I'm trying to get back into the swing of things.
It's been a few years since I read anything by John le Carré, but I think Our Kind of Traitor sounds excellent. (I picked up A Most Wanted Man recently.) I don't blame him for wanting to be removed from the shortlist for the Man Booker International prize. Really: does anyone give a shit about literary awards anymore?
I've spent the last month or so reading Alex Haley's The Autobiography of Malcolm X. I picked it up thinking it was something I should read--I knew almost nothing about Malcolm X, aside from others' views of him (he's a racist hate-preacher or a color-blind human rights activist, depending on whom you ask). I've been pleasantly surprised--his autobiography is fascinating, and what's more, he's a very intelligent and sensitive person. He's certainly no racist. (While working on the book, he broke with the Nation of Islam, and his views veered towards international human rights, rather than domestic civil rights.) I haven't finished the book yet, but it's completely engrossing.
I finished Philip K. Dick's Flow My Tears, the Policeman Said. It was a fun acid-trip novel. Taking place in a bleak police state, the novel revolves around a television and recording star who, overnight, ceases to exist. Not literally, of course, but every trace of his existence--his identity cards, his birth certificate--has disappeared, and no one remembers him. People don't recognize him, and lovers don't know who he is, and there's no evidence that he'd ever starred in a television show or recorded an album. I don't know how I managed to ignore Dick for so long--I may have read a short story of his--but it'll be interesting to delve into his work. (Aside: looking over his bibliography, I think he may have come up with some of the worst titles in the history of American letters.)
And that's all I have for you, kids. Enjoy your weekend.


