cheech

I enjoyed Evelyn Waugh's Decline and Fall this week. It sorta paralleled the first book of his I read, A Handful of Dust, because you have these fairly timid lead characters who have total disasters befall them.

Waugh has a seriously dark and subtle sense of humor; for instance, the sickness and eventual death of a child-student is mentioned in passing in Decline and Fall, just for a gag. So much for gentle old literature... also, one of the reasons I sort of didn't like A Handful of Dust is that it starts comical, then gets tragic in the middle, then ends following a totally different character into this Twilight-Zone-ish conclusion... now, this isn't bad per se, but I was disappointed cuz I was reading it on vacation and it was a kinda downer change-up in the last half.

One of the things that makes reading funn for me is casting the story; figuring out who, in my mind, I put in each character role. When I was reading The Brothers Karamazov last year, for instance, just for fun I was trying to picture Hel in the role of Dmitri... eventually, my brain's logic crap interfered and I ended up picturing a man in the role instead (sorta by need, as Dmitri was a scoundrel... but I bet Hel could be a scoundrel, under the right circumstances). Anyway, while reading Decline and Fall, I tried to picture a really cute guy in the role of Paul Pennyfeather, and I more or less succeeded, although I think she's considerably tougher than Paul...

It's funny; the last NY Times Book Review had a vicious put-down editorial of the idea that books are good for you. While it's certainly true that they're just entertainment, I still think they give the imagination part of the brain a well-needed exercise and lift that movies, TV, or (please) video games couldn't. I can say, as a fan of movies, that there are books I'm glad I never saw a movie of, because what was in my head was better than any movie special-effects would be.