I originally picked this up because I was reading Claudius the God at the time and found it, and of course, I, Claudius to be brilliantly written. I did not expect what I found in this book. Not having read anything about it at all, I thought it would be much more biographical. Not having flipped through it before it was purchased, I thought it was just this person’s (Kersnowski) conversations with Robert Graves. I didn’t see that it was a collection of conversations with various authors, artists, and others, and Robert Graves. I was actually pleased that it wasn’t just one long conversation, or a series of conversations with the same two people. That could have gotten rather drab.
I found as I was reading taken aback by a lot of what Graves said as his opinions. I suppose “taken aback” isn’t the right way to put it, but it was as if he came out of the book and shook me by the shoulders as he was talking, and I realized as he was doing this that hey, he’s more close to the truth than anything I’ve ever read before. It was extremely enlightening, though I recall there was a passage about readers that I found slightly offensive because I am an avid reader. At the moment I don’t remember what it was, but it gave the impression that anyone who collects and reads too many books can’t be entirely truthful in their writing. I suppose that’s an honest statement, because you tend to “steal” the style of those who influence you as you’re writing. For example, right after reading a book with primarily British characters (say, Harry Potter), I will tend to say the word “brilliant” a lot and write with an English accent speaking in mind. I think I’m doing this now, even.
I’m not ashamed, however, of how much I love reading and what it does to me. It seems that each book I read morphs me one way or another - enhances my opinion on something either by agreeing with the speaker or disagreeing; perhaps it just strikes me in such a way that I feel like I’ve grown with the experience of reading about something. In any case, it had me thinking about my new job and where it’s taken me. I somethings deeply miss working with new books, as I previously worked at a corporate bookstore (entirely too corporate) where my primary job was to handle new releases and keep them on mind. I didn’t read any of them, but I liked working with them and being “in the know” about new books. My job now requires me to work with books sometimes 10-20 years old, and I love it also, and I find more enjoyment in these books because they’re ones I’m more likely to pick up and enjoy thoroughly, but it’s a different kind of excitement. It’s difficult to explain, but that’s not the point anyway.
The point is, I don’t regret quitting the old job for numerous reasons, one and the main one being that I now have more time to read. Not only that, but I have more motivation to read. I work with people who like books, rather than who just needed a job, so there’s more literary discussion than anywhere else I’ve been (except home, as Richard and I discuss books often, and of course school, but I’m talking more of discussing books that were interesting to you rather than discussing books you have to discuss for an assignment). I’ve already gained at least one new favorite author, and I’ve only been working there for not two full months.
I realize that the book I’ve just finished doesn’t appear a lot in this post. I don’t usually read books like this - not that it’s non-fiction, but that I’ve hardly really found myself as one to be totally interested in the “creators” of the “products” that I like. When I was younger I got obsessively into music groups, but that habit died away around high school and ever since I haven’t much liked to study the backgrounds of writers and artists whom I admired. I preferred just to go on to the next book by them that interested me, rather than get into their biography and learn every weird detail I possibly could. I don’t have enough life time to do that about every author I like. However, with Graves, I was less interested in going on to another of his books until I read this book, and now I’d really like to explore White Goddess, Goodbye to All That, Wife to Mr. Milton, and Homer’s Daughter. So I suppose in reading this I’ve found more value in researching those whom I admire, rather than honoring them simply by reading the product of their genius. (But I shouldn’t use that word “genius,” and the reason is explained by Graves in one of the conversations - but then again, I suppose, the word certainly could apply to himself.)
On the other hand, however, I still don’t have a lot of interest in reading much of his poetry, even though at numerous points in the book (indeed, almost the entire book) does he state that he doesn’t consider himself an author, but a poet, that his prose was written only as work to support himself and his family so that he could write his poetry as it needed to be written. I still would prefer his prose, mostly. That’s not to say his poetry is bad, because I’m sure it isn’t, but I don’t take very much interest in the form of expression. Despite just reading a 200 page book about how important poetry is and agreeing with a lot of the elements of that argument, I still don’t find it to be all that appealing. But supposing this Conversations book has left a lasting impression, I may find myself more interested in poetry than I ever realized. I am, after all, more interested in him.
It’s been nearly 20 days since I finished this book so this “review” won’t entirely due the book justice, but I felt it absolutely imminent that I read Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix right away, as the day I finished Miss Zukas and the Library Murders, I afterward watched “Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire” on HBO and was suddenly in the mood for an entire Harry Potter book. I read it in three days and immediately after started Lilith, so I haven’t had the motivation or mind frame to write about this mystery novel. So here goes…
This was the first mystery paperback I have ever read. Yes, other books can be filed into the mystery genre (some historical fiction, some fantasy literature, and so on), but this was the first specifically mystery novel I’ve read. I didn’t read Nancy Drew when I was younger and thus didn’t have that background base to build upon as I got older. I was more into, well, historical fiction. Very few of my books ever started out with a murder and solved it by the end, though to note, The Dante Club by Matthew Pearl certainly did, although I have filed this under “literary fiction” in my brain so I don’t necessarily count it as a strict mystery.
I found with this one that I didn’t mind the style or telling at all, though it seemed lacking. Maybe I tend to read “heavier” books, as it were, and perhaps I have a preconceived judgement that mystery novels were meant as light reading for older women who have a lot of time on their hands. I don’t mean to keep that stereotype, and so I tried to approach this book as though it were something I’d been interested in reading. And, indeed, it turned out that by the end of it I was very interested in finding other mystery novels that might have something to do with books. I fear that the only mystery novels I’ll find myself reading are those based in libraries or bookstores, or surrounding writers or avid readers, but I suppose everyone finds their own “niche” in genres they aren’t entirely in love with, and this just happens to be mine.
A lot of it seemed very convenient and there were quite a few loose ends that by now I’ve forgotten, but it wasn’t unsatisfying and I will probably consider reading the next in the series for the Summer Mystery Challenge. Though in all honesty, I wouldn’t continue reading it based on any real inner urge or desire to continue reading it - just for sake of finishing something I’ve started. I have more hope for the next mystery book I’ll be reading, as it’s set in Baltimore, and I love Baltimore. Hopefully I will find it much more captivating. I know “thickness” doesn’t necessarily determine “deepness,” but I hope in this case the size of the book will lead me into a much more intense story.
Phantastes by the same author was a required book for one of my classes toward the end of my college career. Not only did I love the book on a pure “pleasure reading” level, I also loved it on an “I must analyze this book for a paper” level. It quickly became one of my “default recommendation” books; those are the books that I answer in surveys or when someone asks me to recommend a book for them but has no idea what type of book they’d like to read. The writing style took a little bit of getting used to at first, but by the time I got through a few chapters, I was absolutely hooked and read the whole thing before I was meant to.
Lilith started out much the same. Actually, it was very confusing until about halfway through, when the main character - Mr. Vane - was well on the way through his journey. I may have been able to read the book easier had I read it immediately after Phantastes, but at the time I had several other piles of books to read before this one even existed to me. However, once I found myself in the book, I didn’t want to leave. I found myself beginning to at least slightly understand what was being said at the same rate as Mr. Vane was (for he was also very confused in the beginning).
And then when I realized how deep within mythology this book was, it suddenly all made a lot of sense. When it was recommended to me by the professor who taught Phantastes, she implied that it was just a fictional retelling of the Lilith legend, but it actually seems to be arguing for the idea that everyone, no matter how evil a life had been led, will be eventually saved (”saved” in the Christian sense, of course). In any case, it was not so specific and straight-forward as Metamorphoses, but it wasn’t either vague and unpromising like His Dark Materials; the former describing mythic tales of transformation that are more or less true to at least one version of each story, the latter a young adult retelling of Milton’s Paradise Lost without actually using anyone named “Adam” in the story and, indeed, rewriting the tale to an entirely different universe. Lilith was sort of in between, only somewhat true to the legend, but not completely strict.
Still a slow read, no matter how “into” it I was, the writing style is not entirely encouraging to jump into another George MacDonald book. However, as with Phantastes the plot did not fail, nor did the message. It is a very dark book, but one very much worth the read. I found a lot of similarities not only as I mentioned but also to Odysseus’ journey to the Underworld, and other stories which I feel I know but don’t entirely recognize (which, of course, is just a statement to how long it’s been since I’ve studied anything I learned during college).
Lilith didn’t have the authority over me as Phantastes did; it will not become an immediate recommendation. You really have to want to read it to get through it. It’s not one of those books that grabs you and takes you on its path whether or not you like it. However, it wasn’t a waste of time to read and I will probably find myself enjoying it again some day. In any case, I’ve read the 1981 paperback version, but if you’d like to read it for free, it is available at Project Gutenberg, as is Phantastes.
Let go. Let it drop. When I open my eyes I want to see everything aglow; I want to see something that plays on my mind like a mermaid, full of trickery and uncertainty, but such a beautiful thing. I want to wake up as if from a long dream during fitful sleep, unrefreshed and unrelaxed and waiting for tomorrow night to dream the same dream but hopefully in more fulfilling slumber.
And I want to wake up next to you.
Tonight it will be a last kiss and a first.
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