First, a [fluff] post inspired by Richard Posner, who still has time to write bad-ass book reviews in between handing down decisions on the Seventh Circuit and, well, actually writing books.
Pleasure reading is definitely one of the joys of post-exam life and summer in general. In the last ten days, I've plowed through Michael Chabon's "The Yiddish Policeman's Union" and Per Petterson's "Out Stealing Horses," two books that sated my appetite for both a "page-turner" and something more heavy (I know, they came out last year so many of you have probably already read them. I just didn't have time to get to them with law school or have the desire to spring for the hardcopy).
No surprise that Chabon produced the "page-turner," though I hesitate to use that description because it glosses over the complexity that you can glean from this funny, engaging mystery. I think that it's to Chabon's credit that his counterfactual historical premise doesn't come across as pedantic or self-conscious, which might put the book in the realm of really terrible "political" fiction. The idea of a Jewish pseudo-state in Alaska never seems too contrived to interfere with the plot and it provides a platform for more depth if you want to dig a little deeper in the historical/religious/political references. Not that I wasn't a little scared that the book would devolve into something ridiculous. For example, toward the end of the book, I was worried that the plot was taking a turn towards the utterly fantastic à la whoever the hell wrote the new Indiana Jones screenplay, but after perusing the "liberal news" online, I thought to myself, "maybe this isn't so far-fetched, especially considering the whole premise of the book." In any case, even if you think that Chabon gets too carried away with his counterfactual, it doesn't detract from how engrossing and fun the book is. And despite some messianic undertones, or perhaps because of them, it's hilarious.
Petterson's "Out Stealing Horses" is more psychological and personal, written in the first person narrative of an elderly Norwegian who man moves to a cabin in the woods to live out his dying days. This triggers a lot of introspection, some of it sparked by his intentional separation from other people, some arising unexpectedly from the impossibility of escaping human contact. It was a book that definitely fueled my already too romanticized desire to live in a cabin in the woods by a mountain stream, a dog frolicking in the snow, a couple of Dickens' novels on a side table near the fire, and a bountiful supply of fresh fish to catch and fry (not so much the outhouse idea, but then again, peeing in the snow does have a certain charm). But the beauty of this book doesn't lie in the return to nature motif. The protagonist's spartan lifestyle provides a backdrop that Petterson uses to explore thornier subject matter about family, the aging process, and the struggle for psychological quietude. It's a bit of a truism but I think that only an author from some bleak and magical country like Norway could write about personal tragedy and mortality with such grace.
I'm currently reading Oakley Hall's "Warlock," which will probably take me a couple weeks to finish, especially because I'm starting work tomorrow. Fun fact courtesy of James: Thomas Pynchon and Richard Farina were so obsessed with this book that they used to talk in "Warlock" language when they were students at Cornell in the late 50's. FYI, it's a Western, not a novel about witchcraft/medieval sorcery/dungeons and dragons/etc.
And yes, I'll get some legal stuff up soon.
