authors, artists, characters, buses.

i spend an awful lot of time on the bus. i spend an awful lot of time on the bus, avoiding eye contact and conversation with other people on the bus. i spend a lot of time avoiding offending people on the bus, unknowingly. it’s a chunk of my day dedicated to books over people. and yet, i haven't written anything in here. it's incredible how many people one person is capable of ignoring at the same time.

i feel blocked up with potential reviews of books. it has been so long since i wrote anything... i was thinking all week how i could string them all into one. i came up with a few solutions but dear lord, tedious…

so i’ll break this down into 3
contents:
- no one belongs here more than you: stories by miranda july – miranda july
- the body artist – don delillo
- after dark – haruki murakami



if it were possible for books to transform people into slightly better people... i would put miranda july near the top of the list of authors who have that potential. in her craft (‘craft’ just she’s a lady of so many hats) there's no targeted cause for generosity—like environmentalism or some niche of community you could hone your better-person lasers on. it's just the level of all-encompassing attentiveness you're exposed to in her material... whether or not that wears off or strikes you as being indulgently “cutesie”.

i am not much for cutesie writing, but there is attentiveness (even if i don't always jive with adorableness, sensitivity, or whimsy–i can appreciate attentiveness) and crassness and inappropriateness which makes her not entirely attractive. just when you think it's darling enough to fall in love with a character, she says or does something so impulsively crass or obsessive it is off-putting. she isn't out to make people fall in love with her characters, if you pay attention she disfigures them with honesty. and i appreciate that.

while i read her short stories i was certainly more attentive to the people around me. there seemed to be more interesting details, more significance… maybe it softened my edges for a week or so, before i returned to “raging jerk” status. in other words, if i were concerned with becoming a slightly better person, i might read more miranda july. not that i won't, anyway.

reading don delillo's the body artist a month or so after no one belongs here more than you , it's easy to compare/contrast the characters. miranda july’s characters are often...well, her, and it is surprising when she suddenly reveals a physical description of a woman that’s the opposite of herself. you just know it's autobiography, wrapped in detail. in the body artist the main character, lauren, has characteristics similar to miranda july's characters–similar to miranda july herself. it was difficult to remember the author was not only not miranda july... but also a man.

the authors went off in two directions. their dialogue was similar. the characters' phrasing, the curious, sporadic, impulsive natures... inquisitiveness they share. how darling lauren is, is never really that certain. and i'm not sure how to feel about the moments when she takes sexual liberties with the almost incapacitated stranger in her house.

it's difficult to tell where they break on physical characteristics. delillo doesn't offer character description. you have dialogue, you have internal dialogue, you have observations other characters make out loud to give you a nudge–but there is nothing stated. you get to know a character like you would a real person, and it takes a whole story to form any conclusive idea. or at least, at that point you're left with your conclusions.

all this made reading haruki murakami's after dark somewhat trying. it was difficult to suddenly enjoy the abundance of preparation, of description... every detail of room, character, setting, personality, background laid out for you. i found it a little unlikeable. i would like to borrow someone's wind-up-bird chronicle or something else from him, so i know if it is just the juxtaposition of one to the other in that instance that makes me less than "in love"...

actually, tell me. what do i concentrate on? with murakami, what do i try to enjoy? the descriptions were tiring, the characters were more than a little forced... there were a few moments where he described things in beautiful ways, sensations he turned around and made unusual comparisons... enlightening. but sparse. and is that all?

if anyone has any thoughts on what they love or enjoy about murakami, i'd be interested.



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books read:
no one belongs here more than you: stories by miranda july
the robber
the brand gap
copywriter's handbook
here is where we meet
coming through slaughter
cosmopolis
white noise
the body artist
the music of chance
people of paper
divisadero


still reading:
only revolutions

books bought:
john berger trilogy
danielewski only revolutions
paul auster the music of chance
john bainville the sea
woody allen mere anarchy

to get:
first print of kerouac's on the road
some more kelly link (if anyone has recommendations)
lydia davis's translation of swann's way

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