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Wednesday 2 February 2022

What turns me on

That got your attention, didn’t it? This blog post is, unfortunately, not about sex, but about what I look for when reading, what I value and consider important in literature. 

If you’ve been reading my blog, you’ve probably noticed that I’m interested in details. Not themes, not big ideas, not messages, but details. Some readers only care about the story, some are more interested in structure and the overall shape of a literary work, I myself pay attention to details: descriptions, images, metaphors, motifs, some subtle gestures or moments of things left unsaid—like the glances in Persuasion, light in The House of Mirth, things left unsaid in The Age of Innocence, the asparagus in In Search of Lost Time: Swann’s Way, or the ship motif in Bleak House. I don’t like novels of ideas, moralism, preaching, and spoon-feeding, and don’t particularly like intrusive narrators. All that is the influence of Nabokov. 

But am I an aesthete? Not really, no. Between Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky, I prefer Tolstoy (and see myself as a Tolstoy person), but between Tolstoy and Flaubert, or Tolstoy and Proust, or Tolstoy and Nabokov, I’d still pick Tolstoy. I do care about the writing and dislike bland prose (such as Stoner or Sally Rooney), and do love the prose of Melville or Proust or Edith Wharton or R. L. Stevenson, but to me style isn’t everything. I don’t enjoy style and language and wordplay just for the sake of style and language and wordplay; I don’t love metaphors just for the sake of metaphors; to some readers, style alone brings pleasure, style is all, but I’m more interested in what it conveys. 

I’m interested in characters, and the author’s vision. I don’t mean that I identify with characters—characters don’t have to be relatable or likable or strong or sympathetic—but over time, the books that have stayed with me and meant the most to me are the ones with complex, memorable characters. Characters are the reason, over a year later, Hong lou meng has come to mean more to me than The Tale of Genji

Generally speaking, my preference is for multifaceted, psychologically complex characters, characters who are full of contradictions, characters who feel like flesh and blood. That’s why my favourite novelist is Tolstoy, as he can inhabit his characters’ minds and depict the minute changes in their consciousness better than anyone else.

But I do love Dickens’s characters. Many readers complain that Dickens only creates caricatures, two-dimensional characters, but first of all, Dickens does create well-rounded characters (such as Esther Summerson, Lady Dedlock, and Sir Leicester in Bleak House), and more importantly, his two-dimensional characters are brilliant creations with a vivid existence within the world of his books. It is not a failure, but a different approach to characters. The Dickensian caricatures are too striking, too vivid, too individualised to be mere types—Harold Skimpole, for example, is not a type, the way that Monsieur Grandet in Balzac’s Eugénie Grandet is a type (a miser). 

Questions about identity don’t interest me. I don’t read in order to find myself in books (don’t I have enough of myself in my non-reading time?), and don’t need characters to be the same sex, race, nationality, or whatever in order to relate to them. Nor do I necessarily relate to characters who supposedly belong to the same group—this shouldn’t have to be said, but we’re living in a backward age. I’m also not a fan of the Strong Female Character trope, which is tedious and has been done to death.

Rather than identify with characters, I identify with the authors (or try to). The author’s vision is important. I don’t like Elfriede Jelinek or Joyce Carol Oates, for example, for the same reason I don’t like Lars von Trier in cinema: I don’t share their dark, hopelessly bleak view of life and human nature. I don’t get along with Balzac, or at least the author of Eugénie Grandet, because he is cynical and to me, a cynical view of humanity is not a deep view of humanity. I love writers who say yes to life, to borrow Joseph Epstein’s phrase; writers who give me glimpses of beauty when I don’t find it in life. I love writers who see people as complex individuals, not just types or members of a group or products of their environment. 

It’s because of vision (not just style) that I think more highly of, and feel closer to, Jane Austen than George Eliot. I can see that many readers see George Eliot as deeper, larger, and more intellectual, but to me, George Eliot is moralistic and her ethics are built around the central idea of sympathy, whereas Jane Austen’s ethics are more sophisticated—she deals with different moral values and principles, as well as different shades and degrees of the same values, and focuses on introspection, self-understanding, and balance. George Eliot’s greatness is easier to see, Jane Austen is more subtle. 

It’s because of vision that I now prefer Shakespeare to Tolstoy, even though in many ways I have been shaped by Tolstoy. If I have to name Tolstoy’s main fault, it wouldn’t be didacticism, because he’s not as didactic or preachy as people often claim; and it wouldn’t be misogyny, because the artist in him always triumphs over the sexist, and I think Tolstoy is the greatest at writing female characters. Tolstoy’s main problem (which is not in Shakespeare) is his complex and troubled relationship with sex, his unhealthy view of sex, which occasionally gets in the way and interferes with his writing, and in this case, I don’t think the artist in him triumphs.

Having said that, I place Shakespeare and Tolstoy at the top, above everyone else. You may disagree—different readers may value different things in literature. I personally place Shakespeare and Tolstoy at the top because of their depth and breadth, because of their deep understanding of human behaviour and the wide range of characters that they depict, because of their ability to see and understand and depict very different points of view, because of their compassion. That is the quality I value most highly.  


Literature lovers and book bloggers, join in the discussion! Perhaps write your own blog posts (and share the links below). What do you look for when you read? What is important? What do you most value? 

34 comments:

  1. "Questions about identity don’t interest me. I don’t read in order to find myself in books (don’t I have enough of myself in my non-reading time?)" Hahaha, this is just how I've always felt!

    Given your interest in complex characters, and that it is now the day-month-year of our lord 2-2-22, I wonder if now might be the perfect time to pick up _Ulysses_? This is entirely a selfish question, since I myself picked it up at the new year (not realizing the anniversary), and I find myself reading and enjoying your blog more and more. I'd love to read your thoughts on it, especially given your interest in details. The Joyce Project online has now come out with an annotated ebook, so it's never been easier to read: https://www.joyceproject.com/pages/ebook.htm

    I'm aiming to finish by Bloomsday –– _aim_ is the key word there.

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    1. Hahaha thanks for the kind words, but I won't be reading Ulysses any time soon. I want to read something else before Ulysses, which is rather daunting, and haven't finished Dubliners.
      Also there are a few other things I'm intending to read this year.

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  2. "Know thyself" as someone said long ago, that's the key thing.

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    1. What do you mean?
      Will you join in, by the way?

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  3. I’m not a voracious reader, but I do like to read. Currently reading Trollope’s The Way We Live Now. I like how the characters have both an initial ‘feel’, but also how their lives play out.

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    1. Okay. I've not read Trollope, though a few friends have told me to read him.

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  4. Having already read some of your posts, the fact that you don’t appreciate the strong female character trope comes as a real shock. Lol. Kidding.
    It’s a stimulating topic, quite wide and fundamentally subjective.
    When I think of literature, the first words that pop in my head are “Human, all too human”, not because I think about Nietzsche. But because I tend to link literature to humanism. I’m profoundly interested in individuals, in their stories, in their trivialities too. As Vasily Grossman pointed out: “The only true and lasting meaning of the struggle for life lies in the individual, in his modest peculiarities and in his right to these peculiarities”; the very same opinion I have regarding Literature, which means that I value a book for the ability of the author in psychological introspection. Action novels, though entertaining and well written (like those of Jules Verne), can’t catch my attention. My weakness consists in tormented souls, characters who live their life in a way full of dissonants, engulfed by an inner conflict (yes, Rodion Romanovich, I’m talking about you, but also about Graham Greene). I also like those characters you can’t condemn nor absolve from their sins, like Marmeladov, pathetic characters who make you laugh but that also inspire compassion, like Pirandello’s Silvia Caporale, the 40yo romantic piano teacher who’s victim of unrequited love. And of course I love the “honest person who’s suffering”, typical of ancient greek tragedies, like Antigone, Alcestis or Oedipus (Sophocles’Oedipus The King), which seems to be almost a literary archetype, as you can find him/her also in poem and in very different epochs (Dante’s “dishonest torment” in regard to Paolo and Francesca, lovers that betray their duties, since he’s a friar and she’s married, means properly that).
    At the same time, I prefer books in which the writer’s voice is empathetic towards his/her characters, with a taste for irony, not detached from the human events, like in Verga or other writers belonging to Naturalism (and Italian Verismo, sort of a local sub-movement of the first).
    About the writing style, I always appreciate “aurea mediocritas”, the golden mean, that kind of writing that looks simple and crystal clear, but it is actually quite sophisticated and whose clarity is the result of precise choices, like in Manzoni. Sometimes I find myself attracted to a style that is more inclined to lyricism, like in Hugo, or even to magniloquence and hyperbolic language (I used to like Hermann Hesse a lot when I was teen, but I guess that’s the right age for exaggeration in all its forms).

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    1. Ah tormented souls. Is that why you like Dostoyevsky? But I think you would like Kokoro.
      Can't comment on Dante or the ancient Greeks because I haven't read them.
      But yeah, I do like writers to have compassion for their characters and for humanity in general. I used to like The Piano Teacher, for the psychology, but over time the cruelty and misanthropy and bleakness of the book just don't appeal to me anymore.

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  5. "Know thyself," that could mean anything. But I meant that it is part of being a good critic. What am I good at or interested in and what do I ignore or miss.

    I guess I like more or less all of the things you mention. I am pretty good at working my way into a book on its own terms. I am a lot more interested in the "importance" of a text than most people, that is clear enough. Reading via other readers. There are conventionally great works that do all of the things you mention.

    I wonder if your point about language for its own sake is a divide between people who do and don't read a lot of lyric poetry.

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    1. Or people who would read lyric poetry if they knew what it was. For my part, I love stuff like "The World is too Much With Us." Novelists that lean that way are okay in my book.

      But really, I don't think about what sort of book I like. I want to like every book I read, and I have grown to expect whatever I read to be different from what I think it's going to be. Plenty of novels are dreadful and amazing all at the same time; that's okay by me.

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    2. Tom,
      Yeah, I do have some interest in the "importance" of the text, though not as much as you do. You're also more of an appreciationist. You could even appreciate that ridiculous The Jew of Malta.
      About language for its own sake, I was only thinking of prose, but that's a good point. Probably why I don't read poetry much.
      I just like story. Even when I was making an experimental film, I was trying to tell a story in an experimental way, rather than just experiment with techniques and whatever.

      Scott,
      It's not that I expect books to be a certain way. My blog post is more like me looking at the books and the writers that mean the most to me and thinking about what I like about them.
      I'm reading Botchan at the moment and enjoying it a lot, but it's very different from the sort of books I normally like.

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    3. I don't know why I didn't catch the spirit in which your post was written at first. I read right past the enthusiasm. I'm tempted to blame the contract negotiations I'm dealing with at work, but probably it's just that I'm getting old and cranky. I should look to that.

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    4. Haha it probably wasn't that clear, to be fair.

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  6. As I've gotten older (I turned sixty-one a few months ago) my tastes have changed (in movies as well as books) - what I most value now is reading something that will make me feel something; I want to be moved.

    On the other hand, I'm not always looking for someone who will beat the emotional big drum and beat it loudly; I also value...I don't know...civilized writers. (I discovered Trollope a decade ago and absolutely love him.)

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    1. I see what you mean about wanting to be moved.
      I was just saying to a friend the other day that I generally don't cry from books (and very rarely from films), but Shakespeare has made me cry a few times.
      Could you name some examples for the two groups of writers you were talking about?

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    2. Well, the first one that I can think of comes from someone I named as a contrast to the overtly emotional - Trollope, the master of civilized, well-mannered restraint. I read The Last Chronicle of Barset a couple of years ago, and when Septimus Harding died near the end of that book, I cried; he was the most believable "good man" I've ever come across in fiction, and I had gotten to know and love him over the course of six novels. I think Trollope himself was deeply moved by bidding farewell to that character and that place that he had created, and that emotion was communicated to me.

      I really got to thinking about this because of a movie - Fellini's Nights of Cabiria, which I first saw about a year ago. It absolutely tore my heart out (though it didn't make me cry - it went too deep for that) and I realized that that's what I most want now, instead of action movie ciphers slo-mo walking away from enormous explosions (which I liked just fine when I was younger, and which I still guiltily enjoy now and then.)

      Tolstoy moves me. (No surprise, right?) I think the most moving thing I've ever read is the scene in Anna Karenina where Karenin comes to what he expects - what everyone expects - is Anna's deathbed, to see her receive just what she has deserved...and instead forgives her. In that moment this cramped, rigid man is touched by the Divine and lifted up to an exalted place - it's truly shattering. (Shattering in another way, and heartbreaking, is his realization soon after that he won't be permitted to stay in that place.)

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    3. Ah. I've never read Trollope, but several people have mentioned him now. I want to read him after Vanity Fair though (because I've got a copy from the library).
      I know what you mean about Nights of Cabiria. It touched me a more deeply than 8 1/2, which is in many ways a greater film. As for films, I've lost interest in Hollywood now. Perhaps something entertaining now and then, but definitely not superhero movies, and generally not blockbusters. And I'm not even old hahahaa.
      Agreed about the scene in Anna Karenina. That whole sequence is wonderful, I think. Karenin's hypocrisy as he wishes her to die, his awareness and shame, and his compassion afterwards. Anna's heightened consciousness as she's close to death. Magnificent stuff.
      I've been intending to reread War and Peace this year.

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    4. Ah, you must try Trollope! He is the most companionable of writers; reading one of his books is like being ushered into an impeccably decorated salon by the most good-humored, well-tempered host imaginable, who then seats you on a deliciously comfortable sofa, puts his arm around your shoulders, and proceeds to tell you exactly what you want to know.

      Once I read the first two Barchester books - The Warden and Barchester Towers - I was hooked for life.

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    5. And good luck with Vanity Fair; I found it a bit of climb when I read it thirty-five years ago. (I think it was too different from Dickens, who I had just fallen in love with.) I've been thinking I might like to have another go at it sometime.

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    6. My reading "plan" is currently packed so it's going to be a while till I read Trollope.
      The idea of a good-humoured and well-tempered host is funny, as a lot of writers I like are not exactly good-humoured or well-tempered hahahhaa. Even Jane Austen is quite mean.
      Thanks about Vanity Fair. Perhaps you could reread it with me when I read it.

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    7. Let me know when you're going to get to it and I'll see if my runway is clear; I love reading books with people. I have a friend that I read at least two books a year with - for the past decade we've done a Trollope in the fall and something else in the spring (this year it's going to be Drieser's An American Tragedy).

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  7. What more can I say just that Your stress on details go with these emphasis on details …
    http://amediadragon.blogspot.com/2022/02/alluring-tokyo-story-brings-jessica-au.html

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  8. It's really hard to say what I'm looking for in literature. It depends on the particular gifts of the writer, and my mood.

    Some writers provide very deep insights into the human mind and heart, and I love these. Amongst these, I count Shakespeare, Austen, Tolstoy, Dostoyevsky, Trollope, Henry James, Proust, and Dickens (with respect to some characters, though not all). I love all of these writers, because they present very deep, three-dimensional characters.

    Some writers, I love because of their wonderfully poetic and beautiful prose (or verse) -- i.e., Shakespeare, Dickens, Faulkner, come to mind.

    Some writers approach deep philosophical or existential questions with special insight -- Shakespeare, Dostoyevsky, Melville, Proust.

    ...and so on. I do notice that Shakespeare manages to do everything :-)

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    1. The main reason I wrote this blog post is that I'm more interested in details whereas my friend Himadri (Argumentative Old Git blog) is more interested in structure, pacing, and the overall shape. And then recently, I think it was under my Faulkner blog post, Scott and I were talking about something related. So, yeah.
      And yes, Shakespeare does do everything. My man <3

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  9. Hi, Di, here's my contribution:

    https://storberose.blogspot.com/2022/02/what-i-like-in-books-and-why.html

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  10. "my preference is for multifaceted, psychologically complex characters, characters who are full of contradictions, characters who feel like flesh and blood. That’s why my favourite novelist is Tolstoy"

    W&P is at the top of my list.

    Ah, yes! I read "W&P" over the course of a summer about 45 years ago. I was sad when I finished the book because I felt like I knew the characters; they were so skillfully and fully developed. There were so many subtle & telling observations right from the start eg. at the soire Pierre attended at the beginning.

    And the glances in "Persuasion"!!!

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  11. That should be soiree with an accent ague.

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  12. Have you reread it since then? I've been planning to reread War and Peace this year.

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  13. I've thought about it & I have gone back and read bits & pieces. But I'm 70 & there are so many books I want to read with limited time.

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