Book 17: Length in Novels.

I have no problems reading novels that are lengthy. If I had a problem with length, then I never would have made it through the Outlander series in 2009. There are other big works of fiction that I also hold dear to my heart, like the Harry Potter books. Their length helps rather than hinders the story, so I have no problem reading them.

I also love short books. I like being able to sit down and go through an entire story in one sitting lasting an hour or so, as long as the story is told well. Two of the books I have already read for my odyssey have been short novellas-Ethan Frome and The Old Man and the Sea. Both of those novellas were well done; the characters were developed, the plot was detailed enough, and the story left me thinking.

So it really bothers me when the scope of a work does not fit with the length. Simple plots and characters don't need as much time to develop as elaborate schemes. Harry Potter condensed into 7 300 page books would be a completely different story. The world that J.K. Rowling created would not be as deep or detailed.

In reading Sons and Lovers, I am finding that I am annoyed with Lawrence's use of page space and how the story is developing. To be quite honest, the first 50 or so pages have nothing to do with the rest of the story. Yes, the description of his mother and father and their early life does provide nice background, but it could have been given in another way. And while I appreciate that Lawrence is setting up the character of Paul Morel and his relationship to his mother, I find it completely aggravating. There is too much language and too much exposition for my tastes.

(I am not saying that I don't enjoy description, because I do, but I hate when the description is overbearing. On with the story, you know?)

And since my edition of Sons and Lovers is 370 pages long, there is a lot of time that I know will be wasted trucking through Lawrence's description and what he deems to be important to the story. I am hoping that when it is finished I will feel differently, but I don't think I will.

It is incredibly hard to like a book that drags on and on with only little spurts of excitement. Dull and monotonous writing bores the reader and this reader is bored with Lawrence. I really hate to be so negative, especially towards a book that I had high hopes for, but I can't help it.

Mind, this is not as bad as when I had to force myself through Great Expectations, but this is still pretty bad.

I know I cannot force myself to like a book and I know there will be other books on this list that I will also dislike for various reasons. Obviously not everything will appeal to me and I have been lucky so far that I have enjoyed pretty much everything I've read, but let me ask you this; Why are all the books I dislike the longest ones? It sure seems like they are!

So here are some questions for you, dear readers:

1. What length of book do you prefer and why?
2. Are there books you have avoided because of their length? If so, what titles?

Thanks, and happy reading!

Book 8: Finished.

For such a short little novella, The Old Man and the Sea packs something powerful that I found lacking in the other pieces I have read by Hemingway.

In short, an old man who is down on his luck goes out to sea fishing. He lands a great fish, a marlin, and battles with it for three days before he succeeds in killing it. By that time he is far at sea and must race back to land while sharks attack his catch and destroy the fish he has come to love and respect.

It’s clear that there are a lot of themes and metaphors in these 126 pages. The old man represents the old way of thinking and doing; the young boy the up and coming who are trying to learn from the old but improve on their techniques; and the marlin is the challenge, the essence of what both the old man and young boy are trying to attain—grandeur.

I read this in one sitting, while Matt was playing Guitar Hero and Hemi the cat (not named after Hemingway, but after the car engine) refused to cuddle on my lap. I think the only way to read this is in one sitting. It’s too hard to break away from the old man’s struggle.

I liked Hemingway’s writing style, which I knew from my previous readings of some of his short stories. It’s simplistic and to the point, a far cry from some other things I have read so far (*cough* Dostoevsky). The story is moving, sad, but really full of all the things that we have to find in ourselves at different times.

The old man has a lot to teach us: hope, faith, courage, conviction, passion, triumph, and loss. He faces this battle knowing that the fish must die, or he must die. He respects his enemy and victim, and thanks him for a worthy fight. And even though the sharks take away his victory when he finally pulls into shore, the skeleton of the great fish is a reminder to everyone who sees it of the strength of the old man.

Much like a scar, the skeleton of the marlin tells a story that only the owner can fully understand and appreciate.

And because Hemingway wrote down this story of courage and strength, we too can learn from the old man’s scar and see the skeleton for what it really is: a test of a person’s strength when all odds are against them.

I leave you with some favorite portions:

“Then he was sorry for the great fish that had nothing to eat and his determination to kill him never relaxed in his sorrow for him. How many people will he feed, he though. But are they worth to eat him? No, of course not. There is no one worthy of eating him from the manner of his behaviour and his great dignity.

I do not understand these things, he thought. But it is good that we do not have to try to kill the sun or the moon or the stars. It is enough to live on the sea and kill our true brothers,” (75).

“I must hold his pain where it is, he thought. Mine does not matter. I can control mine. But his pain could drive him mad,” (88).

“You are killing me, fish, the old man thought. But you have a right to. Never have I seen a greater, or more beautiful, or a calmer or more noble thing than you, brother. Come on and kill me. I do not care who kills who,” (92).

“Then his head started to become a little unclear and he thought, is he bringing me in or am I bringing him in? If I were towing him behind there would be no question. Nor if the fish were in the skiff, with all dignity gone, there would be no question either. But they were sailing together lashed side by side and the old man thought, let him bring me in if it pleases him. I am only better than him through trickery and he meant me no harm,” (99).

Book 8: My 5 Fish to His 2 Fish.

My paternal grandparents had a cottage in the northern part of the lower peninsula of Michigan, which has been passed on to my dad and his siblings. When we were younger, my grandparents would take my two older brothers and me up there with them all the time. Going up for a weekend trip with grandma and grandpa was always a treat, especially when we stopped at West Branch for McDonald’s.

There was one weekend in particular where I went up alone with Grandma and Grandpa during the summer (or everyone else was on their way and I just can’t recall at the time). I was young, maybe 6 or 7, but it is one of the most vivid memories from those years up there with them.

The cottage is on Otsego Lake, which is rather shallow, and as we jokingly say now, devoid of fish. Way back then we had better luck fishing and often caught big keepers off the end of the dock. On this particular trip, Grandpa and I decided to go fishing off the end of the dock.

Somehow I had managed to catch three fish to his two, when I snagged another fish and reeled him in. In the dim twilight I remember watching my grandpa trying to get the hook out of the fish, but the fish had swallowed it. Grandpa decided to go around to the garage to get a pair of pliers and left me in charge of watching the fish and his line.

While Grandpa was gone, I lowered my fish back in the water and watched him swimming a few inches from the surface of the lake. As I was watching my fish and neglecting my grandfather’s line, I saw a dark shadow approach my fish and linger. Squinting even closer, I realized it was another fish that had come to visit my victim. Instead of swimming away, the fish stayed right by my own fish, keeping him company.

Realizing that I could catch yet another fish, I lowered my grandfather’s line into the water slowly and wriggled the worm in front of the new fish. He grabbed on and by the time my grandpa came back from the garage with the pliers, I had two fish on the line.

After that night, I always teased Grandpa about being a better fisherman because I had caught 5 fish compared to his 2.

Now, you are lucky to catch one fish in that lake and usually it’s too small to keep.

I say all this knowing that I am diving into Ernest Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea. It is a famous fishing story, perhaps not as epically huge as Moby Dick, but still about a man chasing a dream to catch the monster of all fish.

And as I read about the old fisherman and his battle with the marlin, I’m also going to think about my own grandfather, the fisherman and all those lessons her taught me before he passed away. I have many memories of him, and each memory is as strong as the one I have from that night, but not as touching.

He got down on the dock right beside me to look at the two fish I had caught—the one with a hook in its stomach, and the one who came to keep him company—and said,

“You cheated. You stole my line when my back was turned!”

The next time I went fishing with him, he made sure not to leave his pole untended and told me that even though I out-fished him that night, I would never have the chance to do it again.

And I never did.