How To Read A Book by Mortimer Adler and Charles Van Doren

As both my regular readers will know, sometimes I worry that I just don’t get major works of literature. Either the entire literary establishment is wrong or I am. Bearing in mind my tendency to write loops that never exit, I think it’s probably me. A couple of years ago, I hoped John Sutherland would tell me what I was doing wrong but he was peddling the politically correct line about how everyone’s opinion is equally valid.

If there is one thing that How To Read a Book is not, it’s politically correct. For example, the authors write “men” when they mean “people” and the tone of the whole book is generally like being lectured by the kind of pipe-smoking old man who belongs to a dining club. Here’s a taste,

“…most readers are at a total loss if you ask them to say briefly what the whole book is about. Partly this is owing to the widespread inability to speak concise English sentences.”

Woah… That’s me put in my rambling, ungrammatical place! Still, the book was published in the 70s; maybe slagging off your readers was OK back then. The gist of the book is that despite reading all the time, most of us never lift our comprehension above the level that we achieved in Primary School. Not only is there a lot of finger-wagging in their style, but there are actually a series of exercises in the back of the book!

At least there are some things I've been doing right: my approach to fiction which is to read it as quickly as possible, desperate to find out what happens, living in the imaginary world of the book and allowing the author to manipulate my emotions is apparently exactly how first readings should be done. The trouble is that I should then go back over it and start deconstructing but I can rarely be arsed. I also have their permission to carry on marking pages and writing in the margins of my books - their you go E, I'm not just an uncultured vandal! One of the things I've been doing wrong for years is missing out the introductions, prefaces and so forth. My rationale was that the book should stand or fall on its own merit and shouldn't have to be propped up by various bits of extraneous crap. I have now been firmly ticked off and informed that these are proper parts of the book and not optional extras.

According to the authors, there are 4 questions which you should ask when you read a book: What's it about as a whole? What are the detailed arguments? Is it true? and so what? They also define 4 levels of reading:

1. Elementary Reading – understanding the words you read
2. Inspectional Reading – using indexes, contents, and scanning
3. Analytical Reading – understanding. Looking at structure. Making judgements & drawing conclusions
4. Syntopical reading – what I would call “reading around” a subject. The only time I’ve ever done this was for A level history!

Don’t panic if you didn’t know what “syntopical” meant. They made it up. They also believe that syntopical reading is aided by using the Sytopicon - a new kind of reference book designed by Adler to allow readers to look up sections of famous texts by subject or idea. It sounds pretty horrific to use in book form so no wonder they're trying to drum up some sales here. I think it might work a lot better as a website, though, so maybe this is an idea who's time has finally come.

Despite the fact that this is less of a book and more a series of tellings-off, there are still some pretty inspirational bits. Apparently, up until the 20th century, books on science, maths and philosophy were intended to be read by intelligent lay readers rather than experts so there is no reason that with a bit of work any of us shouldn't be able to understand the works of Euclid or Plato or Darwin. Imagine reading Euclid!

In brief: I can’t like these guys, but I suspect that they’re right. I've certainly trundled through enough books half asleep and come out the other end non the wiser.

Suspecting isn’t enough though – I am a woman of science! I must therefore put “How to Read a Book” to the test: Having finished it, I now plan to try to put these techniques into practise by reading one of the truly scary books from my shelf which I’ve been putting off for years, “The Prince” by Machievelli . Stay tuned to see whether I manage to make head or tail of it, or whether I just go back to reading children’s books…

Between The City and The Conveyancing

This week I have mostly been reading “The City and The City” by China Mieville and it has been a messed-up, paranoia-inducing experience. The book is mostly a detective story, with an added is-this-a-fantasy-novel-or-not guessing game attached. Imagine that Aurelio Zen (link) got seconded into a Kafka story; that would be close to this...

Inspector Tyador Borlu works in the Extreme Crime Squad in the city state of Beszel which, as far as I can tell is somewhere in the Balkans. Like East and West Berlin, Beszel is a divided city; half of it is another city state called Ul Qoma and relations between the two are decidedly frosty. Unlike East and West Berlin, there is not a clear dividing line between Beszel and Ul Qoma: the land has been parcelled out street by street or even building by building with some shared areas known as “crosshatching”. So you might live in Beszel, and your next door neighbour might live in Ul Qoma and if you wanted to pop round and borrow a cup of sugar, it would be completely illegal just to nip round there. You would have to apply for a visa and if you got it, you'd have to cross over at the official boarder, Cupola House, in the centre of both cities. Not only is it illegal to step across the imaginary line from one city to another, if you are in the crosshatched zones you are not even allowed to acknowledge people from the other city, you have to “unsee” and “unhear” them. This makes driving round Beszel/Ul Quma very difficult as you have to avoid the foreign vehicles without officially seeing them. If this description of Beszel/Ul Quma sounds stupid or contrived, consider that cities are full of imaginary lines, zones where one type of person or another can't go and people you have to unsee. All of this bizarre behaviour is enforced by Breach. Citizens of both cities live in fear of Breach which they believe is constantly observing them. Breach is judge, jury and executioner for anyone who fails to keep to the rules. I spent most of the book trying to work out exactly what Breach is: Is it an imaginary bogey man to make the citizens police themselves? A Big Brother style secret police force? Is it even human at all?

At the beginning of the book, Borlu is called out to a poverty-stricken housing estate, to find the body of a young woman who has been murdered and dumped there. Pretty soon he discovers that she was a Canadian archaeology student called Mahalia Ghery who has been working in a dig in Ul Quma. Mahalia was researching Orciny – the fabled city which exists between Beszel and Ul Quma controls both. At first, Borlu cannot believe her research had anything to do with her murder – Orciny was a story Besz parents would tell their children at night before the Disneyfication of their country. But if Orciny doesn't exist why was Mahalia killed? And who is behind the official interference in the investigation? Inspector Borlu follows the trail all the way to Ul Quma, but eventually he cannot track the killer an stay within the law, and Breach comes for him...

I'm not sure what it is about this book that causes the paranoia. Perhaps it is the fact that I don't know anything for sure: I don't even know what kind of book I'm reading. Is it the kind of book that has magic in it, or a fairly straight detective story? Is it something in the language itself that feeds the uncertainty? If I knew what that magic ingredient was, I'd add it to all of my work emails in a quest to make my boss soil himself. The author's photo at the back of the book certainly doesn't help: with his bald head, piercings and muscles, China Mieville looks like the kind of surfer you really wouldn't want to drop in on. Maybe it has nothing to do with the book at all – maybe it is the other thing I've been reading this week, the enormous pile of documents from the solicitors handling my conveyancing which has caused my paranoid imaginings...

Lesbian Vampires in Jam!

I have recently been reading "Carmilla" by J. Sherridan Le Fanu. This is the kind of book I really like because when someone asks, "What's that you're reading?" you can reply either, "Nineteenth century Gothic literature." or, "Lesbian vampires!" depending who's asking. Carmilla was an early and vampire story and one of the books which served as inspiration for
Bram Stoker's Dracula. The story is narrated by a beautiful nineteen-year-old who lives in a castle with her father and tells of how the mysterious Carmilla comes to stay with them. Carmilla doesn't get up until the afternoon, suffers from a strange illness and wants to touch the narrator inappropriately. Soon local peasant girls are found pale and dead and as the narrator begins to suffer from a bizarre langour, her father is eventually prevailed upon to call in the vampire hunter.

At the end of the novel, there are still a substantial number of loose ends: Carmilla originally arrived with her mother, who is presumably a vampire too and still on the loose. There was also an old woman in their carriage as well, so that's two of them. And what about all the peasants Carmilla drained? Are they coming back from the dead as lesbians? I am a little surprised that the narrator can see one vampire killed and assume that all is now well. If the book were more modern I would assume the extra vampires were being kept alive for the sequel, Carmilla Bites Back.

Amazon Recomendtions - A Rant

The problem with the recommendations that Amazon comes up with is that they are similar to what you read already. This is all very well, but I can't help but think that they might be partially responsible for the fact that when I used to hang out on Bookcrossing, I kept meeting apparently intelligent young women who read nothing but Janet Evanovich's Stephanie Plum novels. Don't get me wrong, they are good books (about a comically inept female bounty hunter) but why would you read nothing else at all?

If I buy, say a Terry Pratchett book, Amazon will suggest that I read all his other books, but I didn't need it to do that; I obviously know about Terry Pratchett already. To be useful it needs to come up with a book I didn't even know about.

Here's how it should work: once Amazon knows I have read and liked a certain book, it should suggest something as different as possible for my next read. For example, if someone likes "Little Women" they should try "American Psycho" next. If they've been reading James Joyce, their next book should be "The Tiger Who Came To Tea", just to stop their head exploding if nothing else. People who read nothing but fast-paced thrillers should be steered towards the European rail timetable. If you will only read science fiction, Amazon should throw you a Mills & Boon. If you read romance, your next book will be a hunt for a serial killer. If you read books suggested by Oprah or Richard & Judy, Amazon should give you no help at all, forcing you to grow up any think for yourself. I think you're getting the idea...

My point is that by limiting ourselves to one kind of reading, whether it be kooky girl detectives or Dragon Crack, we avoid developing any further. It's good for us to be confused and puzzeled every so often. The trouble is that we like the comfy and familiar. My anti-recommendations would supply us all with a useful kick up the arse.

Dreams and Disasters: A History of Innovation Gone Wrong by Adam Hart Davis

I'm going to write to Adam Hart Davies and tell him to go back on do this again properly. It's a good idea but the execution is slap-dash, presumably in order to try to cash in on the success of “What the X Did For Us” in time for Christmas one year.

This book is also rather let down by the quality of the paper and the images. For example, there is a picture of Babbage's difference engine which is just a big, black blur. Just as well we're able to look up what it actually looked like online!

And it doesn't have a proper finish. It just stops right in the middle of

Holes by Louis Sacher

By now you will probably be wondering just how many children's books I have on my shelves that I haven't got round to reading. The answer is a truly shameful amount. After all, it's one thing to keep putting off “Ulyses” or “Gravity's Rainbow” and quite another thing to put off reading Shadowmancer or Lyrial. I haven't even finished the Harry Potter books; I got in huff after the fifth one was so long and so very rubbish... Anyway...

Stanley Yelnats is the fat kid at school who nobody likes, then his life gets a lot worse when he is falsely convicted of stealing and gets sent to Camp Green Lake. The camp is in a dried up lake bed in the desert, which saves the warden the bother of having guards and fences; any boy who runs away will be dead in 3 days. It is also plagued by yellow spotted lizards with a deadly bite. In ths setting the junior convicts must each dig a hole five feet deep and five feet across every day, on the grounds that this will build character. However, anything found in the holes must be shown to the warden – what is she looking for?

The back cover of my book describes it as a detective story, but I think it's more like a fairy story. And the warden ( a five-star psycho-bitch who paints her nails with rattlesnake venom) makes a brilliant wicked queen.

Holes is well-writen and easy going, but if even tht is too much bother, there's a film with Sigorney Weaver in the role of the warden.

Conrad's Fate - Diana Wynne Jones

As my house moving steps up a gear, I am back on the children's books!

“Conrad's Fate” is one of a subset of Diana Wynne Jones's books which feature the character Chrestomanci, an immaculately-attired, nine-lived enchanter and one of the many fictional characters I quite fancy. These books take place in a universe with magic and generally follow the form: a bunch of kids get into worse and worse trouble, until finally Chrestomanci turns up in his tophat and tails, looking humpable and saves the day. Alas, in this book, he is only 12, so you can't lust after him or you'll be hauled away by the police*.

Anyway, back to the plot. Conrad lives is a small resort town in the English Alps with his mother (a renowned feminist author) and his uncle (a bad lot). His uncle runs a bookshop and Conrad has to work in the shop and do all the housework because his mum can't allow herself to be exploited. Looming over their town is the huge castle where the count and countess live. The magic practised there is rumoured to be responsible for all the bad luck in Conrad's family, and the reason his end of the village can never get TV reception. Conrad's evil uncle convinces him that he has terrible Karma due to failing to kill someone he should have killed in a previous life. Conrad is then dispatched with appropriately dire magics to the castle to get a job as a footman and redeem himself when the opportunity comes. On the way he meets a mysterious boy called Christopher who can use magic and claims to be searching for his missing friend.

I enjoyed this book up to the end where, sadly, the denuement really didn't work for me. I am decades older than the intended audience and very fussy, but this was rather a disappointment. It turns out that the Count and Countess are actors and the real Count is the person we all thought was the butler. We are supposed to believe that the Count wanted to see his residence restored to its former glory by the use of magical equipment to play the stock market stored in the castle's wine cellar and the only way he could do this was to disguise himself as his own butler. Bollocks! Come on DWJ, you can do better than that!

*For anyone else who likes Chrestomanci, here's a breakdown (as far as I can remember) of which books he's grown up in, and which he's a child in.

• baby chrestomanci : Charmed Life, The Lives of Christopher Chant, Conrad's Fate

• grown up: Witch Week, The Magicians of Caprona