Well, I finally finished reading “The Tale of Genji,” and it was definitely interesting (and not just in the Minnesotan sense of the word). Murasaki’s words come through us a millennium later through the elegant translation of Seidensticker and evoke the world Heian Period Japan, a culture at once very different and recognizable to our own. Seidensticker also provides the necessary footnotes to the various poems and cultural references that are sprinkled liberally throughout the book. Following, for the most part, the career of Genji, the perfect Heian gentleman and his family and romances, this is the type of book where nothing really happens and yet through expressing it becomes riveting. Much of Genji’s actions would be seen as deplorable by modern readers (and perhaps Heian as well), and some scenes describing Genji (or other noblemen) forcing their way into the rooms of another secluded noblewomen caused me to cringe, as each of them quote poetry to express their feelings. This was one of the most interesting aspects of Murasaki’s writing; she paints a picture of a world of almost obsessive cultural sophistication, with references to ancient poems and mythological stories on every page. Every character would put any modern hipster or geek to shame in their ability to quote cultural references to best express the current situation. This is particularly prominent in regards to the changing of seasons which was one of my favorite aspects of the book; the feelings of the seasons fairly jump out of the page even all these centuries later.

My rating reflects more the historical and cultural window Murasaki’s works open on the Japan of one thousand years ago more perhaps than a pure enjoyment of the tale (though I did enjoy reading it). While reading “The Tale of Genji," I was greatly aided by the blog “The Summer of Genji”

which provided some very enlightening insights into my reading that I would surely have missed otherwise. “The Tale of Genji” provides an evocative window onto this far distant time and place, but modern readers are merely tourists in this world. While “The Tale of Genji” has been called, with much debate, the world’s first novel, that title really seems to be an attempt to categorize this artifact from a long passed world. While Murasaki’s depiction of Heian Period courtiers may be more or less idealized, and she barely mentions the lower classes at all, “The Tale of Genji” is at once very far removed from contemporary culture and yet simultaneously the reader can recognize much as well.

I have been an avid fan of Davy Rothbart’s Found Magazine since reading his first Found book and have frequented the Found website, picked up back issues of the magazine, and searched for my own finds ever since. Found remains one of my favorite books, and I too have been captivated and intrigued by the intimate (voyeuristic?) look into the lives of other people through the finding and collecting of lost items, of all types. Apparently, I am far from alone. In this work, Rothbart collects short essays and stories (generally no more than a page or two) by a wide variety of prominent and semi-prominent creative types (artists, musicians, writers, etc) responding to the mysteries, joys, sadnesses, triumphs, and failures of human life through the theme of “finding” things. The pieces are extremely diverse in their subject matters, ranging from comics to poetry, with some writing fictional accounts of the imagined back stories to such finds, and still others expressing favorite personal finds that changed their lives in various ways, others responding and reflecting on some of Found magazine’s more interesting discoveries. Though a few might have drifted a bit from the theme of reflecting on the lost detritus of human culture to reflect on ones own life in relation to others, I enjoyed the latter essays the most. Kimya Dawson, in particular, expressed the feelings behind the special way of getting a inside view of what it is like to be another, anonymous person by finding a lost piece of the detritus of life. On the other hand, descriptions of and fictional stories based on find items lacks a bit of the mystery and self-reflection of simply displaying the finds themselves. I did enjoy this anthology, and it is a great celebration of Found by fellow devotees for fellow devotees, but it just doesn’t have some of the pure joy, randomness, and mystery of other Found magazine publications. It is well worth a read from Found fans but others should definitely read Found magazine first.

This was definitely a thought provoking, may I say frightening, read. It did not take much for me to identify with the 20-something liberal arts majors, the works central figures, who found themselves in increasingly dire circumstances in the 2020s, after American and world society had slowly disintegrated over the last few decades. Centered in the city of Savannah, Georgia, we watch helplessly as conditions deteriorate steadily over the years, but life goes on for the citizens. The “soft apocalypse” Mcintosh depicts seems to me to be horribly plausible and I could not help but face vicariously the complex moral choices that the narrator and his friends Ange, Cortez, Phoebe, and others must confront over the ten years that the story follows their story. As the economic Decline worsens, wars spring up across the globe and the government finds itself increasingly powerless in the face of terrorists, gangs, and disease people continue to attempt to live their daily, normal lives hoping things would get better. In other words, it is all too familiar. Mcintosh definitely takes on a sobering subject for his first novel and I found it gripping enough to read almost in one sitting. While the world he presents, especially the crumbling but inhabited city of Savannah is mostly plausible and the characters sympathetic (if not well defined) the events of the book occasionally feel forced and many questions are left unexplored. The episodic organization of the story, jumping forward by months or years chapter to chapter can make the story feel fractured. While I appreciate that not everything in the world is spelled out for the reader, certain aspects seem undeveloped, particularly towards the ending. However, Soft Apocalypse will definitely be a work that will remain with me for awhile.

I am reviewing “We Are the Weather Makers,” a adaption by Sally Walker of Tim Flannery’s 2001 “The Weather Makers,” which I have not read, and intended for a YA audience. I did not realize that the book was geared for teenagers when I grabbed it off of a display at the local library, interested in an introduction to the current science behind climate change. The slightly simplified writing and examples of projects and ideas for activities that teens (or anyone, for that matter) can do to help decrease their dependence on carbon, however, made it easily accessible for adults and teens alike interested in the basics of the sobering theories of climate change. In spite of discussing the incontrovertible science behind climate change, global warming, and the carbon cycle in an accessible manner, making it clear how much a threat this poses to human society, including the history and debate surrounding it, “We Are the Weather Maker’s” also remains refreshingly upbeat, never losing hope that the situation can be solved. I am interested in looking for Flannery’s original work “The Weather Makers,” and seeing how the two works compare.

I’m not entirely sure how to review this interesting, unusual work of seemingly semi-autobiographical fiction. The work follows the mundane everyday life of Sam, an unfocused vegan writer who bums about New York City (and occasionally elsewhere) shoplifting, drinking Synergy brand kombucha, chatting with friends on Gmail, and indulging in painfully self-conscious irony (he jokes about buying a "Spicy Chicken Sandwich from Wendy’s, and then not eating it). I have to say, "Shoplifting from American Apparel is one of the most concentrated slices of the life of my generation that I’ve yet seen put to paper. Lin’s distinct style, as short and terse as a Twitter update yet also redolent of modern 20-something culture, deals with banal hipster tropes via a backdrop of almost overdone literacy. An interesting and heady mix that are equal parts vapid and brilliant. A quick and breezy read, I definitely enjoyed “Shoplifting from American Apparel,” while it lasted. The novella is definitely a neglected form of literature, and one that Lin owned in this work- any longer, however, and its idiosyncrasies may have caught up with it, causing the work to become nearly unbearably self-referential. In any case, I am definitely interested in reading more of Tao Lin’s work to see if I can form a more coherent idea his style.

There were certainly a few laughs to be had in this short, quickly digested little book griping about the sorry state of modern grammar (at least as illustrated through photographs of signs, postings, and other public announcements mangling the English language to various degrees). I won’t give any specific examples so as to avoid spoiling the books best points; on the other hand, the author certainly seems to be particularly upset by the improper use of apostrophes, an error (while galling) doesn’t really lend itself to hilarity. The photos depicting these atrocities are nice, but all too often are quite small, surrounded by a blank white page. The collection definitely shows its origins as a blog, in which viewers can expand images to view details that might be lost if printed too small and which can also make up for less funny entries via sheer variety. “I Judge You When You Use Poor Grammar” the book, in the end, might be good for a half an hour or so of minor amusement, but would not be recommend as a purchase.

I was a bit disappointed in this book. I have recently found myself among the many twenty and thirty somethings who have found themselves moving back home following graduation, caught between two stages of life and struggling to begin a career or other life goals while hampered by a sluggish economy and a tough housing market. As a former member of this not so illustrious group herself, Furman writes that these “boomerangers” are increasingly “loud and proud,” and I was hoping for an examination of this phenomena in cultural terms. How exactly is this effecting ideas of adulthood? How are people reconciling this state of trapped adolescence, this loss of independence? The many short personal accounts by boomerangs included in the text to exemplify various problems and thoughts about this trend of extended homelife were among the most interesting parts of the book, and did a good job of showing the reader that they are by no means alone.

On the other hand, while discussing such questions a bit, showing that adults, by choice or necessity, moving back in with their parents is not an uncommon or terrible thing, Furman herself spends much more time focusing on practical advice on how to go back to living with one’s family, from dating to budget considerations. While much of this can be very helpful, a lot of it are simply common sense ideas, such as not to antagonize your new “roommates” by refusing to do chores or dealing with privacy issues. In particular, the section on parental “types” seemed especially redundant. As someone whose family is supportive, much of this came as little surprise. In the end, “Boomerang Nation” might be a useful read, as well as concise, tautly written, easily consumed, but I was looking for a more substantial discussion of the group I now find myself a part.

This was an interesting collection of diverse Japanese folk tales, legends, and mythology, including a variety of topics from animal stories to legends of Mount Fuji, as well as some discussions of how these stories relate to Japanese culture. However, the presentation of the legends is couched as much in the early twentieth century English attitudes of H. Hadland Davis as in Japan. As Davis, writing in 1913, expresses in his introduction regarding the rising world power, “we have learnt that her quaintness and prettiness, her fairy-like manners and customs, were but the outer signs of a great and progressive nation,” which Russia learned the hard way. Davis, then, deeply romanticizes this lost “fairyland,” already nostalgic for its “disappearance,” and retells the stories in very flowery English, recalling the style of western fairy tales. Also, the organization of the stories seems a bit haphazard with little consistency in chapter choice. However, it seems to be a fairly comprehensive collection of Japanese folk tales and mostly enjoyable. The works of Lafcadio Hearn , though,(some of which were included by Davis in this book) would be a better English-language source for Japanese folklore, in my opinion.

This, I feel, is a fundamentally sad work. While a beautiful story that appeals to most of my gut interests; libraries, books, a hidden fantastic side to reality, it reaches conclusions that I find questionable at best. I am not sure exactly what the message is here. However, the way Niffenegger explores this battle between the idealized world of literature and the inner mind and the disappointments of everyday life, is still very compelling to me. In particular, I enjoyed the grounding of the work in the city of Chicago, which grants the story a dose of realism to its whimsical melancholy (I admit I Google Street viewed the intersection of Ravenswood and Belle Plaine after reading to see what it was like).

The graphic novel follows the story of Alexandra, a lonely Chicagoan who pines away after coming across the mysterious Night Bookmobile and its intriguing librarian, Mr. Openshaw, which contains a complete catalog of everything Alexandra has ever read. For someone like Alexandra (or I), this would be a treasure trove of self-reflection, illustrating much of what made you who you are. Returning to the bookmobile periodically over the years, the desire to recapture her reading past causes the introspective and obsessed Lexy to focus her energies on becoming a librarian, a director of a prominent library in fact, in the “real” world. However, even this does not sate her obsession and she sacrifices much, too much, to follow it.

As someone who, in the past, has also considered the possibility of a literal “heaven as a type of library,” this is a seductive idea, but what good are the reflections and thoughtfulness of books without everyday life to counterbalance them? In any case, the story is definitely thought provoking.

Eating Animals was a very interesting piece of literature, and definitely the most compelling evidence I have seen so far to advocate a vegetarian or vegan diet. Jonathan Safran Foer records his findings as he struggled to come to terms with “eating animals” and make the correct decision for his child. Foer, like myself, had long been a half-hearted vegetarian, recognizing the unpleasant realities of meat but also following the deep cultural and social ideas created by the “eating animals” that humans are. The dichotomies between these two readings of the title form the core of the work, making for a very persuasive argument. As Foer studied the problems of meat, appealing to both the rational and the emotional, and speaking to people from diverse backgrounds, his conclusions make for a gripping narrative. By including the views of others tackling the same problems and coming to different conclusions than himself, from poultry farmers of various philosophies to PETA representatives, he shows compassion to all involved. Exploring all sides, from the Pollan-esque “animal welfare” advocates who champion a return to older methods of agriculture to continue to tradition of eating meat without the degradation of factories to those who follow “animal rights,” who wish to avoid all cruelty to other animals, Foer comes to a very informed decision, one that I too find very logical.

This is exemplified in the brilliant analysis of that most American of holidays, Thanksgiving, during which the majority of tables include turkey, among the most cruelly exploited of all livestock, due to host of social reasons. Forming new traditions, free from the. While, in an academic sense, it may not be unethical to eat other animals as part of an ecosystem including carnivores and omnivores, the unspeakable horror of the current system which supplies virtually all meat and the terrible ecological damage that follows this, for me the answer is to avoid meat. As Foer illustrates, the fact that humans have the ability to consciously decide what to eat and what not to eat puts us in a unique position to alter the planet, as well as one’s own health. In any case, “Eating Animals” illustrates the complex nature of the problem and exemplifies responses to a host of the cultural thoughts of eating animals and I would recommend it to any one interested in the subject.