This book is about a man who loves his mother and his wife.  The question is, can he love his wife wholeheartedly while at the same time holding a similar love for his mother?  The main character Paul develops an intense love for his mother as a result of empathizing with her situation as a hardworking mother who is in a loveless marriage with an uncouth miner.  In essence, he’s a mama’s boy.

The book begins with character development.  D.H. Lawrence explains how Paul’s mother and father met and got along as newlyweds, and then describes the family life.

Here are the passages I liked:

There was the halt, the wistfulness about the ensuing year, which is like autumn in a man’s life.  His wife was casting him off, half regretfully, but relentlessly; casting him off and turning now for love and life to the children.  Henceforward he was more or less a husk.  And he himself acquiesced, as so many men do, yielding their place to their children. (53)

And Morel [Paul's father] sitting there, quite alone, and having nothing to think about, would be feeling vaguely uncomfortable.  His soul would reach out in its blind way to her and find her gone.  he felt a sort of emptiness, almost like a vacuum in his soul.  He was unsettled and restless.  Soon he could not live in that atmosphere, and he affected his wife.  Both felt an oppression on their breathing when they were left together for some time.  Then he went to bed and she settled down to enjoy herself alone, working, thinking, living. (53)

Ordinary fold seemed shallow to them, trivial and inconsiderable.  And so they were unaccustomed, painfully uncouth in the simplest social intercourse, suffering, and yet insolent in their superiority.  Then beneath was the yearning for the soul-intimacy to which they could attain because they were too dumb, and every approach to close connection was blocked by their clumsy contempt of other people.  They wanted genuine intimacy, but they could not get even normally near to anyone, because they scorned to take the first steps, they scorned the triviality which forms common human intercourse. (165)

I’ve read four chapters already, and I’m hooked.  Growing up, I used to think only nerds read science fiction.  Star trekkie types.  Not me, nuh uh.  But science fiction is great!  In some ways, this novel reminds me of the Pixar film “Wall-E”, because both the film and the book have humans living on a different planet after Earth has been damaged by humans.  In “Wall-E”, machines serve humans.  In “Do Androids…”, advanced human-like robots serve humans.  However, in the book, some humans still live on Earth, for reasons that are explained in the book.  The main character of “Do Androids…” is Rick Deckard, a bounty hunter in charge of killing robots who return from the other planet and attempt to live like humans.

It’s been a few months since I’ve seen the movie, and I haven’t gotten deep enough into the book to write much more.

But yes, science fiction is really interesting…I recommend giving it a try, if you ever thought it was just for nerds :).

Update: There’s an excerpt here at her Web site. It’s not what I expected, much more dialogue-driven and modern in tone than I would think to be fitting… but it’s just an excerpt, and still rather compelling!

I have read several books since my last post, but I’m going to start back up with a book I just finished.

“Anthem” is the first Ayn Rand book I’ve read.  I picked it because it was the shortest out of the 3 on the shelf (the others being “Atlas Shrugged” and “The Fountainhead”).

I don’t know much about her philosophy, but just judging from this book, I can tell she believes people should focus more on the individual than on society.  This book made me consider whether it wasn’t so bad to be selfish, and on the flip side, whether it was always good to do things for others.

The premise of the book is that a future society has regressed, and focuses solely on “we”–the society.  No individual has much importance.  Every person is given a distinct role, and no one questions it.

However the main character breaks from the pack, re-discovers an invention from the past, and tries to present it to the others.  I’ll stop here, so I don’t ruin the ending for others.

“Anthem” is one of those good books that makes me re-evaluate how I think, what I believe in.  Here are some excerpts I liked:

• “The Teachers had said to us all:  ‘Dare not choose in your minds the work you would like to do when you leave the Home of the Students.  You shall do that which the Council of Vocations shall prescribe for you.  For the Council of Vocations knows in its great wisdom where you are needed by your brother men, better than you can know it in your unworthy little minds.  And if you are not needed by your brother men, there is no reason for you to burden the earth with your bodies.’”  (22)

• “This would wreck the Plans of the World Council,” said Unanimity 2-9913, “and without the Plans of the World Council the sun cannot rise. It took fifty years to secure the approval of all the Councils for the Candle, and to decide upon the number needed, and to re-fit the Plans so as to make candles instead of torches. This touched upon thousands and thousands of men working in scores of States. We cannot alter the Plans again so soon.”

  “And if this should lighten the toil of men,” said Similarity 5-0306, “then it is a great evil, for men have no cause to exist save in toiling for other men.”

  Then Collective 0-0009 rose and pointed at our box.

  “This thing,” they said, “must be destroyed. (74)

• “I know not if this earth on which I stand is the core of the universe or if it is but a speck of dust lost in eternity. I know not and I care not. For I know what happiness is possible to me on earth. And my happiness needs no higher aim to vindicate it. My happiness is not the means to any end. It is the end. It is its own goal. It is its own purpose.

  Neither am I the means to any end others may wish to accomplish. I am not a tool for their use. I am not a servant of their needs. I am not a bandage for their wounds. I am not a sacrifice on their altars.

  I am a man. This miracle of me is mine to own and keep, and mine to guard, and mine to use, and mine to kneel before!

  I do not surrender my treasures, nor do I share them. The fortune of my spirit is not to be blown into coins of brass and flung to the winds as alms for the poor of the spirit. I guard my treasures: my thought, my will, my freedom. And the greatest of these is freedom.

  I owe nothing to my brothers, nor do I gather debts from them. I ask none to live for me, nor do I live for any others. I covet no man’s soul, nor is my soul theirs to covet.

  I am neither foe nor friend to my brothers, but such as each of them shall deserve of me. And to earn my love, my brothers must do more than to have been born. I do not grant my love without reason, nor to any chance passer-by who may wish to claim it. I honor men with my love. But honor is a thing to be earned.

  I shall choose my friends among men, but neither slaves nor masters. And I shall choose only such as please me, and them I shall love and respect, but neither command nor obey. And we shall join our hands when we wish, or walk alone when we so desire. For in the temple of his spirit, each man is alone. Let each man keep his temple untouched and undefiled. Then let him join hands with others if he wishes, but only beyond his holy threshold.” (95-96)

• “I look upon the history of men, which I have learned from the books, and I wonder. It was a long story, and the spirit which moved it was the spirit of man’s freedom. But what is freedom? Freedom from what? There is nothing to take a man’s freedom away from him, save other men. To be free, a man must be free of his brothers. That is freedom. This and nothing else.” (101)

In Veronika Decides to Die, Coelho uses the theme of insanity to create a discourse on life and living. His own time in an insane asylum informs the experiences of the characters in Villette, the Solvenian mental hospital where most of this story takes place. I appreciate the lack of “magic” in this book, and the limited mention of religion. Instead Coelho focuses on realistic people with realistic experiences, and thus I was able to sympathize and relate much more easily. It was less of a fantastical adventure (like The Alchemist, although I did like that book quite a bit) and more of an eloquent story. He does, as usual, have the tendency to tell just as much as he shows, but I think this novel is an impressive feat in that the story and its messages expand well beyond the limits of the setting.

There are way too many passages I liked, so here is just a sampling (about half):

Veronika knew that life was always a matter of waiting for the right moment to act. (p 4)

In adolescence she thought it was too early to choose; now, in young adulthood, she was convinced it was too late to change. (p 43)

“… insanity is the inability to communicate your ideas. It’s as if you were in a foreign country, able to see and understand everything that’s going on but incapable fo explaining what you need to know or of being helped, because you don’t understand the language they speak there.”

“We’ve all felt that.”

“And all of us, one way or another, are insane.” (p 62)

She had overcome her minor defects only to be defeated by matters of fundamental importance. She had managed to appear utterly independent when she was, in fact, desperately in need of company. … She gave all her friends the impression that she was a woman to be envied, and she expended most of her energy in trying to behave in accordance with the image she had created of herself.

Because of that she had never had enough energy to be herself, a person who, like everyone else in the world, needed other people in order to be happy. But other people were so difficult. They reacted in unpredictable ways, they surrounded themselves with defensive walls, they behaved just as she did, pretending they didn’t care about anything. When someone more open to life appeared, they either rejected them outright or made them suffer, consigning them to being inferior, ingenuous.

She might have impressed a lot of people with her strength and determination, but where had it left her? In the void. Utterly alone. In Villete. In the anteroom of death. (p 67)

She could almost touch the destructive energy leaking out of her body. She allowed the feeling to emerge, regardless of whether it was good or bad; she was sick of self-control, of masks, of appropriate behavior. (p 67-68)

Veronika hated everything, but mainly she hated the way she had lived her life, never bothering to discover the hundreds of other Veronikas who lived inside her and who were interesting, crazy, curious, brave, bold. (p 68)

The happier people can be, the unhappier they are. (p 77)

Certain people, in their eagerness to construct a world no external threat can penetrate, build exaggeratedly high defenses against the outside world, against new people, new places, different experiences, and leave their inner world stripped bare. It is there that bitterness begins its irrevocable work. (p 90)

Both heroes and madmen are indifferent to danger and will forge ahead regardless of what other people say. (p 91)

But human beings are like that, she thought. We’ve replaced nearly all our emotions with fear. (p 110)

“We’re allowed to make a lot of mistakes in our lives,” said her colleague, “except the mistake that destroys us.”

They spent nights, weeks, and years talking, never accepting the fact that, good or bad, an idea only exists when someone tries to put it into practice. (p 149)

“Am I cured?”

“No. You’re someone who is different, but who wants to be the same as everyone else. And that, in my view, is a serious illness.” (p 169)

“‘Be like the fountain that overflows, not like the cistern that merely contains.’” (p 198)

Whoever said that you can’t go home again was wrong. You can go home again. Just don’t be surprised when it totally sucks. (p 3)

Women will always choose the the man over the best friend. This is a sad but true fact of life, and it’s only this certitude that makes me unashamed to admit it. (p 30)

I didn’t know anything about anything. And the only difference between then and now is this: I may know more than I used to, but my wisdom pales in comperison to that which I’ve yet to learn. (p 41)

With 10 stories, I would have expected at least one or two to have a more upbeat tone. But no, all of them describe the rough circumstances of Dominicans either in their own country or here in the US. There’s really nothing wrong with that, per se, but the barrage of hopeless situations can be hard to take for 200+ pages with few, if any, rays of sunshine or laugh-out-loud moments.

Still, it IS smooth, and full of rich details and lively characters, so I enjoyed it and can understand why it brought Junot Diaz to the attention of the literary world. I also appreciated how the stories connected and I could mostly follow/construct the whole story of the family as I went along. I found myself, as a “student” of writing and aspiring writer, most intrigued by where he chose to end each story. They were poignant moments, but not necessarily places where things felt finished or closed. I see this often lately, to varying degrees of success. I think Diaz did a pretty good job.

Favorite lines:

You know how it is when you get back with somebody you’ve loved. It felt better than it ever was, better than it ever could be again. (p 64)

Intuitively, I knew how easily distances could harden and become permanent. (p 75)

Anyway, a good book. Favorite passages below. Warning: there are a lot.

And whenever I’m with my mother, I feel as though I have to spend the whole time avoiding land mines. (p 16)

To me, ying-gai meant my mother lived a life of regrets that never faded with time. (p 29)

I think about a child’s capacity to hurt her mother in ways she cannot even imagine. (p 33-34)

I was born with good luck. But over the years, my luck — just like my prettiness — dried out, then carved lines on my face so I would not forget.

I cannot explain exactly how this happened, these changes in my life. If I try to say what happened, my story would not flow forward like a river from the beginning to the end, everything connected, the lake to the sea. If my life had been that way, one thing leading to another, then I could look back and I would know the lessons of my life: the fate that was given me, the choices I took, the mistakes that are mine. And perhaps I would still have time to change my luck. (p 62)

Still, from that day on, I began to look at everything in my life two ways, the way it happened, the way it did not. (p 68)

No one would believe me now if I said Helen is not my sister-in-law. She is not related by blood, not even by marriage. She is not someone I chose as my friend. Sometimes I do not even enjoy her company. I do not agree with her opinions. I do not admire her character. And yet we are closer perhaps than sisters, related by fate, joined by debts. I have kept her secrets. She has kept mine. And we have a kind of loyalty that has no word in this country. (p 72-73)

I loved you the most, more than Samuel, more than all the children I had before you. I would tell her, I loved you in ways you never saw. And maybe you do not believe this. But I know this is true, feel my heart. Because you broke my heart the hardest, and maybe I broke yours the same way. (p 86)

I will call her, long, long distance. Cost doesn’t matter, I will say. I have to tell you something, can’t wait any longer. And then I will start to tell her, not what happened, but why it happened, how it could not be any other way. (86)

That is the saddest part when you lose someone you love — that person keeps changing. And later you wonder, Is this the same person I lost? Maybe you lost more, maybe less, ten thousand different things that come from your memory or imagination — and you do not know which is which, which was true, which is false. (p 89)

And how can you say luck and chance are the same thing? Chance is the first step you take, luck is what comes afterward. Your kind of chance makes no sense, it is only an excuse not to blame yourself. If you don’t take a chance, someone else will give you his luck. And if you get bad luck, then you need to take another chance to turn things from bad to good. of course everything is connected. (p 123)

Of course, you probably don’t understand this kind of thinking, how I could be in trouble for Peanut, why I was scared. In China back then, you were always responsible to somebody else. It’s not like here in the United States — freedom, independence,  individual thinking, do what you want, disobey your mother. No such thing. Nobody ever said to me,” Be good, little girl, and I will give you a piece of candy.” You did not get a reward for being good, that was expected. But if you were bad — your family could do anything to you, no reason needed. (p 132)

And we all listened as Old Aunt took a little piece of truth and stretched it in all directions. (p 141)

And I believed she was also saying that this kind of pain for a husband was true love, the kind that grew between husband and wife. I had also learned this in the movies, both Chinese and American. A woman always had to feel pain, suffer and cry, before she could feel love. And now that I was living with Wen Fu in a little monastery room in Hangchow, I suffered a lot. I thought my love was growing bigger and bigger. I thought I was becoming a better wife. (p 168)

I felt the danger, that this was how you love someone, one person letting out fears, the other drawing closer to soothe the pain. And then more would pour out, everything that has been hidden, more and more — sorrow, shame, loneliness, all the old aches, so much released until you overflowed with joy to be rid of it, until it was too late to stop this new joy from taking over your heart. (p 203)

“You only see yourself in a mirror. But I see you the way you can never see yourself, all the pure things, neither good nor bad.” (p 205)

“If you can’t change your fate, change your attitude.” (p 284)

This was not love, but the danger of it. (p 307)

How can you blame a person for his fears and weaknesses unless you have felt the same and done differently? How can you think everyone a hero, choosing death, when it is part of our nature to let go of brave thoughts at the last moment and cling to hope and life? (p 327)

We said no words. He took my hands and held them firmly. And we both stood in the road, our eyes wet with happiness, knowing without speaking that we both felt the same way.

And now I have to stop. Because every time I remember this, I have to cry a little by myself. I don’t know why something that made me so happy then feels so sad now. Maybe that is the way it is with the best memories. (p 346)

Isn’t that how it is when you must decide with your heart? You are not just choosing one thing over another. You are choosing what you want. And you are also choosing what somebody else does not want, and all the consequences that follow. You can tell yourself, That’s not my problem, but those words do not wash the trouble away. Maybe it is no longer a problem in your life. But it is always a problem in your heart. (p 360)

If someone offers to take your burden, you need to know he is serious, not just being polite and kind. Polite and kind do not last. (p 365)

When your mind stands still, all kinds of bad thoughts can come in. (p 378)

She had a fall-in-love feeling for him. He had a grow-in-love feeling for her. (p 384)

I’ll be reading this on Thurs/Fri (at work… *halo*) and will post my usual review afterwards.