George Orwell’s “1984” is a book I’m pretty sure that most people have tackled at some point in their life. For me, this was my second time.

The first was the summer before my senior year in high school, which is now a whopping 8 years in the past. As I read I didn’t remember much from that first encounter. Actually, only two things stand out and really neither has much to do with the plot or themes.

One is how almost useless it felt for me to read the book at the time. That’s not to say it wasn’t a good read or that I didn’t enjoy the act itself. Rather, in an academic sense it made absolutely no difference.

My sophomore and junior years at the illustrious Oakton High School I was enrolled in advanced English classes. That meant that not only did I have to do more summer reading than the “regular” class, but it also required papers and discussions on each one. Senior year I decided to take the English side a bit easier since I was taking on AP Calculus and AP Government.

That turned out to be a great decision for my sleep schedule. On the first day of class we were given a writing assignment. It was some sort of college essay that was roughly two pages. And it was due by Thanksgiving. I should have started bringing a pillow to class. No mention of “1984” whatsoever. None. The period itself was divided–half hour of class, then lunch, then the last hour of class. That meant that any quiz or graded item was done before lunch and I spent the hour conked out on my desk. I can’t imagine what would have happened had I stayed awake the whole time. Though I’m not sure I could have improved on my roughly 105% average in the class. That’s probably also the reason the teacher never bothered to wake me up.

I remember sitting on our front porch to read a good portion of the book. The other distinct memory is the image I had of the main female character, Julia. One of the sometimes jarring things about watching a movie version after you have read a book is how different the actor is from what you had pictured while reading. For me, Julia was Britney Spears from a video that I will now look up online because I’m happy to say I don’t know the name of it.

Hold please.

Ok I’m back. It was the video for “Oops I Did It Again.” I think Britney became my Julia because that video was on TV that summer, and Orwell describes her as having some sort of jumpsuit type attire. If only he had predicted K-Fed’s influence and the emergence of Trainwreck Britney.

Actually, I’m going to argue that he did. These two people who work for the same basic entity end up in a pretty inexplicable relationship. It’s wrong on many levels and yet they become intimate very quickly. They are eventually exposed and beaten down both physically and mentally by guards and drugs. They emerge with a relationship that will never be the same, and neither looks remotely the same.

Maybe Orwell was the original TMZ.

I’m a big fan of movies like “Snatch” that bring together several parallel storylines for a satisfying conclusion. Paul Auster’s novel “The Book of Illusions” is a masterful literary example.

I almost want to say nothing for the fact that I can’t begin to express how much I enjoyed this book. You can find just about anyone to give a good review of anything, as evidenced by the strange publications cited as calling “Alvin & The Chipmunks” one of the best movies of the year. In book terms, they go for some variation of “page-turner” like “Just try and put it down!”

But in this case, it wasn’t that I couldn’t put it down, but was so engrossed in the story I’d reel off 40 pages, 60 pages, feeling like I had been reading for five minutes. It’s like sleeping in the car on a long trip, once you get started you can’t believe how quickly it went by. And what goes by is a great weaving of people’s lives that end up reflecting and following one another in such a way that you want to draw conclusions about their relationship. It’s the first book this year that I’m dead sure I will go back and read again, carefully noting parts that seemed insignificant in the beginning that will have a different look knowing the outcome.

In the movies, the storylines always come together in a very tangible way. The groups come together, or one party’s scheme ends up affecting someone they have never met but whom we have been following on screen. Auster gives another level, adding the literary sense of the reader connecting themes and motifs that don’t necessarily play out in the direct action.

One of the reviews on the back cover calls the book “gripping and immensely satisfying.” I concur.

So that’s 16. I think 20 is in reach.

Sometimes I surprise even myself. Yesterday I posted saying it would be a day or two before I got to writing about Number 15 on the list, really thinking it would be more like four days.

But here I am one fine day later. I would blame the expedited finishing of Nick Hornby’s “How To Be Good” on going to the DMV today, except it was easily the fastest DMV trip in the history of humanity and I only read like four pages there.

This was sort of a recommendation, which have turned out to be some of my favorite books in the Year of Reading or whatever I dubbed this project in January. Actually “High Fidelity” was the recommendation, but since I’ve seen the movie I thought I’d give this one a shot.

“How To Be Good” puts forth a very simple question: What happens when you think you’re the “good” one in a relationship, but out of nowhere the other person becomes far “gooder” than you? How do you deal with it?

It’s also a book written by a man with a female narrator, something I can’t remember encountering. It seemed like she had a perfectly logical inner monologue, which probably means it’s somehow flawed in reality. But I digress.

Katie’s husband David visits a healer and comes back completely changed. He’s nice to everyone, is concerned about the struggling people in the world and has suddenly utterly confused his wife who thinks he’s a jerk. Actually, as a doctor, she thinks there’s something very wrong with him. “David. I don’t want you to panic, but listen carefully and do exactly what I say. You probably have a brain tumor. You have to go to the hospital and have a CAT scan, urgently.”

Of course there’s a far better explanation. He had crippling back pain, and visited a healer named GoodNews. That’s totally what I would do in case of major pain. Maybe my guy would be named Admiral GoodNews for extra authority.

GoodNews does such a great job at not only healing the pain, but changing David’s sour outlook on life, he naturally moves in with the family. Told from Katie’s perspective, this is a totally non-sensical event and she’s less than enthused about a “healer” living under the same roof as her two children.

But the way the story develops, you can feel right along with Katie how more normalized having a guy named GoodNews upstairs feels as things go along. She even agrees to let the eccentric man babysit the kids, though hopes she doesn’t know how she would explain the situation to a few parties who would never understand. “Imaginary conversation with my parents, or social services: ‘Who’s in charge of your children?’ ‘Oh, GoodNews and Monkey.'”

Monkey, of course, is the homeless young man they’ve also invited to live with them as part of a program to get the entire block to “adopt” bums from the street. Hey if a guy named GoodNews is already in your home, what’s the worst that can happen, especially if it’s his idea?

Katie’s problem of dealing with borderline nauseating “goodness” from her husband is exacerbated by her daughter, Molly. The girl likes to stick it to her brother whenever possible and takes on her own campaign of supporting everything David does. At one point Katie decides she pretty much despises her kids, especially Molly. I can’t blame her. That girl is one of the more annoying literary characters I’ve encountered in a while, and she’s not even mentioned that often.

Be good.

Next up: Paul Auster’s “The Book Of Illusions”

John Steinbeck is a MILF. That’s Man of Impeccable Literary Fantasticness; get your head out of the gutter. He’s also a guy with an ability to predict the future.

In 1962 Steinbeck embarked on a trip across the country to reconnect with a place he wrote about, but felt he may have lost touch. Along for the ride went his poodle, Charlie as they rode in a specially designed truck/camper dealio Steinbeck ordered specifically for the journey.

Late in the book, the duo is traveling through Texas when Steinbeck writes about the residents therein. “Outside their state I think Texas are a little frightened and very tender in their feelings, and these qualities cause boasting, arrogance, and noisy complacency.” Sound like someone who’s been out of Texas for, say, almost eight years?

The book is called “Travels With Charley: In Search Of America” and is very much about the beloved Charley. Just like Steinbeck, Charley isn’t exactly a spry kitten anymore, not just for the fact that he’s a dog. But their relationship is an interesting one to follow as they traverse the U.S., making a loop west from New York.

Steinbeck has very clear ideas of what he wants from the journey and sometimes struggles when his vision doesn’t pan out. Across the Midwest and the Northern Plains he describes Charley’s routine of “leaving his mark” on trees as they stop for a break. When they get to California, Steinbeck is almost giddy to have Charley christen a giant redwood. Charley didn’t quite get the memo:

“‘Look, Charley. It’s the tree of all trees. It’s the end of the quest.’ Charley got a sneezing fit, as all dogs do when the nose is elevated too high. I felt the rage and hatred one has toward non-appreciators, toward those who though ignorance destroy a treasured plan.”

But Steinbeck doesn’t just give up. He decides he has to know if Charley isn’t prepared for the task, or just doesn’t get the plan. So his owner cuts a sapling and “plants” it next to the giant tree. “He sniffed its new-cut leaves delicately and then, after turning this way and that to get range and trajectory, he fired.”

Dogs: Spoiling humans’ best-laid plans for (insert number of years since dogs have been domesticated, a number I don’t feel like looking up).

Of course, maybe it’s not entirely Charley’s fault. As Steinbeck describes, there’s a bit of a language barrier. “[Charley] was born in Bercy on the outskirts of Paris and trained in France, and while he knows a little poodle-English, he responds quickly only to commands in French.” Maybe “this tree is for your bladder-emptying needs” is not a phrase Steinbeck found in a translation book.

When I read this book I didn’t realize just how integral Charley is to Steinbeck’s log of their travels. But after looking back at the sections I marked, nearly all of them are Charley related, and many were just things that made me laugh.

The best Charley paragraph is easily this: “Charley is a tall dog. As he sat in the seat beside me, his head was almost as high as mine. He put his nose close to my ear and said ‘Ftt.’ He is the only dog I ever knew who could pronounce the consonant F.”

Then there are just the wonderfull sign-of-the-times observations that go almost unnoticed in the middle of Steinbeck’s writing. While lamenting on the challenges and different nature of the South, he says he is dreading experiencing the region firsthand. “I am not draw to pain and violence. I never gaze at accidents unless I can help, or attend street fights for kicks.”

Were there that many “street fights” going on in the early 1960s? Maybe New York is a particularly tough town, but it’s hard to imagine a place where one of the giants of American literature was learning about a fight in the street such that he would make a decision to attend or not. But maybe the fact that this reference is thrown in the middle of a paragraph in the middle of a much larger discussion about the plight of the South at the time shows just how much of a non-issue that was at the time. Certainly in comparison, but one of those things that caught my eye and made me reach up and dog-ear the page.

By the way, if you’re counting at home this makes 14 books for the year. That’s definitely behind pace to reach my goal of 20, but I’m still holding out hope. Number 15–Nick Horny’s “How To Be Good”–should be done in a day or two…I hope.

English teachers are great. But sometimes the “rules” have to be broken and writers who realize that right have a special place in my literary heart.

Take Dave Eggers. His ability to completely ignore a hold handful of common rules makes “A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius” a nice constant stream of consciousness flow from his brain straight to mine. Need to express the chaotic and quick-paced sense of a moment? Write a sentence with 200 words, 32 commas, three em-dashes and don’t even bother ending it with a period. That’s heroic.

The book itself is one that takes an ability to ignore the gross in the first few pages to unlock a story of siblings dealing with life after the quick deaths of their parents. The main string follows the narrator as he describes being in his young 20s and caring for his little brother.

If you have one of these “little brother” types in your life, it’s fascinating to watch as they try to adapt their brotherly relationship to one in which the older is now fully in charge of the younger “Toph.” That’s short for Christopher, and surely a name I shall never be utilizing for myself.

That relationship evolves into a “Big Daddy”-like situation where almost anything goes for Toph as long as he goes to school and does his homework. They describe the complete lack of cleaning in their household by saying that they like to eat at the kitchen table, but if that’s covered in crap they’ll go to the coffee table in the living room…and often end up just eating on the floor next to the dishes from some unknown previous meal. They argue about who should be responsible for cleaning the mess, and ultimately the older sibling puts on his guardian cap and makes Toph do it.

As much as the pair struggles to figure out their identity and relationship, the public has no clue what to make of it. That turns into the most entertaining portions of the story where Eggers sometimes describes feeling like people think he’s a pedophile stalking this young boy. He takes on the guardian role well, strategizing with his sister on how they can best protect and nurture their younger brother to have the most normal life possible given the circumstances.

After baseball practice, Eggers writes about asking Toph a very tough question:

“So why do you suck so much at hitting?”
“I don’t know.”
“Maybe you need a lighter bat.”
“You think?”
“Yeah, maybe we’ll get a new bat.”
“Can we?”
“Yeah, we’ll look for a new bat or something.”
Then I push him into a bush.

If that’s not brotherly love, I don’t know what is. I know I’ve written before about this process where I dog-ear pages as I read and look back at them know to figure out what exactly I wanted to touch on. Sometimes it takes me a while to figure out where I am in the story and thus the context of some point I wanted to make. Other times I get two words in and know exactly why I reached up and bent that corner.

In this passage, Eggers writes about being on a bus with Toph. He sees a young woman and starts to piece together details of her life just by looking. He wishes she could be in his life, helping to provide stability for Toph. But then comes up with a story of a boyfriend, including his occupation, nationality and a detail of being drafted into the Peruvian army. He decides that would make the arrangement OK, just young people living with each other for a happy household. But there’s an issue in his entirely made-up story:

“How would we decorate? That would be a problem. But I would defer. Yes, defer. To have a happy easy house with help from this woman and to have her and Toph content in their room with their stomachs on the carpet and sharing some book I would defer.”

A while back (a great expression for “some time in the past but really I haven’t the foggiest clue when this happened except it was kind of chilly since I remember wearing a jacket) I did a similar bit of backstory creation on public transit. I went into Washington, D.C. on the metro and wrote about a guy I saw on the train. I didn’t know him, but I was sure of so many things about him. Read it and two other similar accounts on chris.areyouert.com.

“Heartbreaking Work” is indeed heartbreaking at some points but the interactions and the way this family deals with its tragedy is ultimately heartwarming. There are parts that will make you really question their sanity, but when you step back and think about all the ways you can live your life and help raise another it’s hard to fault them at the end of the day. But more than anything, you’ll laugh at the interactions and inner workings of Eggers’ story, since you absolutely positively without question need these 437 pages in your reading history.

I marked a number of pages in The Prince as points I was going to discuss in this posting.

Unfortunately, I re-read the pages and nothing noteworthy came to mind. I blame the abundant sunshine raining down on my head at the time for the false dog-ears.

BUT there is one nugget that really saves the entire experience: “For fortune is a woman and in order to be mastered she must be jogged and beaten.” Machiavelli was certainly ahead of his time in male-female relations. “Therefore, like a woman, she always favors young men because they are so much inclined to caution as to aggressiveness and daring in mastering her.” Maybe he was just a bitter old man.

Next up: “The Survival Game” by David Barash.

I read somewhere that Jonathan Safran Foer’s “Everything is Illuminated” was a slaughtering of the English language that made for an amazing book. I thought it was written on the cover, or elsewhere in the reviews inside, but of course now I can’t find it.

I love authors who break away from “the rules.” Your high school English teacher would have a heart attack marking up this book. But it’s done so purposefully and so beautifully, you are sucked into the story that much more.

The story itself is at times hilarious and moments later heartbreaking. I told a friend it’s like having your iTunes on shuffle. One minute you’re bopping along to something fun, then it’s a piano-driven elegy to a fallen loved one.

The story follows Jonathan’s quest to learn more about his family, who fled part of the Ukraine during the Holocaust. He’s an American, who enlists the help of a driver and translator for his fact-finding mission. The humor comes from the translator, who narrates a good portion of the book. The format itself is unique, following a pattern that hands the story back and forth to different voices.

The Jonathan character is writing a history of his family in Ukraine. Alex, the translator, is giving the account of the actual trip. He’s also writing letters to Jonathan, telling him about his work translating Jonathan’s story. Alex doesn’t have the strongest handle on the language, but does have a great sense of humor about it.

Alex’s family is also involved in the story, though they are a bit off the deep end. The great part is that Alex doesn’t really get bogged down by their dysfunction. At one point, he gets in an argument with his father: “Father removed three pieces of ice from the refrigerator, closed the refrigerator, and punched me. ‘Put these on your face’….I should have been smarter.”

His female dog is also named “Sammy Davis, Junior, Junior.” As someone who plans to name his first pet “Captain Awesome,” I was instantly endeared to Alex.

I always dog-ear pages in these books so I can go back and recount things that stick out, like the punch in the face scene. Sometimes though, I spend a few minutes reading a page over and over again trying to remember what on Earth I was marking for later. Something happens on page 114. Don’t know quite what to make of it. Sorry.

I can however tell you about page 142. Alex is writing one of his letters to Jonathan, saying the American is way too high-strung and needs to chill out. A man of my own heart, Alex says: “This is difficult to achieve, because in truth you are a person with very much anxiety. Perhaps you should be a drug user.” For those of you who may fit the Jonathan mold, and who have heard the drug suggestion from me, I stand by my suggestion.

As someone who gets paid to write for a living, I understand that even when it’s your job, the words don’t always come easily. In Jonathan’s history, he’s recounting the work of those writing “The Book of Antecedents.” The book is a collection of history, anecdotes and bizarre things the town is recording for future posterity. Some days the words don’t come very easily, but in an effort to record what’s happening, even the writers record their actions: “We are writing…We are writing…We are writing…We are writing…We are writing…We are writing…We are writing…We are writing…We are writing…We are writing…” That’s beautiful work. And keeping with Foer’s style, they’re declaration “We are writing” goes on for a page and a half.

I am done writing…I am done writing…I am done writing…

Next Up: “The Prince” by Niccolo Machiavelli