Capturing the Past

I actually did it. As mentioned in this here blog recently, I sought out a book which I read as a preteen and enjoyed then, but hadn't read since. Against the Fall of Night by Arthur C. Clarke, if it's that much trouble to click on the embedded link. I had read it while eating Pringles and drinking Faygo Root Beer. As such, I bought a small supply of each along with a copy of the book off our dear friends at Amazon, taking all three items with me to Hessel in da U.P. a couple of weeks ago.

You what what? You can relive the past just a bit, even only a whiff, a mere hint of enjoyment. Sitting on the sofa up north while noshing Pringles and washing it down with Detroit's finest root beer, I did feel something like a young boy experiencing the book for the first time. 

To be honest, the story isn't exactly the greatest science fiction. I discovered that Clarke, something I did think about all those years ago, tended to drop names and facts into the narrative without explanation, as though I should have known them, and then never offered later background. The tale was also a bit too rushed. That was annoying. Yet it was adventurous and intriguing enough that I understand why a relative youngster just getting a taste for novels would like it.

And I did like it, despite the abruptness. You can go back, I will argue, even if only slightly. That's satisfying on its own level.

Impatient Reader

It's gradually taking me over, but I'm kicking and screaming all the while. I don't want to be dragged into the 21st Century. I'm still not really living in the 20th.

A friend and I were talking about reading yesterday. We both agreed that we still prefer by far actual printed tomes over ebooks. But I must confess (okay, maybe not must, but saying it that way sounds so dramatic) that I am increasingly appreciating ebooks.

They don't take up physical room. Well, duh. Seeing as I've accumulated boxes upon boxes of books which are increasingly getting in my way, it's good when you can have something that doesn't do that. But what's more, ebooks can be had immediately rather than in two to five days, so that when I want to read something particular now, this very minute, I can. And they're cheaper, which plays well with the Scotsman in me.

I can still make fun of the tight Scotsman, right? I'm not stepping on any important toes there? I won't be cancelled over it?

Anyway, ebooks feed my need to have something in my possession right now, this very moment. And that does have a charm and satisfaction of its own. Still, 21st Century, you're not taking me without a fight because, well, I'm Scottish. At least a little bit.

About certain books

I like reading, as you know. But I don't care for biographies. All too often, the main character dies at the end.

Then there's autobiographies. They aren't among my favorites, because I'm just not that into cars.

Can I get a couple of rim shots now?

The reading disease

While it has cost me time before, it has never cost me a night's sleep. This reading bug I've caught has gotten a tight hold on me and seems to be squeezing harder all the time.

The immediate cause is the book I finished about twenty minutes ago on the tribulations between President Truman and General MacArthur, The General vs. the President. It's a very good read which, for the record, really didn't alter my thoughts on the issue. I still have sympathy for MacArthur's worldview yet agree that Truman did exactly what he had to do, things as they were. It was exactly what I believed before this book came into my hands. Still, one must feel differently, more enlightened, more deeply understanding of a subject after reading a balanced and entertaining take on it. But there is no particular call for reading to change a mind, really. Broaden it, I would say, yes. Yet abrupt and compelling change of mind isn't necessarily the point of reading or writing. Nor must it be.

That is however a sidebar point just now. As I've said before, books snowball for me. I read more quickly as I get further into a story and the further into it I get the more compelled I am to finish it post haste. So it happened yesterday evening. I sat down around 9, without even the TV on (I am less interested in TV the more I read) to read for only a bit before going to bed. Then, with the admitted exception of a couple of catnaps perhaps a half hour long each, I kept reading until done at about 7:15 this morning. I began at sunset and ended at sunrise, if you will.

Enlightenment and understanding are good and fine things. Yet they won't help me get the day's practical work done. They won't help me get them snakes repaired or those calls made (though I certainly will get the day's work done, there being Bill and Joe Cosgriff in me bones and on my conscience). It certainly won't help that part of my day will be left to wondering what book I should launch into after work. It won't help that no matter how tired I might be I will start another book and perhaps read too long tonight when I ought to get some real sleep. I simply never imagined contracting the reading disease so profoundly. I do hope it at least makes some positive difference in me.

The War of the Words

It's December 31, 2017, the last day of the year. We're supposed to reminisce on such days, aren't we? Well, then, so as not to disappoint, I shall. And it all comes down to words.

I'm not really sure why the reading bug bit me so hard in 2017 but it did, so much so that much of what I did this past year was read. It was a grand, fulfilling endeavor.

The basic theme which developed could best be described as baseball and history. To the former I submit Ty Cobb, A Terrible Beauty which argued that, while not perfect, Cobb was not the ogre so many people believe of him. The Kid, a quite readable biography of the Splendid Splinter, Ted Williams, was engrossing though more crude than it needed to be (and how many books and movies can we say that of, eh?). Shades of Glory was my first real look at Negro League baseball, and a good look it was. Remembrances of Swings Past was okay yet too obviously ghost written. That was all topped off with an anthology, Great Baseball Writing, compiled from articles originally printed on the pages of Sports Illustrated over 50 years. Great stuff, if you're any kind of baseball wonk. And you should be some kind of baseball wonk, if you have any appreciation of America at all.

1944: FDR and the Year that Changed History was very good. The Arsenal of Democracy, about Detroit's role in World War II, was excellent, and I only got it at Christmas and have already read it through. It gave me a new appreciation for the effort necessary to win that war. I read David McCullough's biographies of John Adams and Harry Truman, both outstanding, though the trouble with biographies is that the hero always dies at the end. Rock of the Marne was also a very good read on how raw American troops single-handedly held off the Germans during the Second Battle of the Marne in World War I, stopping Crown Prince Wilhelm's 'Peace Offensive' and likely winning the war for the Allied nations.

On a more esoteric level I read Strange History, a collection of interesting yet mostly obscure incidences in human history, and The Inklings, a history of the great writers' group of that name from (mainly) the 1930s and 40s. It featured C. S. Lewis of Narnia fame and J. R. R. Tolkien of Hobbitdom. Those two really ought to have collaborated on a book.

All of this actually only scratches the surface. I can't recall everything I read off the top of my head, which included of course reading the Sunday paper and all kinds of (often tripe) online. But reading-wise 2017 was good to me. And now 2018 needs to step up its game and top that.

The vital search

I've just finished an interesting book 1944: FDR and the Year that changed History. Other than the fact that every year changes history, and that the author, Jay Winik, really is too considerate of President Roosevelt, it is a very good book. My trouble now is that I don't know what to read next.
There simply aren't enough good books in the world. There are a lot of books, yes, but so many of them are tripe, and maybe the majority of them. I do not believe in the argument that we should read just to read. Reading ought to be enlightening in some way, or short of that an enjoyable recreation. I've set aside many books which did not address either of those concerns. I will even concede that some books need to be fought through in order to get the point. Orwell's classic 1984 for example took me about five tries to get through because the first thirty or thirty five pages are just dreary. But when I finally finished it, I had to conclude that it deserves its classic status.
Yes, I realize that taste is in play, and that taste does vary. I know of people who have enjoyed books which I just could not get into, and no doubt I've loved books others despise. Then there are authors who write very well yet I cannot read with any satisfaction. The science fiction author Robert Heinlein comes to mind for me. He writes very well but at the end of the day his philosophy is too different from mine, and that clouds my reading. And it isn't as though I haven't made a serious try at reading him. I've read four of his works and just can't get beyond my ultimate disagreements with the man. However, if you are interested in how Hollywood can destroy an intriguing idea, read Heinlein's Starship Troopers then watch the movie of the same name. Even though I don't, in the end, agree with his premise, Hollywood simply massacred what is arguably a subject worth serious discussion.
So the bottom line is this. I'm stuck wanting to read something new and worthwhile and have no idea what to look for. Any suggestions?