I am currently in the process of reading my second independent reading book, Picnic at Hanging Rock.  It’s a novel of mystery and suspense from the Australian author, Joan Lindsay.  The setting is a girls’ boarding school in Australia in the year 1900.  On a picnic to the nearby massive rock formation, Hanging Rock, three girls and a supervisor vanish without a trace.  The rest of the novel follows the ensuing investigation, revealing shocking human truths along the way.  Picnic at Hanging Rock is a novel of questions, not answers.  The book is full of mystery, but never once do we ever get the sense that Lindsay feels obligated to really attempt to solve the mystery.  That’s not the point.  The book is not a whodunit.  While revelations are come to about the girls (I won’t spoil anything) the rock at the center of the entire mystery remains shrouded in mystery.  With no satisfying literal conclusion, one must search for a deeper meaning in the text.  And believe me when I say that there is no shortage of meaning to be found in these pages.  What I personally got out of the story was a striking commentary on the social stigma around female emotions and sexuality and the repression of such “uncomfortable” ideas.  The rock is freedom from repression.  When the girls first begin to explore the slopes of the rock and shed their shoes and stockings, they shed any bonds that the school, i.e. the order and structure of everyday society, has over them.  When the girls disappear, they leave behind a younger girl, Sara, who wasn’t allowed on the picnic.  Sara has an infatuation with Miranda, the most beautiful and mysterious of the vanished girls, which Miranda may or may not share.  Whether it is simply a sisterly bond or something more scandalous remains unclear, but either way, I feel like it holds great meaning. I’m not exactly sure what.  Overall, Lindsay is master of creating a huge amount of depth for her characters and ideas.  The book is so rich, we feel as though there is so much about these character’s lives that goes unexplored, as if we are just reading the tip of the iceberg.  Despite this feeling, never once do we truly desire to know more than what Lindsay presents us with.  Any more would overcomplicate things.  Reading the text as it is, we already feel voyeuristic, as if we are witnessing something forbidden and secret.  And yet Lindsay relishes that feeling, basks in it, and we can’t look away. It’s too haunting.  With beautifully crafted sentences and flowing prose, the novel is truly deserving of its status as a classic. A film based off Joan Lindsay’s novel was made during the 1970s brilliantly directed by Peter Weir.  With a haunting soundtrack and gorgeous colors and cinematography, not to mention superb acting and direction, I would also highly recommend checking that out.  It is just as good as the book, if not slightly better.

For my first independent reading book, I read Anthony Burgess's science fiction epic, A Clockwork Orange.  For those that aren't familiar with the novel or the brilliant film adaptation directed by Stanley Kubrick, the narrative follows Alex DeLarge, a teenage hoodlum in a dystopian British society.  Alex is an amazing character, as he completely and genuinely lacks all remorse.  The story told from his perspective is extremely disturbing but gripping at the same time.  As it’s told in the first person, Burgess writes using all the slang that a teenager in a dystopian future would, which equates to an entirely new language in sections.  Thus deciphering the book is half the battle in reading it.  This writing style really makes the reader focus on contextual cues and syntax, making it a much more thought-provoking read than it otherwise would be.  That being said, I had seen the film before reading the novel, so I was already familiar with much of the language going into the text.  Looking back, I do regret this, as I could read the book easily when it was intended to be a much more in-depth experience.  It was, however, still a great read.  One part that especially stood out to me, and in a negative way, unfortunately, was the final chapter.  Originally, I had heard that the final chapter, in which Alex grows up and learns the error of his ways, was required for an American release so that it would have a happy ending.  However, upon reading the book’s introduction, Burgess states that this chapter was intended and that because the film left it out, he disowned Kubrick’s work.  Personally, I disagree with Burgess on this point.  In my opinion, I believe that the story works much better without the final chapter.  The final chapter seems to destroy the point of the film, which is to me to explore the limits of freedom of will and to demonstrate the general public’s psychological attraction to a protagonist of any type.  To have Alex grow out of his evil ways gives the entire story a different bent which, personally, I don’t think has a place in the novel.  Overall, though, I think the book is fantastic.  It’s a tale about constitutional rights and having a right to your own thoughts and actions.  The government tries to limit Alex’s violent tendencies with a new scientific procedure, and this is the main conflict in the book.  besides the disjointing of the last chapter, the text is brilliant, and the characters and themes fascinating.  I would gladly recommend it to anyone interested in cautionary tales or science fiction of any kind.  However, the film is extremely disturbing in many ways, so I would say that anyone who’s squeamish might want to steer clear of this one.  As a testament to the book’s power, I finished the text several days ago, and am still thinking about it today.  It truly is a lasting book. It has power.  Moving forward, I’d definitely like to read more of Burgess’s work.

            For my independent reading project, I’m still reading Stephen King’s first installment of the Dark Tower series, The Gunslinger.  So far it’s pretty awesome.  It follows a gunslinger in a fantasy old west-esque world as he follows a sorcerer clad all in black known as the man in black for as yet unknown reasons.  One thing I can say that King is a master of is gripping the reader from the very beginning by throwing them right into the middle of the action.  Even forty pages into the book, I have very little idea of what’s going on, and yet I find it very hard to put down. 

One of the ways King is able to achieve this is by creating constant undertones of tension.  In other words, you always get the sense while reading that something big and bad is brewing.  An example of how he does this in this particular book stems from the environment the gunslinger inhabits.  It’s a harsh, unforgiving world.  A town that he spends much of his time at is inhabited by mistrusting, inbred hillbillies and junkies jacked up on a plant called devil grass (basically weed on steroids).  This kind of thing being the general theme of the book creates a constant sense of unease in the reader.

I guess that’s the main reason I like Stephen King novels.  You never know what’s going to happen next, but you always know that something is going to happen.  This book has just done more to convince me that King is the master of subtext.  I suppose part of the reason that one always wonders what’s going to happen next is King’s reputation as one of the best horror author’s in the business.

But yeah, I digress.  This book is dope, so if you like Stephen King/horror/surreal westerns (kind of a specific category, I know) check it out, you won’t regret it.  I can’t wait to update the interwebs on what happens next on the journey of the gunslinger.

So I just finished my last book, Devil in the White City, and keeping with the dark themes, I decided to pick up a Stephen King novel.  As I decided to fully invest myself in a long-term reading project, I picked up the first in his longest and most near-and-dear series, The Dark Tower Series, the first of which being The Gunslinger. As his magnum opus, the Dark Tower series embodies all that is Stephen King, presenting a completely strange, surreal, and supernatural world in which nothing is what it seems.

The Gunslinger follows the unnamed title character as he pursues another man, known simply as the man in black, through a vast desert toward a mysterious tower--the Dark Tower.  The reader is thrown into this pursuit right away with absolutely no explanation, being forced to find their bearings amidst the barren landscape of King’s dreamworld.

Being most of the way through the first chapter, I can’t help but think that nothing I’m reading is actually meant to be taken literally.  With such a strange premise, reminiscent of the midnight movies of the ‘70s, it seems to me to at this point be some fantastical dream-journey through a metaphorical landscape of King’s devising.  As to the purpose or overall message contained within said metaphors, well, I can’t speak to that just yet.

Overall, it’s a great read so far.  King’s writing style leaves nothing to be desired, with beautifully crafted sentences rich in visual detail.  In addition to his fantastic writing ability, King was really able to let his imagination run free with this series, and it definitely pays off. The world he’s created, both with the characters and the imagery is both stark and bleak as well as dream-like and fantastical.  If you enjoy Stephen King, or are simply a fan of epically fantastical adventures, I’d definitely recommend picking this one up.

I’m still reading Gary Larson’s The Devil in the White City.  The further I get into this book, the more interested I am to hear what happens next, especially when it comes to Holmes.  The text still follows a similar format, jumping between focuses. One chapter will be focused on the World’s Fair head architect, Daniel Burnham, and the next will be focused on H.H. Holmes, the notorious serial killer, and so on.  At this point in the book a new protagonist has emerged as well, one George Washington Gale Ferris Jr. the inventor of the ferris wheel.  The attraction was first created for the Columbian Exposition, and Larson expands on the trials and tribulations involved, intertwining ferris’s story with that of Burnham.  While closer to the beginning of the book, the chapter focuses seemed rather disjointed, as it’s progressed, Larson shows us how Holmes’s actions intertwine with those of Burnham and Ferris.  More than that, the contrast between the visionary idealistic architects and the undeniably sociopathic serial killer makes for a very interesting dynamic.  With such vastly different characters, Larson not only relates a historical tale, but also explores the human psyche and in fact, what it means to be human.

On the one hand, you have Daniel Burnham, a man with so much vision he was able to pull off something that no one had ever seen before, a leader of both technological and cultural advancement.  On the other is a man some would not even consider human at all, as he possesses none of the emotion or empathy to be considered such.  Two very different sides of humanity juxtaposed against each other.  That kept in mind, I’ve begun to realize that the real protagonist in Larson’s text is humanity as a whole.  I can’t wait to finish the book and find out what happens next; again, if you’re reading this and haven’t checked out this book, I suggest you do so.

Upon finishing my previous book, I've started something new, The Devil in the White City.  The book is a biographical account in a novel style of the first Chicago's World Fair and the serial killer who operated during this period, H.H. Holmes.  The first notable thing about the book is its structure.  The author, Gary Larson, alternates the chapters consistently between two seeming "protagonists".  The first is Daniel Burnham, a visionary in city architecture and the head architect of the World's Fair.  The next is, big surprise, Holmes.  

While the way Larson follows Burnham is more typical coming from a biographical standpoint, what really stands out is how he builds the character of Holmes in our mind.  He approaches this in much the same way Capote did in his biographical novel, In Cold Blood.  Based on his reporting and everything he gathered, he was able to construct a portrait of what Holmes was like as a man.  He never reveals too much about Holmes at a time, though, allowing the mystique surrounding the character remain just as much intact as if we were there along with those unfortunate few caught in his web.

Holmes is a fascinating man.  He’s suave, charming, and cool.  A complete lady’s man, he has no problem luring innocent young women in a transitional period in their lives with kind words and his almost hypnotic aura of charm and mystery.  Yet Larson is particular about stressing that many found something amiss with him.  Something cold, or heartless even.  Already he’s built up as almost a Hannibal Lecter-esque sociopath, someone who is so skilled at putting up a front of humanitarian perfection, behind which lies nothing recognizably human.  Holmes begins his  life in Chicago with the construction of The Castle, a massive building that would not only be hotel and living quarters, but pharmacy, and, ultimately, crematory.

What stands out most in the book so far is how raptured Larson keeps the reader, how he’s able to draw them in and keep them there with the promise of what’s to come.  In addition, the way he slowly reveals more and more about Holmes’s dark side, just as those Holmes himself interacts with do, is absolutely brilliant.  It’s a gripping read so far, and I would definitely recommend anyone to check it out.

I've just finished Mamet's Glengarry Glen Ross.  The second act does not disappoint, with all the tension of the first coming to a head.  This act takes place in the offices of Premier Properties, the real estate company.  The office has just been robbed, as was plotted in the first act, but the perpetrator remains unclear.  Levene enters, bragging about a massive deal he just closed.  While he and Roma discuss this, a detective interviews everyone in the office.  Enter James Lingk, the man who had previously just bought land from Roma.  His wife makes him back out of the deal, but Roma and Levene use underhanded tactics to prevent that.  Eventually, Williamson enters and tells Lingk his check has gone to the bank, and the only choice left to him is to call the state’s attorney’s office. Exit Lingk.  Roma is infuriated.  In the following crucial scene, the office burglar is revealed, and then comes the conclusion of the play.  Mamet is a master of putting interest into the most mundane of scenarios.  His descriptive dialogue keeps the reader glued to the page, while the actual scenario unfolding is not so different than what would occur in everyday life.  Mamet’s greatest strength is his dialogue.  It’s quick and efficient where it needs to be, so as not to lose the reader, yet completely reasonable and believable so as not to distract the reader.  Dialogue, especially in a play, is one of the hardest things to pull off effectively in terms of showing rather than telling, yet Mamet accomplishes it superbly.