on books

having read this book, i suddenly feel extra self-conscious about sounding cliche, uneducated, trite, boring, stereotypical, etc. but then maybe i'm missing the point. one review calls this memoir a "shocking assault on our hipper than thou age of smart-ass irony." he's found the ideas that have been bouncing around in my head since, oh, late high school. ones that have bothered me, but that i've always assumed very few other people even bother wasting their time with.

hipper than thou. i've met a lot of these (almost self-proclaimed) "hip" people. first i feel jealous. they know who they are (maybe?) and their inner self is reflected outwardly at all times. if there's a cynical, well-read way to do your makeup each day, they do it. if there's an i-can't-listen-to-music-considered-popular way to dress, they dress that way. and i believe where the irony comes in (or is it hypocrisy?) is where you start to see people trying desperately to avoid looking like they're trying to fit into a crowd and ending up fitting (like a key into its perfect keyhole) into a separate but totally monochromatic group. do you see what i mean?

eggers is certainly cynical, and very worried about seeming too much like the average white suburbanite coming of age. he struggles with raising his younger brother after his parents die, and has a hard time deciding exactly who he is. sometimes it seems like he's pretty sure, and then he begins these arguments with himself that prove otherwise. he manipulates the way the reader feels by manipulating the way he's typed everything out. long and short sentences. total train-of-thought writing at times. i loved reading it, but felt the most meaningful parts were closer to the end in terms of why is he writing this? what am i supposed to get from this? what do i choose to get from this?

out of 4 possible points (like we do at bookclub, and no one seems to give anything a 4) i'd give it a 3, averaging the 4 i'd give him for style and a 2 for the story itself and its characters.

i'm so in love with my new book, extremely loud & incredibly close by jonathan safran foer. i'll discuss it here once i'm further in. i'll just say i love it very much, and i hope at least one book clubber agrees so we can talk about it endlessly. i acknowledge the possibility of it being too different or too artsy, remember the faces friends have made when i try to make them watch my favorite indie films.

example - the squid and the whale.

friend who watches mostly blockbusters: why is he smearing his.. stuff all over those library books?
me giving it my best try: well he's so sad, and he feels abandoned by his parents, don't you think?
friend: [confused look -- or, worse yet, the 'you're crazy' look.]
me: haven't you ever heard of victims of abuse smearing their feces on bathroom walls and whatnot? once at school ... nevermind. just don't worry about it.)

i digress. so, i'm hoping i haven't totally alienated myself from this book club by talking the ladies into this book. because i love it so much, but it's not typical. which is why i love it so much. it's art. art should never be typical. once art becomes typical, overdone, overworked, over-assimilated, it becomes a product.

art should never be typical.