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Saturday, February 05, 2005

Well, that was a bad idea…

Before I left Colorado I went to the tattered cover bookstore.  It’s this HUGE bookstore, at least 5 levels of books.  It’s a book lover’s paradise.  Along with books of every description, a coffee shop and lots of comfy chairs, there are lists.  Every section has their own lists of books, top twenty this, top fifty that, it’s amazing.  I never knew there were so many different types of lists. 
I happened upon the Modern Library’s 100 Best Novels of the 20th Century for fiction.  I picked up the list, noticed the authors on it and decided, “Hey I should read EVERY NOVEL on this list!”
Yeah
So I started picking up novels.  I asked for them for holidays, birthdays; want to pick something up for me?  How ‘bout a novel from my list?  I would dive wholeheartedly into one of these novels. 
I started to notice a theme.  The theme came to me in the back of my mind and for some reason I couldn’t put my finger on, I stopped reading these novels and started reading supermarket paperbacks.  I needed a diversion.  So I stopped reading off the list for awhile.
Lately I have decided to start reading off the list again.  So I went to a used bookstore and picked up a couple novels.  One of the novels was “A Good Man is Hard to Find” by Flannery O’Connor.  I didn’t really read much about the book, I knew it was a collection of short stories written by a woman.  I thought, what a title!  It might be a fun read! 
I couldn’t have been MORE mistaken.  The collection of short stories grew more and more disturbing with every page.  Each story was worse then the one before.  I had to put the book down and not finish the remainder of the stories as I could feel depression starting to sweep over me. 
I started another book.  “The Moviegoer” by Walker Percy.  It started out much better.  It was almost a fun read.  Almost. 
I have started to notice something.  These great novels of the 20th century are horribly depressing.  No wonder you have to be a great literary mind to read them.  Great literary minds are the only ones that can wade through all the depressing scenes and situations to see the underlying symbolism (which is usually something about society and how it is falling apart.)
I haven’t given up on all of the novels yet.  There are still a few that I want to read.  But I think I will put the list away and forget about my silly idea.  If I am going to read 100 novels, I at least want to feel better when I am done.