Chekhov’s Mistess

July 11, 2007

The Opposite of Summer Reading?

 

I’m auditioning some decently chunky books to read while on vacation. I guess this is what’s called summer reading, which for me is the opposite of what most think of because it’s a time when I get to do some relatively uninterrupted and in depth reading (of course I’m about to collapse from too much work right now, so I may lose a few days from stupor).

So here are a few things I’m taking, and, in brief, why:

King Lear – because I’ve been reading a Shakespeare play every summer since I’ve not been able to attend the Public’s Shakespeare in the Park performances. Recent plays I’ve read include Henry IV (or was it VI?), The Tempest, and Macbeth. Three plays I’ve read since not going to the Public. I have a three year old son. Coincidence?

Julio Cortazar’s Hopscotch – because Esposito keeps bringing him up and it’s been on my TBR pile for a very long time and I just ran across an excerpt in A Moment’s Notice – Jazz in Poetry and Prose that intrigued me.

Steve Erickson’s Zeroville – because it’s about the movies? Why not.

Kafka’s The Castle – because it’s the only thing of Kafka’s I’ve not read and I also want to read Roberto Calasso’s K., which takes that book as its subject matter.

Dostoevsky’s The Idiot – because I was just re-reading Susan Sontag’s introduction to Tsypkin’s Summer in Baden-Baden, which takes Fyodor as its subject. And because I sometimes just want to read something classic, something Russian. And because I want to read a Pevear Volokhonsky translation after having seen the two talk at last spring’s Hudson Review symposium on translation. And I recently picked up a used copy of Dostoevsky’s A Writer’s Diary, his monthly publication in pseudo-diary format. I guess you could say that Dostoevsky is in the air.

Terézia Mora’s Day In Day Out – because I picked this up from my amigos at Harper Perennial and it just sounds right up my line “A prose labyrinth of rare poetic force, this is the story of a delicate, tortured man whose grip on reality is slipping away.” – so goes the jacket copy.

you’ve probably gathered by now that I’m going on a very long vacation or I’m going to have to make some choices – it’s the latter I tell you, and even though it’s a little absurd, I really do bring along an extra bag with books just to have a good selection

Javier Marías’s Your Face Tomorrow – Fever and Spear – (this is the first book in a trilogy) because I recently introduced myself to Marías’s writing through The Man of Feeling and enjoyed his elegant prose and his willingness to not stop his sentences when you think he ought to.

Nathalie Sarraute’s The Planatarium – So I can say I’ve read some sophisticated 50’s French fiction that few people outside of a certain set (those who read sophisticated French fiction) have ever read. That and a really cool blurb by Sartre.

Daniel Alercón’s Lost City Radio – because I started it a long time ago, liked it, but didn’t finish it for some reason or another. And I met Alercón in the bathroom at Lincoln Center during last year’s Pen Festival; it seems like you should read the books of people you meet in bathrooms.

And the list goes on, but that’s the core of it. I also bring along a couple of poets, but I don’t know who yet. Last year it was Ashbery and Jorie Graham. I’m about half-way into Bolano’s Savage Detectives but I’ll probably finish that before I leave, although I’m tempted to read one of his others (I’ve read Distant Star) too, since I’m on a roll.

Anyone have any suggestions from those above? Anything I’m missing that’s exceptionally better than these?

• posted by Bud Parr
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