What I’m Reading: Anansi Boys and also, The End of a Series.

One of The Things They Carried

SO I started this blog series about all the books I’m reading.  It used to be fun, I guess, but now it’s sucking the joy out of my fictional escapes.  Now when I read I’m trying so desperately to remember character names, details, and plot twists so that I might mock them mercilessly in a blog post that I forget to actually ENJOY reading.  Bah.  I just finished Anansi Boys, by Neil Gaiman.  Here’s my review:  It was good.  It was all the things you’d expect from Neil Gaiman.  It wasn’t my favorite Gaiman book, but it was still quite enjoyable, and I’d recommend you read it if you get the chance.  Review Over.

I’ve decided to end this whole book review series, and here’s why:

I am one of those people who can read a book, put it down, and then immediately forget even the most basic of plot points.  I’ve read every Harry Potter book at least twice, and when put on the spot still have trouble naming Ron’s dad (Henry?  Will?  uhh… Molly’s husband?…  Mr. Weasely?!?  I don’t know, I don’t KNOW!  That guy who gets bitten by the big snake, right?)

Bridge to Terabithia, by Katherine Patterson, is my all-time favorite book.  I read it once a year.  I do this because when people ask about your favorite book they generally expect you to have some sort of working knowledge of its plot.  “I love it because of the way it makes me feel”  is not *exactly* what most people are looking for in a book review, nor is, “uhh, there’s this girl, and she paints a room yellow…uhh…someone goes shopping…”

I spend so much of my life dealing with – nay, obsessing over – details that when it comes to recreation I prefer my escape to be ethereal rather than analytical.  No, I can’t remember what happened to Saltheart Foamfollower.  No, I don’t know which Anansi brother was which, nor what exactly the Fox said to the Ox, nor even what actually happened with Alice and the Jaberwocky.  I don’t remember who pretended that M&Ms were morphine, or why everyone was so damn concerned with what color hair that guy had.

I remember Jess popping the last bite of his sandwich into his sister’s mouth.  I remember that the Chronicles of Thomas Covenant made me feel sad for months.  I remember dancing, and a spider, and a green hat.  I remember angst.  I remember fear, and fantasy, and triumph.  I remember backpacks filled with lists and lists of things.  I remember the color red.  I remember feeling happy-and-sad, warm-and-fuzzy, angry-and-depressed.  I can read the same book over and over, each time finding new language, a new theme, or a scene I hadn’t given enough attention to the first (or third, or fifth) time through.

So.  There you go.  No more book reviews.  I may, from time to time, tell you how a particular book makes me feel.  I will not, however, tell you which Weasely boy dies, because, frankly, I don’t remember.  It sure was sad, though, wasn’t it?  })i({

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