Snow Crash

Neil Stephenson's Snow Crash is a novel that's consistently been both praised and recommended to me. As page-turning science fiction novel, it's tough to find a peer for this. While the plot isn't quite as complex as Stephenson's later work, such as Cryptonomicon, in that the narrative is not skipping back and forth in time, there's still enough threads to tie together to keep the story engaging.

Yes, Stephenson names his main character Hiro Protagonist (how the fuck do you think that's pronounced), but the humor is otherwise mostly dry, which is a good thing in a science fiction universe -- too much silliness isn't a good thing in such an artificial world. In re: artificiality, some of the computer discussion is hopelessly dated, but the novel was published in 1992. So it goes.

Despite how dated much of the referencing is, the Internet as conceived by Stephenson (referred to in the novel as the Metaverse) is, if not a realistic vision of how the Internet developed, an interesting vision of an alternate reality. The Metaverse seems like a cross between the Internet as people use it and Second Life. The introduction of Sumerian mythology/history/general culture in the later plot is even more interesting, but since most of us are unfamiliar with anything beyond the basics and possible The Epic of Gilgamesh, it's tougher to double check on the fly. (Yes, this is exactly the sort of question that the Internet is useful for answering)

Very entertaining and fun sci-fi novel that ties together several diverse threads at the end, even if some of those threads are a little simplistic. (The glossolalia comes across as bunk, and the Sumerian as human machine language particularly.) A great diversion, but I'd recommend Cryptonomicon before this.

A Farewell to Arms

Ernest Hemingway's A Farewell to Arms is one of those books I probably should have read in high school, but somehow didn't. I finally rectified this recently, and I'm relatively glad I did.

Like all of Hemingway's work, the prose is unadorned and straightforward, lacking florid description, and occasionally leaving off where another writer would feel the need to elaborate. This can lead to a feeling of lack of depth.

The story is concerned with a young American Lieutenant (Tenente) driving an ambulance on the Italian front during the First World War, his relationship with his military contemporaries, and his experiences being wounded and falling in love with a British nurse.

The depiction of Tenente's paramour, Catherine Barkley, is either Hemingway's image of an ideal woman (wise, but unable to contain her passion), or a male dream (continually asserting what a 'good girl' she is, existing only to please her man). Or perhaps both. Her conversations with Henry are insipid, although that's the fault of both characters. Whether this is Hemingway's style, his lack of feel for women, or my poor ear for early twentieth century conversation remains to be seen.

The novel features judicious use of profanity, that has been excised (by the publisher) from my edition. I'm unsure how to feel about this -- the language is not quite archaic, but it would be jarring to see "shit", "fuck", and "cocksucker" (the three excised words) interspersed with clearly out-of-date dialogue.

Overall, an extended meditation on death in war, how deaths in battle become statistics, but that doesn't make the deaths of those we love any easier. A worthwhile novel, and one I'm glad I finally got around to reading.

The Tin Drum

Yet another winner of the Nobel Prize for Literature, Gunter Grass' The Tin Drum is a novel that I'd already like to reread; this is due to the novel's complicated and subtle rhythm, designed to evoke the titular drumming. Grass frequently lays out passages that swell and build in intensity, as in a cadence. Such writing must be a bear to translate, and Breon Mitchell covers some of the steps he took in his re-translation, including working with Grass.

Our protagonist is Oskar Matzerath, who is a classic unreliable narrator -- the story is written as his memoirs, composed while he's imprisoned in a mental institution. Oskar has spent his entire life as a dwarf; he claims that he hurled himself down a flight of cellar stairs on his third birthday to retard his growth,
which is a claim that we should treat with skepticism if Oskar was not chosen to represent the German people.

Later, after his (presumptive) father's death, Oskar resolves to grow. He doesn't reach normal adult height, though -- becoming a hunchback, with limited stature. Again, suggesting that Germany's political state is not quite normal. Oskar almost achieves normalcy, though -- his mother had promised him a tin drum on his third birthday. When Oskar receives this gift, he's entirely taken with it, and it defines him. He's never without it until the death of his (presumptive) father, where he throws it into the grave.

While there's a lot going on in The Tin Drum, it's an easy and engaging read. The novel is broken up into three books, each with a different focus and tone, but again, engaging. Would recommend.