Bookstorm

I know the lights are often dark around here, and I'm still running low on gas (or high on laziness, depending on how I choose to interpret my unplanned and, I admit, welcome sabbatical). Every night, before falling asleep. I remind myself to take out a subscription to the New York Review of Books, but you know what they say about good intentions and the road to hell ...

Speaking of the road to hell, according to one Christian I met in a local coffeeshop, "If you keep reading that shit, you're going to go to hell."

"That shit," in this case, happened to be Salman Rushdie's The Satanic Verses. Admit it: Rushdie is a much better writer than God could ever hope to be. Jealous deity, indeed.

So I did the math, and this is what I came up with: Man + God = Ignorance.

Surprisingly, James Joyce's Finnegans Wake is turning out to be one of the most fascinating and entertaining books I've ever come across. The novel strikes me as The Three Stooges of literature: it's funny, with words haphazardly thrown together, so the overall effect is one of utter ridiculousness laced with an undercurrent of art. If the novel could be a painting, Finnegans Wake might be how a schizophrenic would reveal his innermost thoughts.

Despite the book's outward chaos, I'm picking up on a steady stream of religious references buried within the text. Like the rest of the novel, it's impossible to figure out how the pieces fit, but Finnegans Wake could easily be one of the most spiritual books ever composed. Terms like "cainandabler," "Anonymoses," and "Edenborough" crop up from time to time, not to mention the countless lines and paragraphs referencing religious characters and events. For instance:

He was fafafather of all scheme for to bother us
Slow coaches and immaculate contraceptives for the populace,
Mare's milk for the sick, seven dry Sundays a week,
Openair love and religion's reform,
(Chorus) And religious reform,
Hideous in form.

Anyone familiar with Joyce's work knows that Catholicism was a large part of his fiction, and while Catholicism is certainly present in Finnegans Wake, the book is more worldly, not only in ambition but also in execution. Joyce makes references to Judaism and Islam, as well as numerous pagan religions. Joyce, being from Ireland, was undoubtedly familiar with the religious strife that's always characterized that region. It's been said that Finnegans Wake is nothing less than a history of the world, but, given the novel's overwhelming spirituality, it may actually be nothing less than a history of faith.

Last week, while debating whether or not to start Leo Tolstoy's Anna Karenina, I realized that I was up to my neck in unfinished books. I had Nathaniel Hawthorne's The Scarlet Letter, Dante's The Inferno, Nick Hornby's A Long Way Down, Miguel de Cervantes' Don Quixote, John Milton's Paradise Lost, and Homer's The Odyssey scattered around my apartment, leaving me feeling as though I'd bitten off a hell of a lot more than I could ever hope to chew. Granted, I hadn't picked up Don Quixote in two months, and I've since finished Paradise Lost, The Inferno, and A Long Way Down, but while staring around my apartment, trying to figure out what kind of literary mood I was in, I wished, for once in my life, that I didn't have so many good choices. I hefted Anna Karenina, both intimidated and fascinated by its size and weight, and though the book draws my eyes from time, seeming to whisper, "Read me--now," I resisted the siren's song, telling myself that, as one of the greatest novels ever written, it probably wouldn't serve to have so many distractions on hand. Get three-fourths of the way through The Odyssey--get to the second part of Don Quixote--finish The Scarlet Letter--finish Anita Diamant's The Last Days of Dogtown--and then, I promised myself, I could focus on Anna Karenina.

Like most women, Anna probably doesn't like being put off, but having other girlfriends vying for her attention means that I'd be a lousy fuck who falls asleep after two minutes and one position. She'll thank me for the long wait.

It's rare, but there are times when I miss Colorado: the Sixteenth Street Mall, the mountains, the head-spinningly thin atmosphere, and, of course, the Tattered Cover Bookstore. I've yet to walk into a better book haunt, but I'm prejudiced--I don't think there is a better independent bookstore.

Working for a major airline certainly has its advantages--including free plane tickets. My recipe for reviving a stagnant love life involves a lovely bookish lady (yet to be named, if at all), two round-trip plane tickets, and an evening at the Tattered Cover.

That's the beginning of a perfect date, yes?