The only things new in my life (not necessarily interesting things) are some self realizations I've had. Some things are becoming rather apparent to me about myself and before I forget that I discovered these things, I thought I'd write it down. I've been reading a lot lately. I finally finished Madame Bovary. It wasn't a difficult read, but I got distracted along the way with my New York Times crossword puzzles, a book about word origins and some short stories by W. Sommerset Maughm, a delightful author whom I enjoy thoroughly. Anyway, Flaubert's novel definitely struck a few chords in me and I read it at just the right time in my life. While I'd love to despise Emma, I find that I can only commiserate with her sense of ennui and routine that she is faced with in her marriage.  Of course, there are a number of differences between myself and her character, but I'm not as quick to judge or write her off as I might have been just a few years ago. I've now moved on to Orlando by Virgina Woolf. Admittedly, the only novel I've read by her is Mrs. Dalloway and upon my first read, I was completely frustrated. By my third and fourth go at the novel (which I think is necessary for understanding all the nuances in this book) I had decided it was one of my favorites. My new endeavor is much less exasperating but I've discovered a problem. I really don't enjoy reading as much as I did as a student. I actually love the idea of being assigned a novel, being required to discuss, analyze and scrutinize it and then writing a paper on my observations and opinions. I miss it so and the idea of reading for pure entertainment no longer appeals to me. I know, I'm strange. The thing is, knowing this about myself, I cannot rely on myself to try to read at that level. Since I don't have to, I'm not...even though I would be happier that way. Which brings me to this: I am an utterly lazy human being. And this is perhaps why I've never reached the level off success in my life that I always dreamed of. From the time I was 10, I wanted to be a famous actress. This followed me into my early college years and even up until a few years ago. My desire was so strong, but my willingness to sacrifice was void. Once succumbing to the fact that I was not going to be the next Jodie Foster, I decided I would become a graphic designer. I pursued an art degree, but never the graphic design. I simply enjoyed painting, drawing and reading art history. I became burnt out on this creative aspect on my life and decided to give acting another go. Then I realized what I should have known all those years ago: I wanted to be a writer. But I had nothing to say, nothing to write about, so I decided to go back for another degree and write about what I read. Hence, the English Literature degree. My fascination with language and grammar led to the decision to become an editor, which I've recently let go of. I do want to be a writer but I know my fiction lacks originality, depth, skill, etc. I have nothing special to offer. So I must now be content with my trite and dull musings put out on the Internet for all the world to read, but which no one will.

I'm about 200 pages into Crime and Punishment and I'm thoroughly enjoying it. I find Raskolnikov fascinating, as his character seems to evolve in every chapter. He's gone from neurotic to venomous to aloof to confident to vulnerable to somewhat altruistic. This constant metamorphosis can be somewhat confusing and disjointed but one must observe the subtle moments in which these changes occur. One can then appreciate the wherefore of these changes dependant upon the circumstances of each situation presented. The continual undercurrent of anxiety keeps the story moving so that when characters such as the long-winded Razumikhin goes off on an emotionally charged tangent, the reader is less aggravated. I'm still trying to understand Rodya's motivation for the murder, as it cannot be for the initial reason presented by the character himself -- money (which seemed to stem from a sense of revenge against someone who had money by someone who didn't), for he didn't even make off with much and later threw it away. I don't even think it was a test of wits to see if he could pull off something so heinous. It's almost as if he relishes the idea of having committed such an act in order to lay claim to it -- to have something that is his own, that no one can take from him. Perhaps this is why he amuses himself with such perilous conversations where he finds himself on the verge of admitting the truth. He wants to invite the interlocutor in to his world, tease them with a taste of his perversion, and banish them completely. How delicious!

So, I've actually been reading more lately. With the new store opening, I have a lot of free time on my hands so I've been bringing books. The first book, since the last post, was Lucifer's Shadow. It takes place in Venice now and back in the 1730's during the age of Vivaldi. Actually, Vivaldi (one of my favorite composers) is mentioned as a character several times in the book. In both time periods, it follows the lives of an owner of a particular violin and the mysterious death involving both of the female owners. It's really the kind of book you should read while in Venice or planning a trip to Venice, or after you've returned from Venice, as there are too many geographical references to count. Plus the whole mysterious air surrounding the story could be more greatly appreciated with some sort of familiarity with the city. It was a pretty good book in terms of its intentional cliff-hanger mentality. Next, I read Gilgamesh, the first written piece of literature (preceding the Bible, and Homer, etc.) I read a lot of commentary and analysis before actually tackling the poem itself. This, I found much more interesting the the actually work. Perhaps it was the rather prosaic translation but there wasn't anything captivating about the story. It is a true epic, but there is hardly any character development (outside of some basic descriptions) nor anything to incite even the most remote sympathetic feelings toward the characters. Perhaps I will read an earlier, and perhaps more sophisticated translation of the story and change my mind. What I found very interesting was the translator's (Stephen Mitchell) analysis of Shahmat and Ishtar's place in society as prostitutes and Gilgamesh's possible homosexual relationship with Enkidu. Mitchell's notes alone make this worth reading. Next I read A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius by David Eggers. After the first few pages into the prologue/introduction I discovered that this was quite possibly the best book I've ever read. I read every page (including the copyright page) and discovered each page to be charming, witty, clever and each joke is fresh, better than the last. I recommend it to EVERYONE. My brother, a non-literate, is thoroughly enjoying the book and I am happy to finally have something about which to discuss with him. Now I'm reading Crime and Punishment, truly a must for me as a lover of intense Russian (redundant?) literature. The first 150 pages are great and I haven't gotten lost in any sort of political mish-mash as I usually do with Russian novels. Next on my list will be either Melymbrosia by Virginia Woolf (whom I LOVE) or Sexing the Cherry by Jeanette Winterson. Ciao for now.