January 28, 2013 § 2 Comments
Listen, folks! Reading is boring and for losers. It doesn’t require a lot of talent, it’s something you do alone and it’s not competitive at all. A perfectly dorky pastime. Although I could question these arguments, they all have a grain of truth in them. Where do people with boring hobbies go in order to find other people with the same boring hobby? Right, the internet. The internet harbours all kinds of freaks, from train spotters to foot fetishists to readers. Since I neither particularly like trains nor feet, I hardly know a thing about the first two groups, but what I know for sure is that there are different types of readers –
Today’s article distinguishes the bibliophile from the common book lover. Both species can be found on the internet, but their habits and habitats differ. On almost every social networking website you can find people who list “reading” or “books” as their hobby. Luckily, facebook also offers you to list your favourite books, and a quick glance at somebody’s favourites can sometimes be enough to classify them.
The common book lover consumes a lot of written material, mainly best sellers, crime novels, well-known series and the occasional classic. The common book lover is harmless, but boring. They say you should never judge a book by its cover, but I think you can judge a person by their books. The common book lover’s perfect Saturday afternoon involves “a good book, a blanket and a cup of tea”. Nothing wrong with that, but not exactly the most exciting thing on earth either.
The bibliophile, on the other hand, has a more refined taste in books and literature. The bibliophile condescendingly looks down to best sellers and the people who read them on the train. He (or less often, she) avoids big chain bookstores and everything that was featured on Oprah – you can call him the snobby, elitist hipster of literature. As annoying and narrow-minded as his opinions might be, I still consider him more interesting than the average book lover (and to a certain extent, I’m a bibliophile myself). He usually has a vast knowledge of literature, maybe even literary theory, and he can actually make good book recommendations.
The common book lover, too, likes recommending books. She (or less often, he) is usually found on pen pal websites, looking for people to talk about books with. When you ask her for a recommendation, she’ll name the last good book she has read, even if this book is Twilight and you have clearly stated that you do not like “teen paranormal romance”. They mean well, but they lack the experience. Unfortunately, more often than not it’s the book lovers who pride themselves with having a good taste in literature.
It’s also the common book lover who runs the book-related boards and pages on tumblr and especially Pinterest. Pinterest is a cool way to share stuff with the world, and I enjoyed browsing through the book boards for a couple of days, until I realised that my taste greatly differs from the Pinterest mainstream. Also, most people there seem to value quantity higher than quality, they brag about the amount of books they’ve already read this year, whereas I’m proud of myself if I find my way through a particularly difficult or demanding book.
The bibliophile is less prominent, he hides in little niches that you don’t find right away. He will not shove book memes in your face, he’ll try to get to know you first and then make some recommendations you might actually like or at least give a try.
Back in the real world, those differences hardly matter. Reading the latest teen paranormal romance novel is no less nerdy than reading Arno Schmidt. Some months ago, I was hunting for a room and met with a potential roommate who had a room to offer. “So, what are your hobbies?”, she asked me. There it was. My kryptonite. I don’t really have any hobbies, or do I? I don’t play an instrument. I don’t paint. I don’t knit. I only cook in order to satisfy my hunger and I only do sports in order to stay in shape. The only hobby that I have is literature – this is what the bibliophile would say. The common book lover would say that she loves books, or reading. I just said that “I read a lot”. The interview was over, and needless to say, I didn’t get the room.
December 21, 2012 § Leave a comment
Christmas is just around the corner, but some of us haven’t done their gift shopping yet. As we all know, the world was supposed to end today, but here we are, safe and sound. Those who seriously believed in the apocalypse probably didn’t even bother to buy Christmas presents this year, and now they need an emergency plan. The same thing goes for the usual procrastinators who never do their holiday shopping before the 23rd. So we proudly present
The Kitten Review’s Handy Guide to Giving Books as Presents
I love giving books as presents and I have a whole pile on my shelf, neatly wrapped in reindeer-themed holiday paper. But of course you can’t just go to the bookstore and grab ten copies of the same bestseller – most people probably wouldn’t notice, but you as a Literary Santa should pay some attention to what book you pick for whom.
What are you saying? Your friends and family don’t read? Here’s why you should give them books nevertheless: Not all books require a lot of reading effort. There are books for all kinds of people, and if you follow some simple rules, your book present will even make a non-reader smile. A hardcover copy of your all-time favourite novel might seem incredibly precious to you, but it’s not the appropriate gift for your teenage cousin.
Disclaimer: All characters appearing in the following list are fictitious. Any resemblance to members of my family is purely coincidental.*
The elderly relative
The elderly relative spends most of her days sitting on the sofa, watching the same three channels on television and solving crossword puzzles. She is not very talkative and you actually have no idea if she has any special interests. From time to time, she will pick up a novel and read a couple of pages. The keyword here is quantity. The elderly relative has a lot of time on her hands, and she doesn’t care much about the style of a work of literature. I recommend historical fiction – a 700 page novel about a medieval midwife or a 1888 London doctor should keep her busy until her next birthday, or even until next Christmas.
The cosmopolitan couple
The cosmopolitan couple just came back from their Christmas shopping in London and immediately updated their facebook profile pictures. Whatever they do, they seem to do it together, and they like to wear matching sunglasses. Now, you have two choices, either you treat them as one and give them one book, preferably a coffee table book about New York or South East Asia, or you treat them as ying and yang and give them complimentary books. The cosmopolitan couple travels a lot, and if you know their next destination, you could get them a city guide and a travel dictionary.
The scientist collects butterflies, weather maps and unread books. He always orders heaps of books from catalogues, but he hardly ever actually reads them. He has a passion for books, but be careful – it might take him several years to finish a novel. It’s almost impossible to find a book from his field that he doesn’t have yet, so the safest option is a book that treats something remotely sciency. Usually, the scientist is also an atheist, so a book that disproves the existence of god is a good choice. (Or a book on evolution, but to some people, that’s just a tomayto-tomahto question.)
The casual reader
The casual reader has built up a respectable book collection in her lifetime that spans from A (Douglas Adams) to Z (Juli Zeh) and covers almost every genre and era. But that doesn’t mean that you can just get her the first book you see in the book store! For the casual reader, reading is a pleasure, a counterpart to her working life. Although she mainly reads for entertainment, she despises shallow novels, so you should avoid the average chick-lit at all costs. The casual reader likes intelligent and witty writing, so I would recommend some good satire or a well-written crime novel.
From an earlier article, you know that I consider reading and literature crucial for every child. However, not all parents agree with me and pass on that attitude to their kids. But don’t give up! Many children eventually discover the joys of reading. Try to find a book that has something to do with their favourite hobby, or maybe something related to a movie/TV franchise. Just hope that the kids won’t walk up to you with their brandnew books, shove them into your face and tell you that “If I wanted to read that, I could get it at the library. But I don’t want it anyway.”
The literature lover
Ah, here comes the most difficult type. The literature lover is very picky about what books they want, and of course they already have hundreds of books. It’s relatively likely that you either give them a book they already have or one they wouldn’t even be caught dead reading. If you want to give them a book, make sure that you know them really well or ask them if they want a particular book.
Yes, I consider myself a literature lover. And of course this will come off as arrogant, but as long as I don’t specifically ask for a book, don’t give me one. Unless you’re Anas. If you’re Anas, give me all your books. In return, if you’re Anas, you’ll receive all my books for Christmas.
The Kitten Review wishes you happy holidays and a happy new year!
* Of course, this is a downright lie. Every person on this list is based on someone I know.
September 24, 2012 § 1 Comment
According to 9gag and other meme sites on the internet, a lot of people take their smartphone with them when they go to the bathroom. The world reportedly plays 5 million hours of Angry Birds per day, and I wouldn’t be surprised if about half of this happened on the loo. Now, I don’t have a smartphone and therefore I have to fall back on the centuries-old entertainment of reading on the toilet. Have you ever noticed how many people, even your average non-readers, have books or magazines in the bathroom? I hereby admit that I myself am a toilet reader. I’m an everywhere reader, so it’s only natural that I also read there, isn’t it?
But what makes the “smallest room” such a popular place for reading? Sitting on the toilet is a bit like using public transport, and I’m not talking about the smell here. You are immobilised in a certain position for some time, so you can as well use that time for something productive. Neither the bathroom nor train seats are the ideal place to get your painting supplies out, but a book fits into your handbag or onto your window sill. It’s a wonderful occasion to read a few pages (or to launch some birds with a sling shot – but let’s stick with reading here).
Now picture the following scene from the author’s private life: My grandmother is invited to dinner at our house, and being the polite person that she is, she has brought a little gift for the host. “Here, I noticed that you sometimes read books on the toilet”, she says and hands my mother a book. My mother quickly examines the book, says thanks and puts it away. Later on, she gives it to me and I decide to give it a try as my new toilet read. It’s Bill Fitzhugh’s novel Pest Control, a nice little piece of fiction so far.
What makes a book an appropriate toilet read? In the end, it’s up to you what you read on the toilet, but I can tell you that I will not attempt to conquer the Magic Mountain on the loo. A good toilet book shouldn’t be too difficult to follow because your reading sessions are likely to be very short. That’s why I usually prefer books at the lower end of the acceptable scale – you won’t find horrible chick lit on the window sill in my bathroom, but I like some contemporary fiction with few characters and few big ideas. Books with short, anecdotic chapters are great toilet reads, and to all my German readers I strongly recommend the Känguru-Manifest by Marc-Uwe Kling.
Short story collections are a good choice as well. Someone who happens to live here is currently making their way through a collection of the “best German short stories”, selected and edited by the German literary pope Reich-Ranicki. Short satiric texts are very entertaining too, but you might break into laughter on the loo, and this might lead to an awkward moment when you come back and you have company. Trust me, I’m speaking from experience here.
There are people who think they’re too busy for reading, and there might even be people who actually are so busy all day long that they can’t dedicate time to the sweet indulgence that is reading. These people are your non-readers, but nevertheless, you might fight a book or at least a magazine in their bathroom. Even they have to admit that during those private minutes, they have “nothing better” to do anyway, so why not read a few pages.
Last but not least, you can also make a statement through your loo literature. Whenever I’m at someone’s place, I instinctively scan their bookshelf. If it’s well stocked, I might fail to notice their most important books. If you want people to know that you own Being and Nothingness, why not put it on your bathroom window sill? Sooner or later your guests will have to powder their nose and they’ll see what a great intellectual you are. On a second thought, why not leave the Communist Manifesto there? Politics don’t stop at the bathroom door.
September 17, 2012 § 1 Comment
Guess what, dear reader, today I almost dropped my sausage and sauerkraut into my oversized glass of beer. There are a lot of clichés about Germany and the Germans, some of which are true and some of which have a least a very small grain of truth in them. Whenever I come across a description of Germany or a German character in a book, I read the paragraph very carefully, paying close attention to how the writer plays with the common stereotypes. I could write a detailed analysis of the usage of national stereotypes in fiction, but that’s not what this article is supposed to be about.
Back to my sauerkraut – I’m currently reading Jonathan Franzen’s The Corrections, a really good novel so far. It has something about it that makes it unmistakeably American. The big American novel, and say hello to a stereotype here, tries to be very comprehensive and to do more than just tell a story. Both The Corrections and Freedom, Franzen’s latest novel that I read earlier this year, aim to be a general study of American society, and I have to admit that Franzen is doing a good job here. His observations are crisp clear and paint a picture of 20th and 21st century America that is easily accessible to non-Americans. I can’t quite tell to what extent this picture is based on stereotypes, but it seems to be critically reflected and elaborated.
However, his brief depiction of Germany – actually only one sentence long – was a big disappointment to me. Here’s the sentence you’ve been waiting for, the one that made me drop my sauerkraut into the big cleavage of my traditional Bavarian dress.
“In Germany she drove a hundred miles an hour and was tailgated by cars flashing their high beams.“ There’s nothing wrong with the sentence in itself because we all know that on many highway in Germany, there is no speed limit, we all know that a lot of tourists love our highways for that and we all know that even for some Germans, a highway is one long race track. The problem is that Germany as a whole is reduced to this tiny sentence. The novel has more than 600 pages that contain detailed descriptions of houses and flats, but apparently one sentence is enough to describe a country.
What should Franzen have done? In my opinion, it’s either feast or famine – instead of jotting down a sloppy sentence that is based on one of the most common stereotypes, he could have written a more detailed description or nothing at all. Franzen is an intelligent writer who pays attention to the small things, and he’s not the one whom I’d expect to be so superficial here. Call me thin-skinned, but when I came across that sentence, I was seriously offended for a moment. If you want to play with clichés, do it in a clever way.
Speaking of The Corrections and German stereotypes in foreign literature – is there some kind of obsession with the name Klaus? There is a German guy called Klaus in The Corrections, but he’s by far not the only one I’ve met in fiction lately. This summer I finally read Roberto Bolaño’s whale of a novel, 2666, in which a character of German origin is called Klaus as well. While two occurrences might still be considered a coincidence, third time’s the charm. My new “toilet read” (a topic that deserves an article for itself) is Bill Fitzhugh’s Pest Control, an entertaining little novel, that has a German character called… Klaus.
German offers so many equally stereotypical given names – why not go for, let’s say, Wolfgang or Manfred? When I read, I often accidentally mispronounce foreign names in my mind because I’ve never heard them before, and I’m pretty sure that a lot of Anglophone readers will mispronounce Klaus as well. Dear writers, if you want to avoid that, you could also choose a more international name. But then again, it’s up to you.
Please excuse me, I have to put on my dirndl and go to Munich in order to be on time for the Oktoberfest. At an average speed of 100 miles an hour, I should be able to make the trip in less than four hours. O’zapft is!
August 15, 2012 § Leave a comment
Imagine you came home and found your friends and family gathered in your living room. What you think is a surprise party turns out to be an intervention. They tell you that you can’t go on like this. That you might need professional help. That you are addicted to books, even obsessed with them. Of course you immediately rush to the closest bookshelf, grab a dictionary and look up obsession: “obsession, fixation – an unhealthy and compulsive preoccupation with something or someone”, the dictionary says.
Both Anas and I are obsessed with books and literature in general and with one book in particular. Each of us has one book that is the sun of our literary solar system. Anas is obsessed with Roberto Bolano’s 2666. Juli Zeh’s Spieltrieb is the heroin I inject into my bookworm veins. There are a number of questions now: Where does a literary obsession come from? Why exactly that book? And, is it really unhealthy to be obsessed with a book?
Spieltrieb, in my opinion, is the perfect novel. But does that justify an obsession with it? Yes, yes it does. I remember reading the book for the first time back in 2007 when I was 15 years old. I was doing an internship – in a bookstore, of course – and took the tramway there every morning which gave me a lot of time for reading every morning and afternoon. As soon as I opened the book, I was absorbed into a different world, far away from the commuters’ chit-chat. What was it that made Spieltrieb so special for me?
What impressed me the most was Ada, the novel’s female protagonist. She’s still one of the few characters in fiction that I have been able to identify with. Ada and I were about the same age and shared quite a lot of physical features and character traits. Yet, Ada was different from me. She felt like a cooler version of me, the badass girl that I so badly wanted to be back then. Ada, this has to be said, turns out to be a foolish teenage girl who is weaker than she appears to be, but I admired her nevertheless.
Of course, this is not enough to cause a true book obsession – imagine a book with a great main character but a terribly weak plot and horrible style. When it comes to novels, I’m a “classicist” (ask Anas). I don’t mind the occasional postmodern, fragmented novel, but I like a handy, compact and mostly linear plot. Zeh’s novel combines this structure with a very refined style and a simple, yet captivating plot, thereby creating my favourite novel of all times.
Now, what does that mean, “favourite novel of all times”?
First of all, this means that I compare every. other. novel. that I read to Spieltrieb, even novels that in their style or plot have absolutely nothing in common with Zeh’s masterpiece. Spieltrieb has set my personal benchmark for novels so that I am now constantly comparing other works of fiction to it. And since I found my own perfect novel, everything else that I read is a minor disappointment for me. But I’d never give up reading novels just because I’m convinced no other book will be as great as Spieltrieb – literature offers a ton of other good and not-so-good books that I wouldn’t want to miss. Here my obsession differs from the kind of fixation a “twihard” might be experiencing. For her (or much less likely, him), all other books aren’t even worth looking at because apparently all that counts is a 100-year-old sparkly virgin. Girls, here’s a piece of advice: Read, and you’ll discover other awesome universes!
Then, it means that I talk about Spieltrieb a lot. But I don’t shove it into other people’s faces, and I don’t recommend it to anyone. It’s something precious to me that I want to share with special people who mean something to me and of whom I think that they might appreciate the novel. The climax of my obsession is my project of translating it to English, a task unaccomplished so far, so that Anas would be able to read it.
The dictionary definition says that an obsession is an “unhealthy preoccupation” with something. Can a literary obsession be unhealthy? Until yesterday I thought it couldn’t. I thought my frequent preoccupation with this single novel was totally harmless. But yesterday in the bookstore, I saw a sign advertising the new Juli Zeh novel, Nullzeit, and in my excitement my pulse started to rise, I tripped at the end of the escalator, fell and broke my reading arm.
The second part of the last sentence is a downright lie, but I am pretty sure that it could have happened. Apart from that, a book obsession is a funny little quirk that is completely free of health risks.