Books Dave Has Read

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Reviews | List of Titles | List of Authors | Categories | Overall Ranking
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Number of Books Reviewed So Far: 233

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Note: When searching, enter the full title of the book, a category name as it appears on this site, or the author's name in the format "last, first".

Introduction

Welcome to my book reviews page of book reviews: a book reviews page in which I review books that I've read (or seen in dreams)!

The books in this list are arranged in alphabetical order by author's last name. If there is no author, the author is listed either as "Anonymous", "Various", or "Traditional"—the latter for very old works whose author can never be found (or for something that has been passed down from generation to generation, or compiled). Where one author has more than one entry, reviews are arranged in alphabetical order by title. In addition to the name of the author and the book, I also give a short description of it, plus my opinion, expressed both in words and in letters. Behold!

  • Great Books
    • A+ = Read this at least once before you die.
    • A = An excellent book.
    • A- = Definitely worth reading.

  • Good Books
    • B+ = Probably worth reading.
    • B = Probably worth reading if you like the genre/author/time period, etc.
    • B- = Worth taking along on a train.

  • Mediocre Books
    • C+ = Read this only if you have some ulterior motive (e.g., you want to read everything a particular author has written, you received this book as a gift, etc.).
    • C = Read this only if you have a pressing ulterior motive (e.g., the friend who gave you the book as a gift will be violently insulted if you don't read it, etc.).
    • C- = Say that you read this if you have a pressing ulterior motive.

  • Bad Books
    • D = Don't sully yourself by saying you've read this, even if you have a pressing ulterior motive.

  • For the Trash Heap
    • F = If somehow you are forced to read this book, seek therapy.

The rating, of course, is just my opinion. In my descriptions, though, I attempt to give you a good glimpse of what the book is like, even if I don't like the book. For funsies, I included an image of the book's cover. If you click on it, you'll go to an Amazon.com description of the book in question (where possible, of the very edition I read).

Finally (and this is mainly for my own sake), below the rank, I list the number of times I've read the book in question, and the approximate date (listed as a season and a year, or just a year [or several years]) on or during which I last read it. So, if it's been awhile, keep that in mind while reading my review. Plus, I can always change my mind. If you think I should give a book another chance (provided that book is not Wuthering Heights), let me know, and I'll consider it deeply.

Also, now included with each review is a list of the various categories or genres that book falls into. This should facilitate searching, and help you find related books that you might be interested in reading (e.g., short ones).

If you'd like to link to one of my reviews, I've made it (I hope) much easier. Below each review is its unique link, as well as two copy-and-paste links: one in HTML (for LiveJournal, MySpace, etc.), and one in BBCode (for phpBB bulletin boards, vBulletin, etc.). Happy posting!

[Note: In June 2006, this site was moved from the old html address to a new, shiny php address. Now each book review has the date it was added. All the old reviews were added pretty much at once, but starting with A Tale of Two Cities, the chronological ordering of all the reviews is correct.]


Some Recently Added Book Reviews

Review

Orlando Furioso

Ludovico Ariosto



Rank: A+
No. Times Read: 1
Last Read: Summer, 2010
Reviewed By: Dave
Date Review Added: 9 / 1 / 2010

  • Review: Wow! What a book! If there is a difference between a tale and a story, this is the best tale that you or anyone else will ever read. Period.

    Now let me qualify that. Orlando Furioso is a long, epic-style romance written in verse at the beginning of the 16th century. This was at the tail-end of the heyday of the chivalric romance, so this tale of knights and wizardry is not told without irony. In fact, for a story so old, there are quite a number of elements of realism that would later be expanded upon and perfected by Cervantes in Don Quixote. For all that, though, Orlando Furioso is a grand adventure story which follows the exploits of Charlemagne's paladins during France's war with the Saracens.

    At this point, I would tell you about the plot of the book, but there really is none. There are hundreds of events (the book is absolutely non-stop action), but there is no single plot that runs through the whole story. Instead, there are characters that one follows from adventure to adventure.

    The book starts out with a dispute between Orlando and Rinaldo, two of Charlemagne's knights, over a woman named Angelica. Both are madly in love with her, and wish to claim her for their own (even though, as we find out much later on [almost as an afterthought], Rinaldo is married with children), and are willing to fight it out to win her. Charlemagne, who needs them both for the war, says he will keep Angelica safe if they agree to postpone their fight until after the war. They agree to this, and go back to fighting the Saracens.

    As fate would have it, though, Angelica is lost, and though Orlando and Rinaldo pursue her, she ends up tending to a wounded Saracen who sought to bury his commander's remains (so that it wouldn't be exposed to the elements), and the two fall in love. Before Orlando or Rinaldo can find her, she ends up marrying the guy, and moving to China. Orlando learns about this after the fact, and goes completely mad (hence, the title). He strips off his armor and clothes and starts rooting up trees and using horses as clubs to beat people to death.

    Now here's the best part: For all intents and purposes, Orlando is a relatively minor character in this book. It's named after him, and yet we barely hear about him! Instead, we end up following the exploits of Rinaldo, his sister Bradamant, the paladin Astolfo, and the Saracens Ruggiero, Marfisa and Rodomont. In the end, the love story of Ruggiero and Bradamant ends up being the central or most important plot (if you had to choose one amongst this story of innumerable intertwining tales).

    It would be impossible to describe all the action packed into Orlando Furioso. Instead, I'll tell you about the structure and give you some examples. The book is broken into forty-six cantos, but that division is misleading. In actuality, the book is divided into a series of 2-3 page action sequences which, for lack of a better word, I'll call ariosta (the plural of ariostum, based on, of course, the author's name). Ariosto will take one character and one plot line and write about it for no more than four pages, usually just two, and right when something is about to happen, he'll usually say (in the text) that he wishes to switch to another subject, and he does. In this way, the reader follows something like three to four plot tracks that overlap, not unlike a modern movie (so plot A may finish while B is still going and C takes over after A, while D and E are ongoing). The ariosta are so short, though, that the book really cooks! The reader is basically led from one action sequence to another with no breaks in between.

    As for the content, here are a taste of some of the ariosta contained in Orlando Furioso:

    • Atlas, a magician, continually tries to rescue his nephew Astolfo, the paladin, from danger by creating fake castles of incredible beauty where everyone is happy all the time. The idea is to lure him in and trap him so that he'll never be exposed to danger in the outside world.
    • Rodomont, King Agramant of the Saracens' mightiest warrior, lays siege to Paris by himself. He topples with a wave of his hand, and slices knights and peasants and even allies—whoever gets in his way— fully in half (usually longways).
    • Bradamant falls into a cave which turns out to be Merlin's tomb where she meets Melissa, a sorceress, who goes on to describe to her in detail all the children she will have, and her children's children, and her children's children's children, etc.
    • In order to restore Orlando to sanity, Astolfo takes his winged hippogryph and flies to the moon (the actual moon) to find his wits. Apparently there's a river on the moon where everything forgotten is dumped.
    • Ruggiero, in order to avenge himself on the man to whom Bradamant has been promised in marriage, takes over as commander for the Bulgarian army which was about to be routed and, by himself, routs the Greeks. For doing so, the Bulgars seek to make him their king.
    • In the most hilarious scene in the book, every major character in the Saracen party challenges each other to some sort of duel, each of them insisting that their score must be settled without delay. I'm not sure if I can track all the challenges, but Ruggiero challenges Rodomont for stealing his horse Frontino; then Mandricard challenges Ruggiero for wearing arms he claims himself. When it looks like Ruggiero and Mandricard are going to fight, Rodomont intercedes, saying that they should wait until the battle is done—and that, after all, his and Ruggiero's fight must come first. That ticks off Mandricard, who now challenges Rodomont. Then Marfisa, who's trying to break them up, gets ticked off at Mandricard, and goes after him. In the end, even the king is involved in the quarrel. The scene is priceless.

    Then at the end of the book, when you think everything's resolved (Ruggiero and Bradamant get together, and everything's settled), out of nowhere, Rodomont, whom we haven't heard from in over two hundred pages, rides up and challenges Ruggiero, just...because. There's a fierce battle at the end, and the book ends with Ruggiero stabbing Rodomont in the forehead repeatedly.

    But wouldn't you know it, for how incredibly awesome this book is, the action isn't the most fascinating part of the book. No indeed, the real fireworks occur right on the page as the author struggles between what seems to me to be his natural misogyny and utterly unprecedented radical feminism.

    Let me back up a bit. Ludovico Ariosto was in service of the d'Este family when he was commissioned to write Orlando Furioso (this was during the old days of patronage). My good friend and enemy Will has suggested that there were a number of powerful female figures in the d'Este family, and so, to appease them, he included a number of unbelievable female characters. I think a scene towards the very beginning serves as a fine illustration. Sacripant, a Saracen knight comes across a Christian knight in the woods and seeks to do battle with him. He is, of course, masculine and burly, and has never lost a tilt. He charges at full speed towards the Christian knight, all ablaze with rage, and, to his shock, he is clouted. He's tossed aside like a ragdoll. Angelica watches the whole thing, and he asks her who it was who unseated him. It's then that Angelica replies, "You must know that the rare valour which swept you from the saddle was that of a gentle damsel." And, indeed, the Christian knight is Bradamant.

    And that's just the beginning. Bradamant, and the Saracen Marfisa, spend the rest of the book tearing dudes up—Marfisa especially. She is an absolute terror. She has a wonderful speech in the twenty-sixth canto. After her male comrades are defeated, Mandricard, who is the victor, lays claim to Marfisa as a trophy. She replies with the following:
    "You are badly mistaken. I allow that you would be correct about my being yours by custom of war if one of these men you have overthrown were my lord or my champion. But I am none of theirs; I belong to nobody, only to myself: who wants me must first reckon with me. I too know how to wield a lance and shield, and more than one knight have I overthrown."
    Bam! Take that, sucka!

    The story is full of utterly astounding feats by Bradamant and Mafisa, but, at the same time, they're not wooden characters (or at least as lifelike as their male counterparts), given to fits of doubt and desperation, as well as jealousy and rage. They are full characters, and probably some of the best in all of literature.

    Theses characters, of course, wouldn't be that surprising if they were created by a female author for a 1970s fantasy novel, but this is a 16th century romance written by a man. What gives?

    Well, unfortunately, this isn't the whole story. The rest of the book is plagued by a low-level but ever-present misogyny. The narrator himself takes time away from the story periodically to rail against women for being manipulative, greedy and false. At one point, an inn keeper relates a story to Rodomont in which a man leaves his wife for the first time in his life, despite her protestations, to travel for a month, or so, but then forgets something when he's only a few hours away, returns, and finds his wife in bed with a stableboy. It's a typical story told around this time in Italy (cf. The Decameron), but the narrator, at the beginning of the canto in which it occurs, writes, "Ladies...by all means disregard this tale which the innkeeper is preparing to relate to the disparagement, to the ignominy and censure of your sex". Yeah, buddy, sure. This story of the innkeeper's is utterly unimportant to the plot; it has no reason to be there. You included it because you wanted to, and no written apology is going to undo that.

    The book is filled with little bits like this. There's a ridiculous misogynist story that has nothing to do with the plot that's related, or the author uses some negative epithet to refer to women, and then he apologizes (or does so before [or both]). This isn't speech, though; there's plenty of time for revision. He wanted these things to be in the book; he just felt he should apologize for them to try to smooth things over with his female patrons.

    So it goes. Before leaving the book, though, I'd also like to point out how human the Saracens are. They are the enemy, certainly, but the only error they're guilty of is not being Christian. Otherwise, they're praised for their honor and strength, and many Saracens, once they convert to Christianity, or esteemed as highly as the paladins. It's quite a change from what one sees nowadays, where enemies are portrayed as stupid, barbaric or downright evil. And these are invaders, mind you. Their express purpose is to destroy Christian civilization and supplant it with Saracen civilization. Even so, they're still portrayed as human. We could learn a thing or two from this book...

    Without a doubt, this is one of the most enjoyable books I've ever read. From start to finish, it's all action, and all awesome. This is pretty much exactly the book that I wanted to read while I was a child. And, if it weren't for all the sex and graphic violence (sooooo many people are sliced in half from the top of their head to their crotch...), I think it would be a great children's book: Lots of action, short scenes, magical, and expansive. If you like reading, you'll like this book. Definitely give it a try.

  • Categories: Classic, Comic, Epic, Fantasy, Italian, Long, Poetry, Translation, War, Worthwhile

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The Song of Roland

Anonymous



Rank: B
No. Times Read: 1
Last Read: Summer, 2010
Reviewed By: Dave
Date Review Added: 7 / 28 / 2010

  • Review: All I have ever heard about The Song of Roland was that it was terrible. I've heard it was boring, pointless, not as good as other epics—you name it, I've heard it. Well, guess what: It's actually not that bad.

    Now, don't get me wrong. The Song of Roland is incredibly stupid. I just think the abuse it receives is undeserved. The writing is good enough (the English translation I read was highly musical), and some of the scenes are slightly memorable. It's not a wasted afternoon if you're on a train.

    Here's what to expect if you give this a read. Charlemagne, the big bad dude of France, is beating up on poor Moorish Spain. Marsile, the king of Zaragoza, is getting tired of it, so he plans to offer fealty to Charlemagne, only to renege on the promise when Charlemagne has left Spain. Charlemagne needs to send an envoy to Zaragoza to receive these terms. Roland, the baddest knight in the land (though you wouldn't know it by reading this), suggests that his stepfather, Ganelon, go. He does this because he likes him, and thinks this mission will be to his credit. Ganelon, for some reason, thinks this is going to be an incredibly dangerous mission and is likely to get him killed (why, I have absolutely no idea. Seems like a standard diplomatic affair to me), and he hates Roland for nominating him. So to get his revenge, he (get this) decides to betray France. He goes to Spain and tells the king that if he pretends to accept the terms of surrender, Roland will lead the rear guard out of Spain, and then they can jump him and do him in.

    I didn't even know what I was reading when I read this. I mean, really?! Who does that?!

    Anyway, things work as Ganelon plans, and Roland and the rear guard are ambushed. His friend, Olivier, says to him, "Hey, why not blow that horn that, apparently, the entire French army and Charlemagne can hear so they can come back and help us beat these guys. Without them, we're outnumbered ten to one; with them, we outnumber them ten to one." Roland, though, plays it cool, and is like, "Nah...let's see where this is going." Then they start killing the French. Still and all, he's all like, "Well, you never know. We might make a comeback..." Then they're all dead, and Roland is mortally wounded. Then and only then he decides, "Okay, maybe we should call for reinforcements." So he blows this magic horn, and Charlemagne knows it's him, but even then, Ganelon tells him, "Nah, no way, man, that ain't Roland. That's just some hunting party or something." Finally, they go, they see Roland's been killed, along with everyone else, they get pissed, they do some slaughtering, they do some sacking, King Marsile loses a hand, etc.

    In the end, Ganelon is tried, and rather than listen to arguments, they have him fight some other dude, since, apparently, "Almighty God" will allow the righteous one to win. The righteous one does, and Ganelon is put to death along with 30 of his closest friends and relations.

    Now here's the best part. After all this is done, and things are settled, Charlemagne goes to bed, and is approached by the angel Gabriel, who says, "Hey, buddy. Go fight some other war in some city you've never heard of. And do it now. Cause I said so." To which the emperor responds:
    Right loth to go, that Emperour was he:
    "God!" said the King: "My life is hard indeed!"
    Tears filled his eyes, he tore his snowy beard.
    I laughed long and loud when I read that. Are you kidding me?! Hundreds—probably thousands—of people were just brutally slaughtered (Ganelon was quartered), and here's Charlemagne saying, "My life is hard indeed!" What a prick! Everything's just got to be about him. His name should be Charle-ME-n.

    All right, so if I have to be completely truthful, this epic probably isn't worth reading. The plot is just silly; I can't get behind it. It's also incredibly preachy. There are some wonderfully-told bits (the repetitious parts, actually, where the poet goes back and repeats essentially the same thing four or five different times in four or five different ways), but not enough to rescue the work as a whole. In particular, Roland, in this tale, anyway, just isn't much of a hero. He doesn't do enough, for starters, and then he acts rather stupidly and gets killed. You can't even call his death tragic, as his "fatal flaw" is...what? Calling for back-up too late? Calling that pride is, I think, giving it more credit than it's worth (which is not much).

    Today, one, I think, goes to the epic to read about fantastic feats, or to bring history or ancient peoples and figures to life. This story is by no means fantastical enough (the most fantastic thing I recall reading [other than the divine intervention, which is lame] is a horse which jumps 50 feet. I mean, really? Have a horse jump the Atlantic Ocean and then we'll talk), and the characters are not interesting. Aside from Olivier, they all seem rather cowardly or stupid—and those are the most interesting ones. So while I didn't hate it, by any means, I don't think I can recommend it.

    However, I still contend that it's not as bad as everyone says it is.

  • Categories: Classic, Epic, French, Poetry, Short, Translation, War

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Journey to the West

Wu Cheng'en



Rank: A+
No. Times Read: 1
Last Read: Summer, 2004 to Summer, 2009
Reviewed By: Dave
Date Review Added: 4 / 20 / 2010

  • Review: Talk about a long, strange trip... Journey to the West is, by far, the longest book I've ever read (my edition was over 2,000 pages divided into 100 chapters), and certainly one of the most unique. It is considered one of the Four Great Classical Novels of Chinese literature, and of those, is probably the most fantastical. It took me five years to read, but it was well, well worth it.

    I've got quite a lot to say about this book, so either strap yourself in, or leave this review for later. This one's going to be a doozy...

    Let's take it from the top. What is this book?

    Calling Journey to the West a novel, and suggesting that it was written by Wu Cheng'en is a bit misleading. While it's true that Wu Cheng'en is the most likely author of this particular version of the story, he was by no means the first—nor did he invent this tale wholecloth. Instead, the version of the story we have today can be considered the endpoint of centuries of collaboration and oral history passed down from generation to generation.

    The story of Journey to the West was inspired by an actual journey. In the seventh century, a monk named Xuanzang was said to have traveled from China to India to obtain the Buddhist scriptures for the Tang emperor. It took him seventeen years, and he even wrote an autobiography, so there's plenty of detail about his journey. Nevertheless, fantastic stories began springing up from all corners about his adventures traveling from China to India and back, and these stories formed the basis of the novel Journey to the West.

    Though the stories changed hands many times and were elaborated and exaggerated over the centuries, there are a few overriding themes and characters which I'll sketch out briefly before delving into a full summary. Sanzang, the incarnation of the Buddha, is sent by the Tang emperor to India to obtain the scriptures. On his journey he's helped by three disciples: A stone ape called Monkey, a pig beast named Pig, and a kind of ogre named Sand.

    With the basic outline down, let me give you a more detailed summary.

    In the days of old, lightning strikes a great stone on the Mountain of Flowers and Fruit and produces a monkey. This is the great hero of Journey to the West. Monkey quickly becomes the ruler of all the other monkeys, and trains under a Taoist master to become more powerful. Not being satisfied with all this, though, Monkey undertakes a series of adventures to become the most powerful being in the universe.

    First he travels to the Underworld and removes his name from the rollsheets of the dead, assuring himself (and his fellow monkeys) immortality. Then he goes up to heaven and basically wrecks up the place. He demands to be given the title "Great Sage Equalling Heaven" to show that not even the ruler of heaven is better than he. While in heaven, he eats a fruit that gives him immortality, and then gets drunk. Thinking they can be rid of him, the heavenly soldiers stuff him into a furnace to burn him up. Ho, ho, but that only makes him stronger (not kidding)! The fires refine his essence, so that Monkey becomes invincible. In order to calm him, they give him an official task (he's made the protector of the horses), but that's not enough for him, of course.

    Then Monkey meets his "match" (see below for my comments on this). The Buddha decides to fix Monkey once and for all. He grabs Monkey and puts him in his hand and tells Monkey that if he can jump out of his hand, he'll be the ruler of heaven. If not, the Buddha will imprison him. Monkey fails, and the Buddha slams Monkey down to earth, imprisoning him beneath a mountain where he's trapped for five hundred years, with nothing to eat but hot gravel.

    At this point, the novel enters its second stage. The story shifts to the Tang empire, where the emperor has a terrifying dream. In it, he mistakenly beheads the king of the dragons, and as punishment, he's ordered to retrieve the Buddhist scriptures or else. He engages a holy monk named Sanzang to do so, and Sanzang sets off on his task.

    Before he sets off, Sanzang meets with Boddhisattva Guanyin (basically a deus ex machina). She gives him a special headband and instructs him to find three disciples to help him on his journey (as well as gives him a horse that used to be a dragon). It's Sanzang who, a chapter or two later, frees Monkey from underneath the mountain. He frees him on the condition that he become his disciple, and agreeing, Sanzang puts the headband the Boddhisattva gave him on Monkey's head. This is the only thing that can control monkey. See, the headband is magic, and if Sanzang says a particular magic spell, he can tighten the headband, causing Monkey endless torment. Monkey absolutely hates the band tightening spell, and will do anything to get Sanzang to stop saying it, or to prevent him from saying it in the first place.

    After this, Monkey helps Sanzang get two more disciples: Pig, a lecherous lout who's Monkey's comic foil, and a nondescript fellow named Sand. With the band all together, they set off for the Thunder Monastery in India to get the Buddhist scriptures.

    Now comes the bulk of the novel: More than 80 chapters that are nearly identical. All of them go roughly like this:

    Sanzang and the gang have traveled x number of miles and come upon a foreboding mountain/city/castle/cave/monastery. Monkey takes a look at it and says, "We should stay away from there. There are demons in there." Sanzang, Pig and Sand (none of whom have Monkey's powers) can't see any demons, so they berate Monkey, saying he's being superstitious, and that they should move on. Monkey protests, and Sanzang, getting upset, threatens to say the band tightening spell. Monkey recoils, and they press on, heading to the foreboding mountain/city/castle/cave/monastery.

    Once inside, the demons spy Sanzang, and, having heard a rumor that anyone who eats his flesh will gain immortality, abduct him straight away. Pig, terrified and lazy, says they should all go their separate ways. Monkey says, "No, we have to save him." Reluctantly, Pig agrees to help. Monkey tells Sand to stay with the horse and the luggage (Sand's most important [and only] task).

    Monkey goes to the mouth of the cave/castle, etc. and insults the leader, saying something like, "Hey, you dirty tadpole! This is your great, great grandfather speaking! If you give up the Tang priest now, I'll only beat you half to death! You better do as I say!" The big bad guy hears this and sends out a junior devil to see what's going on. The junior devil sees Monkey and is terrified. He reports back and says that there are two ugly monks outside, and that one of them looks like a Thunder God (for some reason, Thunder Gods look like monkeys, and anytime anyone sees Monkey, they say he looks like a Thunder God [rather than he looks like a monkey]).

    The big bad guy, fed up with the insults, goes out to fight. He and Monkey and Pig fight a hundred and twelve rounds, with no one gaining the upper hand. Seeing that he might be losing, the big bad guy unleashes his super secret weapon, and manages to escape and/or capture Pig. Monkey, annoyed, gets on his somersault cloud and flies up to the Western Gate of Heaven for help.

    The guys up in heaven just can't stand Monkey, of course. They know what he did once upon a great long while ago, and they just want him to leave, so they agree to do whatever he asks. They send down some soldiers to fight the big bad guy, and so they all go down to the cave/castle, etc.

    Unfortunately, not even this works. The big bad guy uses his super secret weapon and bests the armies of heaven. Humiliated, they all go back, and Monkey makes more of a clamor, and so they give him someone who's really good (like Prince Nezha or the Boddhisattva). When they get there, they manage to get the big bad guy out and capture him, and Monkey's about to kill him, when some heavenly person cries, "No, stop! I know who that is. It turns out that's my stag/horse/lion/tiger that went missing hundreds of years ago. He must have come down to earth to cause mischief. What a naughty stag/horse/lion/tiger you are! Come back at once!" And so the big bad guy, who is actually some pet of the heavenly being, goes obediently back, Sanzang and Pig are safe, they make a couple jokes, and they move on.

    Now imagine reading an expanded version of that (this is the short version) about fifty times over. That's what it's like to read Journey to the West.

    But hey, unlike a bad anime, this one actually does have an ending! And what an ending it is! Unbelievable!

    So, after like 96 chapters and more than 2,000 pages, you, the reader, along with Sanzang and the gang get to the Thunder Monastery. After reading all that, it feels like you too have been journeying for fourteen or fifteen years (or, in my case, five). What happens is nothing short of astounding.

    First, in a small section I actually found a bit sad, the gang has to cross the river that separates the living from the dead. Monkey, Pig and Sand, who are already immortal, can walk right across without any problems. Sanzang, however, tries to get in and sinks. He's afraid. Monkey tells him not to worry and snickers, and in something that seems like a dream, he points out to Sanzang that he's okay. He lifts him up on the water, and points to his body (Sanzang's) floating away downstream. And so, their lives behind them, they head up to the Thunder Monastery.

    Along the way, they're stopped by two lesser buddhas. The buddhas bug them to give them...something; I forget what (money?), and as the travelers have nothing on them, the buddhas decide to play a trick on them (more on that later).

    They get to the top and a great vegetarian feast is laid out for them. Then they meet with the Buddha and ask him for the scriptures. The Buddha, naturally, refuses. Yeah, that's right: He refuses. He says the scriptures are too important to just be handed out willy nilly, but he says he'll have some of his disciples copy out some of the less important scriptures, and they can take those with them. And then he shoos them away. The entire scene probably takes up less room than my description of it.

    So they go to his disciples, and who do they turn out to be but the lesser buddhas that were bugging them on the way up. They recognize the gang, and decide to copy out what scriptures they're allowed to take with them in disappearing ink. They load up these scriptures on the horse, and the gang heads down the mountain.

    Monkey, being a bit sharper than the rest, decides to look at the scriptures at some point, and he notices that they're blank. Ticked off, they all go back, and Monkey reads Buddha the riot act. The Buddha kind of laughs it off, but then, finally, has half of the scriptures copied out (in real ink), and they leave Vulture Peak.

    After this, they get back in four days (magically), Sanzang gives his sermon, and each of them receives a reward. Both Monkey and Sanzang become buddhas; Sand becomes an arhat; the horse (the dragon prince, remember) becomes a naga; and Pig becomes an altar cleaner (he eats whatever's leftover when people leave offerings).

    And there you have it.

    If you've gotten this far (and, no we're not even close to done yet), you may be wondering, "Why should I read this if it's so dull and repetitive?" Repetitive it may be, but dull it is not, and that's thanks to two characters: Monkey and Pig.

    First, Monkey is one of the most extraordinary characters in the history of literature (though you won't find him in any top ten list since no one reads anything written east of Russia). He's whimsically wistful, arguably invincible, and utterly incorrigible. I mean, he goes down to the underworld to strike his name off the registers of the dead so that he'll never die! He makes the gods in heaven tremble! And yet he's one of the most likable characters you'll come across. He literally laughs in the face of danger (multiple times a chapter), and never shows any concern over anything (except that band-tightening spell).

    Combining him with Pig was a stroke of genius. Pig is lazy, loud, stupid and coarse, and he and Monkey are always at loggerheads. Their over-the-top antics are reminiscent of The Three Stooges. I remember one scene in particular. Sanzang has been captured (for probably the twelfth time), but this time, Pig all of a sudden grabs the luggage, throws it on the ground and proclaims, "Well, it's over! Let's split the luggage up and go our separate ways." Then Monkey, of course, conks him on the head and tells him they're going to save the master. The book is filled with little scenes like this that make the whole thing (yes, the whole thing) a joy to read.

    Despite this, the book has some serious flaws. Consider, for example, one of the four "main" characters, Friar Sand. What's his deal? I don't really know, and I've read the book. That's because in all 2,317 pages, you can probably fit Friar Sand's lines on five pages—and most of them will come form the chapter where he becomes Sanzang's disciple. I figure that Wu probably realized around chapter 40 that Sand wasn't getting much action, and he figured at that point that it was too late to rescue it, so he just gave it up.

    It's hard to imagine what role Friar Sand would play, anyway. In battle, Monkey's the invincible one, Sanzang's the weak one, and Pig is the bumbling one. Friar Sand is...pretty good at fighting? And that's it.

    In social settings, Sanzang alternates between pious and wise and a blubbering coward. Monkey alternates between brash and brilliant, and Pig is...well, Pig (they don't call him "the Idiot" for nothing). Friar Sand doesn't add to this dynamic, and interjecting him would only intrude. Some of the best scenes in the book involve Monkey, Sanzang and Pig all arguing over something (Monkey makes Pig upset, Pig complains to Sanzang, Sanzang tries to punish Monkey, Monkey tries to explain, etc.). In fact, if you removed Friar Sand from the book entirely, no one would notice—and the result would probably be better. That's something that shouldn't be said about a book.

    In addition to the troubling issue of Friar Sand, the book isn't very well written. The prose doesn't "sparkle": it's merely there. That might have something to do with the poetry (I'll get to that in a minute), but for one of the greatest novels ever written, it's just not written very well. It's adequate, and that's the best you can say for it.

    The repetition has already been mentioned, but I haven't said anything about the curious dei ex machina. Frequently Wu will have a great big battle, and then the monster will be defeated somehow, and then after that, someone like Monkey (or the narrator) will explain, "Wu Bajie was lucky, because he remembered his Ring of Golden Rain, which made him invulnerable to the monster's attacks". Of course we haven't heard of the Ring of Golden Rain before, but that's just the beginning. This thing isn't even introduced when it's relevant (i.e. when Pig's in danger). Wu will introduce it after the conflict has already been resolved as a further explanation of how it was resolved!

    The book is filled with issues like this. If you want to read this book, you have to take all of them and just swallow them up whole. If you stop at every issue like this that arises, you won't get past chapter 1.

    One of the most notable features of the novel that I haven't mentioned yet is the poetry. If the book comprises more than 2,000 pages, I can say, without exaggerating, it also comprises more than 3,000 poems (and yes, I realize that comes out to more than a poem a page; I'm still probably underestimating). In chapter 94, for example, there are 21 pages and 23 poems. Some of them are short (just two lines), others longer (the longest is about four pages long), most are somewhere in between (a quarter of a page to half a page long), but all of them are important if one hopes to describe the structure.

    Each chapter of Journey to the West usually begins with a small poem, and then the action moves thus. Sanzang et al. come across some mountain or castle (as mentioned above), and there's a poem to describe it. Then when they meet up with someone, Sanzang or Monkey will have some little poem to explain a point (or make a joke). Then when Sanzang is abducted, Monkey will battle with some demon, and the entire battle will take place in a poem that usually sounds something like this:

    Cudgel and sword clash in the sky!
    The cudgel booms like thunder,
    The sword flashes like lightning.
    One fights to save his master,
    The other to defend his cave.

    Plus a few more lines like that. Then the narrator will find a way to insert six to ten more poems here and there before the chapter is up, and the chapter will always come to a close with a little two line poem. By the end of the book, I was able to recognize the different types of poems, even though the poetic styles themselves weren't translated (by this I mean you can translate the meaning of something like a sonnet without preserving the strict structure of a sonnet. These translations were similar).

    What fascinates me about the function of the poems is that they're considered...authoritative, I guess you can say. Most poems are introduced by the stock phrase, "and here's a poem to prove it." To prove it! So, for example, they'll come across a woman who's very beautiful, and the author will say as much in prose, but that, evidently, isn't good enough (I mean, since it's in prose, it could be false!). In order to say anything with any authority, it must be proven with a poem. Just wild!

    Though the book is a delight, there are several issues that trouble me—or that, at least, still have me thinking. The first is Monkey's encounter with the Buddha.

    As I mentioned before, the Buddha dares Monkey to jump out of his hand. If he can do so, he'll admit defeat. Monkey fails to do so, though, and the Buddha imprisons him under a mountain.

    Now, it's clear why this makes sense allegorically. Monkey is trained by a Taoist monk, and one of the main points of the book is that Buddhism is "the" way. Therefore, Monkey, as a representative of "inferior" Taoism, is supposed to be defeated by the Buddha. But despite what happens, I maintain that that matchup is unfair.

    When Monkey is given the challenge, he leaps for what he considers to be miles and miles and miles. When he lands, he urinates to mark his territory, and then he jumps back into the Buddha's hand (why, I can't fathom). Then, of course, the Buddha opens his hand, revealing that the urine puddle Monkey left was just in the corner of his hand (again, allegorically, the Buddha is omnipresent, blah, blah, blah), and thus the Buddha gets to exact his punishment.

    But the Buddha tricked him! Monkey thought he was out of the hand, so he stopped trying to escape. If Monkey had realized he was still trapped in the Buddha's hand, he would have tried again to leap out, and would have been wary of his instincts which told him he had escaped. It wasn't a real defeat: It was trickery—knavery! As far as I'm concerned, the battle between Monkey and the Buddha isn't over.

    Plus, the Buddha's a jerk.

    But, of course, that's not the only time the Buddha disrespects Monkey. There's the biggest one: The arrival at the Thunder Monastery. Monkey, Sanzang et al. spend years traveling to receive the scriptures—and Sanzang dies, even!—and when they get there, the monastery dwellers treat them like dirt, and they don't even get all the scriptures—the Buddha even insults them when they ask for the scriptures. And this is supposed to be their deity?

    After 90+ chapters, this climax is short, disappointing—even insulting. It's not just Sanzang and his monks that took a long journey to reach that point: the reader does, too. Pragmatically, one might consider it a dodge of some sort—that is, perhaps the author didn't feel up to the task. After all that build up, he simply wasn't equal to an incredible ending, so he went the totally opposite route. Another possibility is that it's actually a "lesson" we're supposed to learn—that even after a long and epic struggle, we're nothing but crumbs to the greatest forces in the universe, and we should consider ourselves lucky that they don't wipe our existence off the face of eternity. Perhaps it's a lesson in humility. Whatever the reason, though, I know that that ending was a lot easier to write than a super fantastic mega-epic ending. You got off easy, Wu.

    It would be criminal of me to finish this review without mentioning the terrible, terrible edition I read. The best translator ever to touch the story is widely considered to be Arthur Waley. Unfortunately, he only ever produced an abridged version (only 30 of the 100 chapters), which means that to get an unabridged version, you have one of two choices: A complete translation by Anthony C. Yu with an "extensive scholarly introduction and notes", or the one I read: a complete translation by W.J.F. Jenner with...notes. First, the translation is a bit clunky. I have to praise Jenner for his work translating all those poems, but the writing simply isn't crisp. This, I'm sure, is partly the writer's fault, but I can't help but wonder what a full translation by Arthur Waley would look like.

    That aside, though, truly understanding this book requires a wealth of knowledge about Chinese culture, literature and history. As I don't have that, I was hoping to make good use of the notes and annotations provided in this edition. That, however, was a big mistake.

    First, the book has 51 notes. With the book totaling 2,317 pages, that's about one note every 45 pages. By way of comparison, Canto 19 of Paradise in my edition of Dante's The Divine Comedy has 25 notes. Canto 19 of Paradise is four pages long. Given that The Divine Comedy is 428 pages, that comes out to about 2,675 notes in The Divine Comedy, or a little over 6 notes per page—which, I might add, sounds about right, and is what I would expect from an annotated text.

    The paucity of notes might be forgiven if their quality were exceptional. But read some of these notes!

    • A name for the planet Venus. (This was a note attached to the phrase "the Great White Planet". Oh really, translator? Thanks for clearing that up! Now would you mind telling me what the significance of the planet Venus is in Chinese astrology, and in this section of the book—you know, something useful?)
    • The insect Lycorma delicatula. (Oh, thanks! You pointed out one of the hundreds of creatures that I've never heard of and given me its scientific name. That helps, really!)
    • This poem is full of technical terminology from boxing. (Outstanding! And what might those technical terms be, pray tell…?)

    This book was written in 16th century China. Is this really what I need to know?

    It's literally impossible to fully grasp this book reading the Foreign Language Press edition. Every single sentence is packed with allusions to Chinese history, cosmology, geography, literature, agriculture... Everything. Not to mention the Buddhist and Taoist stuff. All of this would have been background knowledge for an average 16th century Chinese reader. Things have changed quite a bit since then, though—and I've never even lived in modern China—and the book is translated into English!

    But that's just the tip of the iceberg with the FLP edition. If the book is 2,317 pages long, there are probably at least 4,634 typos (i.e. two per page). It's like either no one proofread the copy, or the ones setting the copy were incompetent. One can expect at least one transposition (e.g. "teh" for "the") on every page, and several more troubling errors every couple of pages. I'm not saying that I or the average web surfer is any better, but we're not being paid to do it!

    And hey, speaking of who's doing it, this brings me to another troubling issue. The Foreign Language Press is a Chinese company, and, as such, is under the same strict surveillance that the entire population of China is. This FLP edition of Journey to the West comes with an introduction written by Professor Shi Changyu from the Institute of Literature of the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences. And what an introduction it is! For example, apparently the Wu Cheng'en "pokes fun at Sanzang's dogmatic defense of the sacred tenets and the malpractices prevalent in contemporary Buddhist circles." Furthermore, "Pig's clumsy actions and speech are invariably hilarious, but the laughter he elicits is tolerant but sad at the same time. This is because the weaknesses in Pig's character are not unique or accidental; they are common traits of the Chinese character." Do tell!

    While sometimes informative, the introduction is just torturous to read. The book must be defended at every turn for being somehow beneficial to China, while at the same time praised for being critical of religion and every time period but the present. The introduction itself is a sad commentary on the state of intellectual discourse in modern China.

    In case it still isn't obvious, I do not recommend reading the Foreign Language Press version of Journey to the West. Perhaps the edition by Anthony C. Yu isn't any better; I don't know. But the cons of the FLP edition outweigh the costs of trying out a version one hasn't seen before.

    The impact that Journey to the West has had on the world since its publication is...staggering. I don't think I would be overstating things to say that most (if not all) modern manga/anime have been directly influenced by Journey to the West (and certain shows, like One Piece and Dragon Ball, make direct references to the book). Perhaps a better way of characterizing it is that Journey to the West changed popular storytelling in China and all countries for whom China served as a cultural beacon from the 16th century on. The book even spawned an inquel—an entire novel whose action takes place between two chapters of Journey to the West! Measured purely by its influence, Journey to the West is probably one of the greatest literary works in the history of the world (pretty good for a book whose writing isn't stellar!). Now comes the toughest question of all: Should you read it? The book is long, no doubt about that. It's certainly worthwhile, but the cons of the FLP edition are numerous. None of that, though, can take anything away from the comic genius of Monkey, Pig and Sanzang. Their antics are so much fun! Even though the action is repetitive and formulaic, the banter and back-and-forth makes it all seem fresh, and makes one want to keep reading. I wouldn't trade that experience for the time lost reading the book. So while we can all hold out hope that the edition of Journey to the West will come our way some day, in the meantime, I maintain this is certainly one to read at least once before you die. It was truly a delight.

  • Categories: 4GCN, Art, Chinese, Classic, Comic, Controversial, Cover, Epic, Fantasy, Long, Philosophical, Poetry, Translation, Worthwhile

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The Theogony

Hesiod



Rank: C
No. Times Read: 1
Last Read: Fall, 2009
Reviewed By: Dave
Date Review Added: 12 / 20 / 2009

  • Review: So, I was trying to think of the worst joke possible to open this review, and I came up with the following:

    Person A: So, I heard you read Hesiod's The Theogony. What was it like?

    Me: Oh, Theogony!

    Ta da!

    Actually, it wasn't that bad (The Theogony, not the joke. The joke was that bad). After all, it's really short, and it's not too terrible. The thing is...it's not really a story.

    If I can go back to the beginning, Hesiod is a dude who's most famous for writing something other than The Theogony. In fact, if you go to a place like Amazon.com and type in "theogony" (I'm assuming that you, like me, type in all lower case letters when typing something into a search window), what you get is a half a dozen books whose titles are something like Theogony and Works and Days, or Works and Days and Theogony, etc. Evidently Works and Days is his most famous. Makes me wish I'd read that instead of this.

    Back to The Theogony, it's an epic poem, stylistically, but it really has no business being an epic poem. What it is is a catalog of the various Greek gods and their origins. That might sound exciting, but it's rather dry—something like the book of Numbers in the Bible. Undoubtedly, the average American is familiar with some of the stories (e.g. Athena springing forth from Zeus's head), and some of them are, admittedly, pretty wild. Unfortunately, what Hesiod is chiefly concerned with is writing a kind of genealogy of all the gods, and so he keeps the stories short (usually a couple lines, if that). The result is a great big list.

    If The Theogony has any real value today, it's as a reference work. If ever you find yourself wondering who Hephaestus's parents are, or if he has any brothers or sisters, this is the place to go (for example, did you know that Zeus and Hera are brother and sister?! I had no idea!). If you want a good story—or, really, any story at all—go elsewhere. If this were written today, it'd just be a list on a webpage compiled by a fan. Since the old Greeks had no internet, we got The Theogony. Guess that means the internet is a...good thing? Bad thing? Just a thing...?

  • Categories: Epic, Greek, Poetry, Short, Translation

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Forest of a Thousand Daemons

Daniel Olorunfemi Fagunwa



Rank: B+
No. Times Read: 1
Last Read: Summer, 2009
Reviewed By: Dave
Date Review Added: 9 / 30 / 2009

  • Review: Wow. What a fantastic and frustrating book.

    Allow me to explain. I would dearly love to give Fagunwa's Forest of a Thousand Daemons an A+, but the nature of the story simply will not allow it.

    The story follows the adventures of a hunter named Akara-ogun. In the present day in the novel, he's an old man, but he comes to tell his story to the narrator, asking him to take it down. What he relates is a wonderful tale of action and adventure.

    To give you a small sample, without going into too much of the plot, at one point during his adventures Akara-ogun comes across a creature named Agbaka. Agbaka challenges him to a duel, and they fight for several hours. Eventually, Akara-ogun begins to tire, and, noticing this, Agbaka stops the fight, and offers him food and wine. They sit down and partake together, and after Akara-ogun is quite refreshed, the fight begins anew. This time Akara-ogun takes out his sword which Agbaka breaks, after which Agbaka stops the fight, fixes his sword, gives it back to him, and the fight begins again. After the fighting continues, Agbaka actually breaks off Akara-ogun's arm, but, just as last time, he stops the fight, reattaches him arm, and demands that it begin anew.

    The scene is an incredible one, and the book is filled with them: Akara-ogun's time in the Kingdom of the Birds; the story of how his father accidentally killed his mother, the daemon, not recognizing her in animal form; the time Akara-ogun, a human, spent as a mount for a gnommid (pictured on the cover image above). Unfortunately, these scenes are tied together rather loosely. Akara-ogun, the old man telling the story, often will separate stories in a manner as follows: "That was the first time I entered the Forest of a Thousand Daemons. Several years later, I thought I would enter it again." And then a new adventure begins. It has no relation to the first at all, and what happened in between we're completely unaware of.

    One might rescue this disjointedness by saying, "Well, he was just telling the interesting stuff to the narrator; he glossed over the boring parts." Perhaps. But what's even more frustrating is the parts he skips over during his stories. For example, after he and his party escape the Kingdom of the Birds, he says something to the effect of (and I wish I could supply you with a direct quote here, because it's about as short as what I'm about to paraphrase, "Then we passed through the Kingdom of the Animals and the River of Blood. We lost several men along the way. It was quite an ordeal." And that's it. What happened in the Kingdom of the Animals? What is the River of Blood? No clue. But why?! Why skip over something so fantastical?

    My adversary and I came up with a couple of theories as to all the missing information. I thought that perhaps he only had a certain amount of paper, and so he had to leave some of the story out. (It certainly seems this way at the end, where the master of a mansion of seven rooms tells Akara-ogun's band that he has seven lessons to teach them over the course of seven days, and they'll spend each day in one room. First we read about day one in the first room. Then we read about day two in the second room. Then we read about day seven in the seventh room. Wha...?! What happened to days/rooms three through six...?) Another idea is that he simply didn't have very much time to write the story. He was getting down as fast as he could, but the clock was ticking... I theorized that perhaps after he finished, Fagunwa discovered the story was a little short, so then he went back in and added all these details and adventures that were alluded to but not expanded on just to make it seem like he had even more ideas than he had room for, when in fact, all he had was already in the book.

    A cryptic comment in Fagunwa's Wikipedia article has suggested to me another theory. Though it's not clear what precisely that poorly-worded sentence means, the Wikipedia article suggests that this book was written for a contest. This was Fagunwa's first novel, and his first real success. I wouldn't be surprised if it was written for a contest. If it was, then there may have been a number of outside constraints on the writing of this novel that led to its unusual style. For example, the contest may have had a page limit. Fagunwa also may have been trying to finish the novel quickly so he could get it in before the deadline. Who knows?

    Whatever the reason, Forest of a Thousand Daemons reads like a wonderfully-written half-finished novel. I would wholeheartedly recommend it to anyone, with the caveat that you're probably going to want more from the novel than it can give you.

    [Note: This novel isn't really an epic, but it does incorporate folk traditions and oral histories, to an extent, so I decided to label it an epic. Just, you know, because. Whatever the reason, though, you can be sure that there were absolutely no outside motivating factors that led me to call it an epic. None whatsoever.]

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