On Books (Part Nine)

All four-hundred-page books are equal, but some are more equal than others.

Can you believe I still haven't read Animal Farm?

Last week I read a lovely book, The Help, by Kathryn Stockett. I don't normally read that genre—I believe it falls into the category of "Women's Lit"—but it came highly recommended from a friend, and just the first page was enough to recommend it for itself. Who needs to finish a professional portfolio when there's a book this good to be read? I read it in a day.

Although there wasn't anything particularly deep or earth-shattering about the book, I'm still thinking about it a week later. It was just a really good story with good, strong writing. I can't think of any flaws in the author's style or execution, and that's rare. And what's more, there are a few parts, one specifically, that were real tear-jerkers. You know, it has the same effect as the closing scene of Random Harvest (sniff). I do like a good cry now and then, and that one was quite satisfying.

The reason I started this post was to muse on the difference between The Help and The Name of the Rose. What connection do I see between them? Merely their length. In all other respects, they are nothing alike. I just think that the written word is fascinating—especially when I notice that two books of approximately the same length, both of which I thoroughly enjoyed, can have such variance in the process I have to employ to read them.

I admit, the main reason I read The Name of the Rose was so that I could say I read it and thereby feel smart. I have a thing for feeling smart. But I also knew it was a mystery, and most books of the mystery genre are second-rate, valuable only as a passing amusement. And if they aren't funny, I generally don't like them. This one, though, was brilliantly marketed as an intellectual mystery—one that actually requires you to use your brain. How exciting, to be able to transcend a superficial genre in such a way! It's true, it was intellectual, but I also had to force myself to read it. I never got hooked or absorbed, and I never reached that happy point in book-reading that ensures a rapid race to the end. It was slow. All the way through. However, I wouldn't necessarily say that's a weakness, unless you're of the camp that believes a book, in order to be a "good book" should hook you in the first chapter. Sure, it was slow, but it was a good book.

Contrast The Help, which I have already implied that I couldn't put down, and which is also not typical of its own genre. I was hooked in the first chapter. It is also a good book.

Have you heard of a genre called Steampunk? Today was the first time I ever saw a book categorized as steampunk. Apparently, it's fantasy and/or magical realism set in Victorian-like settings. Interesting. Obviously more readers than me have grown tired of the cliché medieval fantasy setting. I would find it very promising if it didn't seem to include so many zombies.