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Forgotten Arm

Josh Hinkle

I decided a few months back that I should nurture the urge I have to read some of what are considered “modern classics”. A quick search will narrow down the modern literary masters into two categories 1) American, and 2) British. The first consisting of Thomas Pynchon, Don DeLillo, Philip Roth and Cormac McCarthy. The second has Ian McEwan and Martin Amis and Julian Barnes. Now, I have been a big fan of Cormac McCarthy for several years, but until now the others have escaped my bookshelves. I know Philip Roth has some kind of grudge against Woody Allen, which, really, seems to be rather commonplace nowadays. Pynchon is reclusive, appearing on the Simpsons twice in the last six years or so, and DeLillo, from what I understand likes baseball. That’s about the sum of my knowledge on the team from this side of the Atlantic. And as sad as that is, what I know of the away team is even less, except for the fact that I tried to read Barnes’ “History of the World in 10 Chapters”, really liked the first chapter or two, but when it got the French Revolution I just lost interest. Based on what I had read by those mentioned I went the easy way out and started with the American writers. And I really eased into it, too. Start with the known quantity. Start with McCarthy. I lucked into copies of “The Road” and “No Country For Old Men” at the local Half- Price Books stores and took those off their hands. Over the next few weeks I stumbled across “The Crying of Lot 49”, “Underworld”, “American Pastoral”, “Portnoy’s Complaint” and “The Human Stain”. Now I knew “The Human Stain” from a movie I didn’t see, so I thought that would be a great place to start. Nice, easy read, too. Still not totally sure I “got” it. I think it could be summed up as “It’s not where you’re from, it’s where you’re at.” But I think that’s a simplistic view to take on a book that’s held in such high regard. Plus, there’s a plot device that just doesn’t work, at least for me. The part where the black guy pretends to be a white guy. I’ve met and known quite a few light skinned black folks in my life, but I can’t recall ever meeting one that could pass as white. Seems like an odd choice to hang the central plot of a book on. And this was the character played by Anthony Hopkins in the movie! Has anyone ever looked at Anthony Hopkins and thought, “You know, if we ever need to cast a character that’s black pretending to be white, I sure hope Tony Hopkins is free”? Doubtful. Well, maybe that one time. I don’t know, maybe some things are best left to the imagination and shouldn’t be filmed. After that, I read “The Road” by McCarthy. Now this book was sold to me as a dismal, how-to survivalist guide to the aftermath of nuclear holocaust. And I guess it is, but it can’t hold a candle to other books of his that I’ve read. Well, maybe Child of God it can, but not to any of the others. Maybe it was oversold by people that really love it, but I thought it was a bit too repetitive. It reminded me of the Motorcycle Diaries in that it was episodic and all the episodes seemed to be the same as the one before. Which means it’s the same episode over and over again. And it’s bleak. Not that I was expecting it not to be, it is about nuclear winter after all, but there’s a scene where the dad has the gun, and I don’t want to spoil it, but I was getting ready to nod off while reading that part and I stayed up and read another good 25 to 30 pages after that scene. The biggest saving grace, I think, is that it’s relatively short and McCarthy utilizes a different writing style from what he previously employed on his Border Trilogy, which makes the book go by even faster. Now, even after all that, I still think it’s a book worth reading, and it’s a nice piece about family responsibility and the human ability to survive, but it can’t come close to “No Country For Old Men” so far, even though I’m only 75 pages into it. It’s a “rip-roaring page turner” as far as the first three chapters are concerned. Doesn’t show any sign of letting me down any time soon, either. Looking at my bookshelf and looking at the list of what I bought, I realize that it’ll probably take me all year to mow through those books mentioned up there. If you don’t know, most of them are pretty dense, both physically and mentally, so it’ll be slow going (not to mention I also happened upon “Gravity’s Rainbow” and Norman Mailer’s “Executioner’s Song” as well as David Foster Wallace’s “Infinite Jest”- look up the page count on those monsters and have pity on me). Based on my previous reading habits, I suspect I’ll make it through about 150- 200 pages of most of these and go off and read a Greg Rucka or Joe R. Lansdale book at least once.