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Book Review: Appointment In Samarra (1934)

[ 9 / 10 ] With my last couple forays into the "Modern Library Top 100 Novels of All Time" ending in disappointment, I was yearning to find something truly great on the list. Against all expectations, I found what I was looking for in Appointment in Samarra. Named for a short story by W. Somerset Maugham in which a man has an inevitable date with death, the novel is aptly named in retelling the tragic tale of socialite Julian English. Julian and his wife Caroline are the pride of the 1930's social circuit in the small, fictional city of Gibbsville, Pennsylvania. Life seems to be nothing more than parties, drinks, and enjoyment. But when Julian makes one bad decision, he sets off a string of events that irreparably change his life for the worse. This is a relatively short and lightning-fast read, mainly because of the skill demonstrated in John O'Hara's writing. Interestingly enough, not too much really happens in the story - despite Julian's fall from grace, I would argue that the story is not that complicated or eventful. But despite that, it is an extremely engrossing read, and is a delight from start to finish. In my opinion, that is the triumph of a great writer; given a simple story, he can make it marvellous without mucking it up. At the risk of sounding blasphemous, the best way I can describe Appointment in Samarra is to say that it is everything The Great Gatsby wishes to be...

O'Hara's story does not solely focus on Gibbsville's wealthy and famous - it does well to provide a cross-section of small-town life. Portions of the story are devoted to exposees on everyday workers, troubled kids, and even mafiosas. However, the focus is mostly on the Englishes and their friends. Julian is not your typical wealthy snob; though he does not want for money, he has a down-to-earth personality, and as such is very likable. His relationship with his wife is healthy and poignant, described touchingly in one of the several sections in which O'Hara steps away from the developing plotline in order to provide backstory. These interludes are excellently done; they always seem to occur at the perfect time, never disrupting the pace, and always providing crucial tidbits of character development.

There are several striking things about the story. Obviously, Julian's fall itself is so tough to swallow simply because he is such a sympathetic protagonist. Despite some bad decisions, and a tendency to drink too much, he's an easy character to like and identify with, making his eventual end that much more dramatic. Perhaps more importantly however is the fact that it comes about due to such minutae. The tale is so tragic because the crucial decisions and actions which lead to the conclusion seem so minor at the time. Despite this, the story seems so realistic; it is no stretch of the imagination to understand how several misunderstandings, lapses in judgment, and cross words can cause a man's life to spiral out of control. It makes life seem so fragile that you can't help but hope that a similar series of coincidental circumstances doesn't befall yourself or one of your loved ones.

And above all, I cannot stress enough how well the story is written. There is no fancy prose, no innovative writing techniques, no complicated flashbacks or linear tricks; it is simply the work of a good writer telling a tale that could have occurred in Anytown, USA. It is interesting both as a period piece and an examination of the fragile foundations on which many people build beautiful facades. If you're one of those people who always wondered what all the fuss was about with The Great Gatsby, I urge you to give this book a read and compare.

As a treat to any diligent readers out there, I'm including Maugham's short story "Appointment in Samarra", because it's a great little piece:

A merchant in Baghdad sent his servant to the market.
The servant returned, trembling and frightened. The
servant told the merchant, "I was jostled in the market,
turned around, and saw Death.

"Death made a threatening gesture, and I fled in terror.
May I please borrow your horse? I can leave Baghdad
and ride to Samarra, where Death will not find me."

The master lent his horse to the servant, who rode away,
to Samarra.

Later the merchant went to the market, and saw Death in
the crowd. "Why did you threaten my servant?" He asked.

Death replied,"I did not threaten your servant. It was
merely that I was surprised to see him here in Baghdad,
for I have an appointment with him tonight in Samarra."

Book Review: A Passage To India (1924)

[ 5 / 10 ] E.M. Forster's last and most influential novel about British-occupied India and the cultural tensions between the two peoples is a daring work, considering the timeframe in which it was written. Penned before the true emergence of Gandhi and the independence movement of his nation, A Passage to India shed light on the problems posed by British occupation - indeed, for many readers it was probably their first exposure to the issue. The story takes place in the small town of Chandrapore, and follows the daily routine of several Indians and the British occupiers with whom they interact. Though relations are tense and far from ideal, they abide under a fragile relationship, until a misunderstanding between a British lady and Indian doctor causes the foundation to crumble and hostilities to come out into the open...

The crowning achievement of Forster's story, and the thing which makes it an interesting read, is the frank look at the differences between the two cultures. The British population are generally as you might expect them to be - the men, being in positions of authority, treat the Indians as subordinates, while the British women see them as vermin. The men interact with the natives because they must in order to "enforce British rule", and though they are mostly civil in order to keep tensions at a minimum, it is clear that they think themselves superior. The women throughout the novel are crude, dismissive, and altogether contemptuous. The Indian characters, by contrast, are a bit more multi-dimensional. They are overly willing to please, as their culture seems to dictate, and they mostly seem content with a subordinate relationship with respect to the British. Yet, at the same time, they fiercely love and cling to their culture, traditions, and superstitions; any attempt to infringe on these causes strife.

The striking thing about the novel is how it sheds light on the power of subtlety; misunderstandings and mistaken assumptions steer the course of events throughout the story. This is no more clear than in the central crisis of the novel, a trial in which an Indian man is accused of assaulting a British woman. The reader knows from the outset that the man is innocent, yet it is staggering to watch how the Brits' unwillingness to consider the man as anything but a criminal barbarian lead him towards conviction. They blind themselves with stereotypes and generalizations, never taking a moment to look around and realize that they are dealing with real people.

As you might expect, the story is interesting and proceeds quickly throughout the first two-thirds of the book. But then something interesting happens; at the conclusion of the trial, the book completely shifts gears, and veers hopelessly off-course. Though it does well at this point to peer even further into the Indian psyche, it is so disjointed from the framework setup by the rest of the book that it really ruins the mood and eventual conclusion of the story. While it does come back on track in the final pages, the damage is done. For me, the book suffers from the recency effect: though most of the novel was an intriguing read, I was set off by the bewildering final chapters. Nevertheless, it is worth a read, if only to get a feel for the period in history, and to gain a deeper understanding of the inherent flaws with the occupation of a foreign land.

Book Review: Under the Volcano (1947)

[ 3 / 10 ] Under the Volcano is a tough read, but I guess that is only fitting considering its tough subject matter. It depicts the tragic latter days of its lead character, Geoffrey Firmin, a British ex-consulate to Mexico. Recently resigned from his position due to tensions between the two countries, he lives now in the small Mexican town of Quauhnahuac. This is the least of his problems, however; his real struggle is with alcoholism. A self-deprecating and relentless drunk, the novel chronicles how his dependence on liquor drives him into a doomed spiral from whence he cannot recover. Despite the promise of hope, and the opportunity to escape his demons, he eventually succumbs to the inevitable. If it sounds depressing, that's because it is. Make no mistake, this is a dark and frustrating read. Complicating matters is the fact that the style which the author employs is very nonlinear, full of obscure references and meandering, almost stream-of-consciousness thoughts. These things alone are not enough for me to discourage others from reading the book - in fact, most of Faulkner's work shares the same characteristics, and are all worth a read despite the high level of effort required to complete them. But in the case of Under the Volcano, there's no real payoff. After 400 pages of slogging through difficult prose and macabre inner dialogue, I find myself no better, wiser, or more enlightened...

The novel begins not from Firmin's point of view, but instead from that of his friend Jacques Laruelle, one year after Firmin's death. His thoughts are dominated by frustration, echoing many of the same sentiments that most friends and family members of alcoholics must feel. We then rewind one year to watch the inevitable events unfold. Firmin's past is tumultuous, and his history is preoccupied with one person: his ex-wife Yvonne, who divorced him a year ago due to the alcoholism. The main portion of the novel begins just before the Day of the Dead in 1938. Yvonne shows up in Mexico to rekindle her relationship with her ex-husband, thus setting off a chain of unfortunate events that lead to their destruction.

Firmin is a "sophisticated" drunk, the kind who can consume inordinate amounts of alcohol and yet seem to behave perfectly normally from a stranger's point of view. But we can see through the minutae of his actions and the desperation of his thoughts that he his hopelessly dependent on the substance. He seemingly can't go 5 minutes without a drink, and it completely stunts his ability to interact normally with anyone. He is tragic in every sense of the word; he brings all of his troubles upon himself. He reveals that, despite constant written correspondence from Yvonne over the last year, he simply stored all the letters in a box, not replying or even reading them, although he knew all too well that just one word from him would have been enough to send her running back into his arms. When she finally does arrive in Mexico, he can't stay sober long enough to tell her how much he clearly loves her. And when she reaches out for him at the very end, he pushes her away for good and goes seeking escape.

Despite a potentially interesting plot, the book is simply a chore to read. I found myself completely unable to concentrate on many of the long passages of wayward prose. In all fairness, the one thing at which the book succeeds is in painting a portrait of an alcoholic; it is frank and merciless in its depiction of Firmin and how he wasted his life away through drink. There are also some moving passages that relate the private throughts of Yvonne and Geoffrey pining for one another; but in the end, it is all in vain. If it were a much shorter and more straighforward read, it might be worth a recommendation. But the amount of effort required to complete it is not nearly worth the little enlightenment provided by the story.

End Of An Era

Well, I believe the worst of my website worries are behind us. As of now, I am officially hosting my website on my own computer. The downside is that if my machine goes down, the website goes down. But since that rarely happens, and when it does, I tend to have it back up pretty quickly, you should see that the amount of downtime will significantly decrease - and there should never be anymore of those long periods of days/weeks where the site is inaccessible. So, the bottom line is that those of you who need your regular fix of my witty banter, you should be able to get it without any more problems.

I want to dedicate the majority of this post to a very significant event which occurred in my life this week. After 21 years of professional tennis, Andre Agassi announced that he is retiring at the end of this year. He just finished playing in his final Wimbledon, and his last tournament will be the US Open. Now, you might laugh at this being considered a "significant event", but allow me to explain. I'm guessing that those folks who enjoy watching sports already understand me, but for the rest of you, I offer an example which might be relevant to you. First, answer this question: who is your professional role model? Whether in your field or not, someone who you have admired and possibly even emulated their example? OK, now that you've answered that question, try this one on for size: How would you feel when they finally retire from their profession, and it dawns on you that you are seeing them in action for the very last time?

Whether it is a teacher, parent, athlete, or whoever, the fact is that it can really be a crushing blow when you realize that someone you have watched, admired, and supported for the vast majority of your life will no longer be around. I'll be honest: I got very emotional and teary-eyed seeing Agassi walk off of Centre Court at Wimbledon, the grandest stage in all of tennis, for the very last time. Of all the athletes which I have cheered for and followed throughout my life - including Jerry Rice, David Robinson, and Mario Lemieux - Andre has been the most important influence and the most inspirational of all of them. He is without a doubt my favorite athlete of all time.

There are so many different reasons for this. I think, as a kid, I was attracted to his attitude and image. He was such a rebellious bad boy in his early days, with the flashy clothes, the perm mullet, and the earrings. For a kid like me who was just getting interested in the sport, he was by far the most fun of the bunch. His flashiness and reckless style of play (and personality) had a lot to do with me becoming interested in tennis.

Then, there are the memories. I remember being 12 years old and sitting on the floor watching the 1992 Wimbledon final when Agassi beat Ivanisevic for his first Grand Slam title. I remember him falling to his knees, tossing his racket into the air, and beginning to cry. That was probably the single moment that I would say made me fall in love with the sport. Then there was the 1994 US Open final, where, after winning, he again dropped to his knees, and you can see him tearfully mouth the words "I can't believe it!". There was the 1999 French Open, when I remember sitting in my freshman dorm room watching him about lose to Arnaud Clement in the second round. Down two sets to one, and in serious danger of losing, I remember hoping, wishing, praying that he would find a way to get through that match. When he did, I knew something special was going to happen - and it did, as he went on to win that title and complete the career Grand Slam, something only 4 other men have done (Sampras not among them).

Speaking of Sampras - their career battle was undoubtedly one of the best 1-on-1 rivalries we've seen in recent sport. Though Sampras held a slight edge in the head-to-head record and tended to get the better of Andre in Grand Slams, there is no doubt that they both brought out the best in one another. I remember countless times, sitting in front of a TV with others, and being the only one pulling for Agassi - Sampras was such a grand champion, he was always the trendy pick, but I never wavered for my support of Andre, even after bitter losses. I particularly remember the 2001 US Open quarterfinal against Sampras, when he lost in 4 tiebreakers. Despite the loss, it was the best match I ever saw him play, and it remains the best tennis match I've ever seen.

But most of all, I admire Andre for how he remade himself in 1999 after tumbling to #141 in the world, a position so low that he had to play minor-league tournaments to earn his way into the Grand Slams. His early career was marked by recklessness and bravado, and he did not respect the sport, its history, or the hard work it demands to win. But then something changed; he took a step back, reevaluated himself, and decided he wanted to make the commitment to do his best. And from that point, he has been a different man ever since. In one year, he jumped from #141 to inside the top 10 - the quickest rise to prominence ever. His fitness was unparallelled, and even at 36 years of age, he remains one of the fittest on tour. But most importantly, he loves the game and respects the good fortune he has to be able to play a game that he loves for a living. He has given back to the sport, and his community in Las Vegas, in countless ways. He is a fantastic humanitarian and a great ambassador for his sport - and to think what he has become, considering where he started, has been such a great role model and example for me and many others.

And yet, in a few months, he will play his final match and then I will never see him on a court again. No more tournaments in which to root him on; no more fairytale championship runs; no more smiles and bows after dismantling his opponent. It's really going to be a tough time for me. Hopefully I have given you a glimpse of why that is so. As a parting shot, I think Greg Garber summed up the matter very well in a recent ESPN article written shortly after Agassi's final Wimbledon match:

Why do we root for our aging athletes with such passion? Because it's about us, really. If they succeed, somehow we succeed. Anything is possible. If they are somehow younger, for even a moment, then maybe so are we.