As I mentioned a couple weeks ago, I’m going to try to be more proactive regarding writing up the books I’ve been reading, mostly for my benefit.  Not only do I like having a record and being able to jot down some notes, perhaps if I make a point about writing about the books I’ve read I’ll not spend so much time reading the easier yet less fulfilling magazines that choke my mailbox.

Anyhow, the last week had me involved with some rather light reading material- stuff that, perhaps, falls below your typical magazine in substance and whatnot.  Nonetheless, its nice reading a book.  This post got a lot longer than I like having on the front page, so you’ll have to click to see the rest of it.  It’s not a good post- just a long post.  Be warned.

The first was PG Wodehouse’s The Catnappers.  Apparently it was published under a different name at some other point, which I think is an epidemic in the Wodehouse catalog.The Catnappers was a Bertie and Jeeves book, which automatically ranks it among what I consider the top tier in the Wodehouse pantheon.  (I haven’t really fleshed out the other tiers, though I can say that anything with Psmith is solidly in the second tier and that the rather anonymous golf short stories are solidly in the lowest tier.  That said, it’s important to note that the bottom tiers of Wodehouse are so altitudinous relative to literary geography in general that my tier system can’t be interpreted as a slight against Sir Plum or any of his characters.)

The plot of the Catnappers is relatively straight forward.  Bertie is to steal a lucky cat in an attempt to change the outcome of a horse race.  The whole thing was really pretty simple, plotwise.  Most of the usual twists and turns weren’t as clever as they often are, and relied mostly the right people being in the right place at the right time.  Bertie did manage to get engaged for a portion of the book, and Jeeves did help him get out, however Bertie was shockingly responsible for getting him of of most of the jams.  Jeeves didn’t do very much quick thinking or anything else that usually distinguishes him.  On that level, it was kind of disappointing, but it was pleasant to see Bertie acting more or less like an adult.

The best part of the whole thing was Bertie’s habit of abbreviating his narration in sort of textspeak ways.  I can’t find my book, but it was more or less like “Though one might expect me to be lighthearted on such an occasion, my h. was certainly not l.”  That cracks me up, mostly since I view it from my spot here in front of the computer and with my annoying habit of doing the same thing.  Fantastic.  I’ll have to find the book later and get some solid examples.

(I’ve found my book.  Here’re some examples:

He expressed no surprise at seeing me tied to a sofa with curtain cords, just as he would have e. no s. if he had seen me being eaten by a crocodile by the later Abercrombie-Smith, though in the latter case he might have heaved a regretful sigh.

…

…I’m a Grade A snake in the grass, and we all know what to expect from snakes in the g.

…

I saw that I would do well to watch my step, for it was evident that what I have heard Jeeves call the green-eyed monster that doth mock the meat it feeds on was beginning to feel the rush f life beneath its keel.  You never know what may happen when the g.-e.m. takes over.

…

The result was that I did not shine at the festve b.

In the last example, I can’t figure out what the antecedent is.  Try as I might, I also can’t find the example about being light-hearted.)

Like most Wodehouse, the whole read was just a night or two, which left me plenty of time to read another Murakami book, Sputnik Sweetheart. I hadn’t read any Murakami in awhile, and I missed reading him.  I always get pretty enveloped in his stories, even though they’ve always struck me as more or less the same idea from a different angle.  In that regard, it’s a lot like Wodehouse.  The first time you read one, it’s great.  Then after you’ve read three or four, you see the pattern emerge.  That said, SS was a fun read. It went by so fast that I read up to chapter 10 before I realized the book even had chapters.

Quick plot summary: Boy loves girl, girl loves woman, woman can’t love anymore because her soul was split in two 14 years earlier while on a Ferris wheel in France.  Right.  The divide- between reality and not-reality is always present in Murakami, but I felt like here it was less so than usual.  All the main elements of the story happened in real time, in the real world.  There were some long passages about dreams, but they were clearly dreams- the characters don’t actually wake up in another dimension or something like you might expect.  With the exception of the ferris wheel thing (which I don’t think gives anything away by mentioning), everything is real.  Even the central problem- the disappearance of one of the characters- could be explained without the use of sheepmen or magical forests.

The groundedness of the story helps the story’s themes feel more real to life.  I have an easy time in his other novels to get so lost in the weirdness and mystery that I lose site of the actual people.  Here, nothing is so weird that it distracts, making everyone and the issues they’re facing seem real.

I had planned to write some more about it, but…  well I’m more interested in reading right now.  And coffee.  It’s nearly noon and I haven’t had my coffee yet.  I would, still, like to pull together a quick c&c with Wodehouse and Murakami.  Both witters with a solid pattern, who successfully tell stories with a small set of characters (though their names change) who live in world that vaguely resembles our own, but is strikingly different and surreal.  Of course, Murakami is surreal because its surreal, while Wodehouse’s reality just seems far fetched because it centers around rich people who just lounge about and get into trouble.  Like David Lynch and..  I don’t know, Mitch Hurwitz?  Like Mickey Mouse in Fantasia and Mickey Mouse?

(Side note- I just started reading Bolaño’s 2666.  I finished the first part last night.  I hope to get it done by the end of the weekend, but I can imagine getting distracted before I finish it.  It’s not a short book.)