I suppose this comes under ‘rambles’. I’ve written on this subject elsewhere before and Alice has covered it on this blog. Whilst it may not be that reading in itself is social – exceptions: reading to others, sharing an audiobook – it still kind of is.

Reading becomes social. It becomes social once we’ve finished the book. (And, to some extent when we discuss it as we read, but I’m going to stick to the ‘aftermath’ here as it lasts longer.)

Reading becomes a social activity as a result of it being solitary. Unless we wish to read in a bubble, unless we never tell a soul about our interest in books, it changes the minute we finish. The desire to understand an ambiguous ending leads us to seek the opinions of others and whether it’s in person or online, we’re moving beyond isolation. We like to discuss themes. Good books make us want to recommend them, bad books make us rant and tell others not to read them – which is still discussion. Even the questions ‘have you read much?’ or ‘what are you reading?’ asked by distant relatives who don’t actually care cause reading to be social.

If we take it to its core, reading is a dialogue, a book created by both author and the reader. It’s a passive discussion, an ‘I’ll do this part and then send it over to you’ working process. We can’t read without the author getting us off the ground and a book lies dormant without a reader’s imagination and thoughts to bring it to life.

I’ve changed my stance, replacing the opinion that reading doesn’t have to be solitary, can be social if wanted, with the opinion (fact?) that reading is a social activity full stop.

At what stage do you think reading starts being social?

This has been a bit of a month! It started well enough, continued well enough, and then, as you know, the bots came in and messed about with my bandwidth. Being without a website, or at least being unable to use your website for fear you’ll expend the last bytes available, is a weird thing. You get so used to blogging that if it goes you’re at a loss for what to do with the time you spend on it… at least for a bit – I ended up making the most of the time, reading Philip Pullman and more Philip Pullman.

The Books

Non-Fiction

Cheryl Strayed: Wild – Strayed recounts her journey on the Pacific Crest Trail in the 90s, a time when her mother had died, affairs had overtaken her marriage, and she was in need of putting herself back together. Dubious, fact-wise, but a good quick read.

Fiction

Paula Hawkins: The Girl On The Train – Rachel mixes herself up in the disappearance of a woman she sees from the train window, a woman whose life seemed perfect. Very, very good.

Philip Pullman: Northern Lights – In a parallel world, Lyra goes on a mission to find her friend, a boy taken by child-catchers for reasons unknown, and finds herself embroiled in a theological operation. Impossible to do justice in one sentence, this young-teen fantasy is incredible.

Philip Pullman: The Subtle Knife – Will, from our own Oxford, runs away from men who are trying to get hold of his missing father’s possessions and finds himself helping Lyra. Very different to the first book but just as excellent.

Philip Pullman: The Amber Spyglass – It all comes to a head and the children must make life-changing choices. A very good book and quite moving, really, but I didn’t feel it dealt with the sorts of things the other books promised it would and it left many questions unanswered.

I had a basic idea to read long-awaited reads, following on from the couple of years of the planned Long-Awaited Reads events, and ended up reading 4 books towards it. (I’m including the as-yet-unfinished I Am China in that.) The books I finished were Strayed’s, the Hawkins, and the third Pullman. As I said last week, I’d never read it – the current score stands at 3 reads, 2 reads, 1 read for each book respectively. It’s taken about 17 years but the series is done; my books are all yellowed and the plastic layer of one of the covers is peeling off – they’ve served me well. I’m thinking perhaps I ought to re-read The Sally Lockhart Quartet to read the fourth book. There is something about Pullman’s books that makes them so real, especially the His Dark Materials, and I revelled in the feeling of not wanting to put them down. Can I say books I’ve already read were my favourite this month? I think so.

Quotation Report

I found it hard to write up this quote in my usual style, so here’s the extract from the book, The Subtle Knife, concerning Lyra’s first impressions of Will:

She tiptoed to the window. In the glow from the street lamp she carefully set the hands of the alethiometer, and relaxed her mind into the shape of a question. The needle began to sweep around the dial in a series of pauses and swings almost too fast to watch.

She had asked: What is he? A friend or an enemy?

The alethiometer answered: He is a murderer.

When she saw the answer, she relaxed at once. He could find food, and show her how to reach Oxford, and those were powers that were useful, but he might still have been untrustworthy or cowardly. A murderer was a worthy companion.

Hopefully the changes I’ve made will have fixed the website enough that there won’t be problems this month. Either way I’m going into February with two unfinished books and a long-term unfinished classic so at least there’s plenty to read.

Have you a new favourite yet this year?

Ahh, bots. They steal your bandwidth and cause no end of problems. Things should be back to normal on Monday and I will be posting my January round-up then. Have a good weekend.

Excuse the lack of images this week – things should be back to normal next month.

I believe I said in another post that I first read Northern Lights in my single digit years. That’s not quite right – on thinking about it I must have been in my early teens, but regardless my reading then was very different, as you might expect.

This is now my third read of the book, my second was a few years ago, and I know they say you learn more the more you re-read, the same way you notice the hints as to who the killer is that the film maker provided that you didn’t notice the first time, but in this first part of the trilogy, in my case at least, I’ve found it even more true.

I have always loved the book – it shocked and thrilled me as a teen and it continues to do so now – I think it’s going to be one of the books that will be our era’s contribution to the canon; but I find I appreciate it in a different way now. I understand it; in many ways, as much as this book was written for children – and you can see that in the writing, the character of Lyra who seems to have been created to appeal to both genders, and the odd words that push you to get out a dictionary and learn – this book is also for adults. There is so much more to this book than what’s on the surface and whilst a child would realise that, the depth itself, and the meanings, are surely most apparent and enjoyable as an adult. (I’m not sure how much re-reading has to play in this regard – I rather think a person who first reads this book as an adult will find it as fantastical as they would have as a child.)

Have I waxed lyrical enough? Yes; I think it’s time I moved on. I’m not sure if I’d be able to review this book in my usual way, hence this post. Perhaps I could but at this stage in my relationship with it, I just want to study it.

What struck me first this re-read was the name of the Pope of Lyra’s parallel Oxford – Pope John Calvin. I’m not sure if Pullman was looking to say much in particular as he does about later elements, I think in this case he’s simply setting the scene, showing as much as he can without relying on description that this is Oxford but it’s not the Oxford we know. And I think the similar-but-not-quite factor is what he’s going for, that it’s not just a parallel universe but is also a demonstration to the reader of what could happen if different choices are made, different histories written. My thought is that perhaps in Lyra’s universe Calvinism was the Catholicism (if we match ‘pope’ to ‘Roman Catholic church’ rather than the Reformation and Protestantism that our own Calvin was a part of). It’s the ruling class. Is Pullman saying something about Calvinism in particular? Perhaps, but it’s less certain. Is pre-destination a theme of sorts in the book? Not really – if anything the book’s about tricking nature, de-constructing what it means to be human – in this case what it means to be a human in this parallel soul-as-separate-to-the-body universe.

Most poignant, I find, is the daemon element. More than the severing, which is remarkably terrifying because whilst we do not have daemons we can consider a people trying to wrench our very selves away from our bodies, it’s the question of what the daemon’s actions mean that I find so literarily stimulating. (I’m going to have to officially coin that word at some point.) For me the discussion, well, allright, it’s more a device, between Lyra and the gyptian seaman pre-journey has more relevance as a comparison to our own world as it is important to the book. The way a daemon will stop changing, will assume one shape for the rest of the person’s life post-puberty. I think J M Barrie would say that Peter Pan’s daemon never changed – as much as a daemon is fun it represents the inevitable growth and maturity of a person. In many ways it’s a humbling reminder that as we mature we become who we were made to be, we grow into ourselves and our purposes in life. A daemon’s shape is the outward expression of its human’s mind, their person. But it’s also an almost regrettable reminder of reality – a daemon has fun changing and being many different things but then well, it’s time to grow up after a while, take up some responsibilities, be a steady and consistent person. And Pullman’s idea is to let this whole mode of thinking sink in slowly – a daemon is a ‘them’ or a ‘he’ or ‘she’ long before Pullman fully refers to a person and their daemon as an ‘us’.

Tony Makarios is the character I’ve just reached, and as horrific as the situation is, Pullman shows life without… ourselves. Without our emotions, without our passions, without ambitions and fears and hopes, Tony is who we would be. (A millennial book comparison would be Lauren Oliver’s Delirium, in which a person’s ability to love is medically removed, reportedly so that they can feel no pain.) On the surface the villagers who are frightened are frightened because they do not know life without daemons – they would view Will Parry, the character from the next book who is a human of our own kind in our own universe – as inhuman. But they also surely represent a worry about what we would be if we weren’t who we were. There’s nothing to be afraid of – Tony’s simply a boy in need – but they react in the way we do to difference, to a lack of self-awareness in others. And Pantaliamon’s desire to lick the boy – Lyra’s compassion – shows a basic empathy. In a book wherein we could brush it off with thoughts that people are afraid of a person who doesn’t have a pet, Lyra brings us back down to earth and reminds us of compassion.

In many ways I think it’s more important to discuss these themes rather than the obvious conflict between church and state, the church’s extreme power, just because religion has been discussed so much. That the Oblation Board is from a group from the church is a big statement from Pullman, alluding to that idea of the soul and God that of course here is being exploited, person-hood taken for church gain. It also speaks of a desire to keep children pure and innocent – the necessity for Lyra to go about her quest without knowing what she’s doing, pulling children and daemon apart in a misguided attempt to make things better, to take away their ability to do wrong. It’s Pullman looking at the Susan Pevensie problem. Keep Dust away, keep sin away and children pure, says the Oblation Board – don’t do that, says Pullman, let them be themselves.

I’ve never read The Amber Spyglass; I stopped after chapter two because I didn’t want it to end. I still don’t want it to end but after so many years it’s probably time I finished it. Perhaps there are no answers. Perhaps that’s part of the point – to explore the possibilities by yourself. I guess I’ll see.

What are your thoughts and, a specific question that we have been discussing together here, what do you think is the meaning of the gyptians? Is the inspiration the Middle East, gypsy travellers, both, or something else entirely?

My reading has been going quite well the last couple of weeks. As the three-in-a-row reviews showed, I’ve read a good amount. I’ve been enjoying it and making time for it – I think that was part of the problem. There wasn’t as much time as I’d hoped during Christmas so I needed to get back into it again.

I’ve been reading one star reviews of The Girl On The Train. I like to read others’ reviews once I’ve written mine and tend to opt for those who felt differently than I did. I’ve found there’s a big disparity in the way people feel about Rachel – people who feel that she’s depressed and for good reason, that yes she may be annoying but understandably, and people who think she’s pathetic. I think the disparity shows we need to speak about these issues more, make more of the signs that can slip under the radar.

I’m now reading Xiaolu Guo’s I Am China, a book I’ve had since it was released and looked forward to reading. I may actually give up on it soon – I know the political, historical, content is going to be excellent but the book itself is a ‘fail’ for me. Plot-device ‘characters’, no reason to care, distance. It’s been interesting to compare this to Anchee Min’s Wild Ginger which is set in the same period; Min’s book is shorter but very hard-hitting and does the job well.

Considering the Guo isn’t working too well for me but I want to finish it, I’ve picked up Northern Lights in the meantime. It’s a sort of readalong choice – I’ve read it twice already, once in my single figure years and again a few years ago, but I had the chance to read it with someone in real life and jumped at it – who doesn’t want to have a good book conversation when they’re at the same point in the book as the other person? In this case it’s a reread for both of us so there will be few ‘I wonder what will happen’ conversations, but it might result in a deeper consideration of the themes. I’ve decided to sum up my reading on Twitter so you might see me attempting to be witty about it every so often.

Lastly, I’m still reading The Spring Of Kasper Meier and things are looking up. It isn’t that it’s been a bad book up to this point, there’s just been a distinct lack of action; Fergusson’s now getting to the heart of what he wants to talk about and it seems there may be a few themes up for discussion – sexuality and the re-building of lives after war. I think what I like most about this book as a concept, is the backdrop, the way it’s a bit further forward in history to Zusak’s The Book Thief. Where that book ends, rubble, isn’t too far from where Fergusson begins and whilst they may be different genres and targeted to different age groups they keep an important story going.

How is your new year reading?