David Wroblewski's Wisconsin farm tale, The Story of Edgar Sawtelle, will surely hit the jackpot now Oprah's given the first novel from this 48-year-old Colorado software developer her official book-club seal of approval.
(It's a tough job; but, somebody's gotta rue it. As an antidote [versus dotes], there's always The Globe and Mail's dependable stand-alone treasury of bounteous bookerly beauts which this week features a fresh take on those curiouser and curiouser looking-glass pursuits.)
Oprah picked an excellent novel this time. "Sawtelle" is a work of genius, IMHO. The only fault I could find with it was the ending -- I wanted a different one. On the other hand, many people want a different ending to "Hamlet," too, and "Hamlet" is definitely the text inspiring Wroblewski here.
ReplyDeleteActually, Susan, I've heard it's quite wonderful, in and of itself; and, now, I can doubly trust that to be true because your taste and acumen's beyond reproach, IMHO.
ReplyDeletewhat I find So Oppressive, I guess, involves the way in which so many wonderful books fall by the wayside simply because the two-million readers in Ms. Winfrey's book club follow the leader unthinkingly (again, IMHO, since I don't own a television and have never read the woman's mag).
I suppose I ought to have made my reference to "rue" more transparent; and, for that I apologise. Hamlet, a play I adore (and cannot imagine ending any differently than it does), contains a couple "rues" (pardoning punishment :)); but, if you check late in the play (Act IV; Scene 5), the one featuring Laertes, Gertrude, Ophelia, et.al., the one concerning Ophelia's "losing it," you'll discover the lines to which I refer, those wherein Ophelia disperses her imaginary bouquet, so to speak; and, in so doing, gives "Rue" to the Queen while keeping some for herself because it underscores the sense of deep "sorrow" (which Rue symbolises):
"You must wear your Rue with a difference," however, says Ophelia to her (because of the death of you know who).
There's "Rosemary," "Fennel," "Columbines," et so forthia; but, I suppose in a literary blog, even those references were a little too obscure, perhaps?
Sowwy :(.
I also associate "O" with Ophelia, not Oprah, and it's sometimes disconcerting for me, too. Hope that helps clarify.
Good for Mr. Wroblewski; but, the overall book-club homogenisation of literature kind of gets under my skin. Just my humble opinion towards crass commercialism and the commodification of absolutely everything in this, the twenty-worst century. Others argue Tolle was an inspired choice; but, it's all subjective, when it comes to literature, isn't it, at some atomic level (without sources, footnotes, and dissertations of defenses :).)
It was a wee lit-treat, a garland, a garden, a gawddamned nightmare with a ghost (NTM the parasites, the hangers-on; and, natch, the "host") for those who know the significance of "Rue" in the greatest play every written (and, without the attendent scholarly support for my position, I must add that is simply my O-pinion, such as it is :)).
p.s. To further clarify, Susan, since it's Chaos Central here this weekend: When working as a TA in grad school, my professor was named Rosemary (which signifies remembrance, a fact which I never forgot since one of the books we taught was Fifth Business by Robertson Davies, still quite fresh at that time).
ReplyDeleteThere are also violets, those faithless blooms, perhaps a reference to Polonosiness :); but, IIRC, O., sotto voce almost, speaks of the way violets withered when she lost her father; but, as you will recall, Susan, at the conclusion of Hamlet, O. seems to allude to precisely that pivotal scene to reiterate her grief over her daddy's death, referring to his "beard . . . white as snow / Flaxen was his poll," a fact which reminds the audience that her grief is justified, as Hamlet's is, in the end/ing. (Poll . . . pollen.)
The grief of depression takes its toll, don't it? Oprah's the Queen of Everything Post-Cultural, IMHO; certainly, I made no judgment on her selection per se (and, not by accident); thus, I thought it was kinda appropriate; and, natch, we shall all rue the day when we're flattened by the edicts of what Da Harpie, er, Harpo, has to sell and say.
(M. J. Rose cites shocking stats on her blog to which Frank linqs. Scary, very very scary, at least, for a dame. I was good; I refrained from saying what Eliot implied in The Waste Land: Beware the glare of a woman which, IMO, has always proven to be too true to believe, at least, for me.)
Isn't Oprah the richest woman in Show Bitzthness? I don't know. This is not a statement of fact; rather, it's a rhetorical conclusion since, over the past decade, while working on my epic now completed, I've read, read, and reread Hamlet because of Orestes and Agamemnon, too many times to admit :). Is why. Is all. (HTWFY.)
p.p.s. In the middle of also showing my house this weekend, trying to sell in *this* market, BION. (Dear BVM, I hit my knees . . ..)