PriorBlog

Because Quimby and my wife swore by it, I decided to have a go at reading Henry James’ The Golden Bowl. I started this, oh I don’t know, maybe three weeks ago, and so far I think I’ve read about ninety or so pages. It’s not that it isn’t interesting, it is, it’s just that I have probably put more mental energy into these ninety pages than some kid bouncing over his Koran in a Northwest Frontier Province madrassa. Even so, all I’ve got to show for it are the ninety or so pages, and this is embarrassing, in a way, because I was dumb enough to tell people, quite proudly at the time in fact, that I was reading Henry James.

“Who are you reading?”
“Harry Potter, and you?”
(Trumpet intro) “Henry James.”

Since this was weeks ago, I fear a sequel to the conversation will be something like this:

“So, what are you reading now, Mister-I-am-so-smart-I-read-Henry-James?”
“Henry James.”
“Still!?”
“Yes. I am only on page 100.”
“Well, I have just finished reading Book XLVII of the Harry Potter trilogy, Harry Potter and the Teabagging Dragon of Nirmdorf!”

Now we can easily fill in the explanation slash line of thought that goes something like you’re supposed to read for pleasure, and who cares if it takes you fifteen minutes to read a page so long as you enjoy it. There are, of course, some points to be made about this line of thinking, points that I would like to go over right here and now.

One, I do care about the speed at which I read. I am a slow reader and I feel embarrassed by this. My embarrassment is particularly acute, because I read on public transportation, and I feel like when I am reading slowly other people are watching me. You think I am being paranoid, but before you label me as such consider that most people on the T, as we’ve discussed before, for some unknown but remarkable reason choose not to read during their commute. And this is by no means my way of dragging an agenda into this, say people should read. I really could care less about what people do, but I just find it mysterious that they would prefer to stare into empty space rather than read, which, you know, is doing something. At this point I will have to qualify, because I realize that I do care about what they are doing, since it could potentially involve me. My point being that I often suspect, that despite the appearance of being in a meditative and or comatose state, that my fellow passengers might actually be checking out things on the subway car, and noticing that I have been stuck on page 7 since Stony Brook.

I feel like I have a right to feel self-conscious about this because my mom made me do a second tour of duty in kindergarten back in ‘79, but let’s not focus too much on my pathetic past when the less than glorious present exists before us in all of its splendor. Which brings me to, am I actually enjoying this book, and I have to say, I think I am right on the brink, intelligence-wise of being able to like this book. In other words, I might recommend this book to smarter people, but not dumber people. I have read certain pages in this book over four times. It is to the point where I need to reference some chart in which I can weigh time spent reaching a semblance of understanding to overall sublimity of literary flair. Some people, no matter how hard they try, just aren’t going to get it, and some people, who maybe aren’t really going to get it, are just going to keep flailing away to the amusement of their fellow passengers.

Before I leave you today, I would like to offer you a little something extra. It would be one thing if I were just to mention how pathetically I have been struggling through this book. My guess is you probably are looking for a little something extra, like what is so difficult to understand about this book, what’s it about in other words. Here is what I have figured out so far. This Italian guy marries an American woman for her money, leaving behind his old girlfriend another American who happens to be friends with the girl who married her ex-boyfriend. Then, the rich girl who got married, she’s now trying to set her dad up with her husband’s ex-girlfriend, and they all live in this huge estate together. Yes, I know, it is just like Melrose Place!

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