fantasy (a little Capraesque as I noted above) about how rich people should behave--Theo could not have done what he did without a lot of money. Another fantasy element is that all the major characters are likable (two minor characters are not and are mostly ignored). There is really no villain, though a bad thing happens at the climax. I found Ellen, the homeless woman, kind of irritating, partly because it's obvious that Levi almost desperately wants us to like her. I had the same feeling, to a lesser degree, with Mrs. Gidley, the cold woman who predictably warms up by the end. I admit to tearing up a bit in one scene (a cello recital), but the melodramatic and manipulative events at the end left me cold. I'm not sorry I read it but I remain at a loss as to why it's a top 10 bestseller.