Gratuitous interactive book post + abuse of adverbs

[constance]

I feel sure that I've mentioned before that I love to read, right? :D That I have a houseful of books and acquire more on a weekly basis, that I never feel the need to join those book-a-week communities because the idea of not reading/rereading fifty books a year is completely foreign to me, even if I rarely feel comfortable talking about them for fear of trying others' patience.

There are books I like and ones I am indifferent to and a few I simply loathe, but I'm rarely intimidated, once I open the covers, into not finishing. David Foster Wallace's Infinite Jest nearly defeated me, though. It's a gigantic book, and it's dense and heavily endnoted, which is fine, except that I read and read without getting pulled in. (In fact, the only thing that kept me reading past, say, page 150, was the knowledge that it's A Certain Friend's favorite book and having started it I felt embarrassed not finishing it, on her account.) I read, I say, and read and read, flipping back and forth between the end notes, getting increasingly annoyed with David Foster Wallace for being so apparently willing to sacrifice everything worthwhile in his novel to his obsessive love for his own voice.

I remember the exact moment when that feeling changed for me, too, when it became clear to me that what I was reading was not so much a young man's thousand-page sploogefest (or do I mean spoogefest?) as what I am thinking is The Great American Novel made manifest. I can't tell you what that scene is without issuing some serious spoilers, but after my epiphany I settled in eagerly; and I am becoming increasingly aware as I read that this is possibly the finest instance of one of my own bulletproof kinks that I will ever see.

(Do you remember bulletproof kinks? Te, I think, is the one who first talked about them in conjunction with fandom. She was referring to porn when she put the term forward, but I think it can be applied in a more general sense, too, to any concept or scenario which will move you unbearably every time you read it (no matter how mediocre its execution).)

My bulletproof kink centers around what I've come to think of as a new and peculiarly American form of tragedy, built around a group of people, all bright and funny and/or quirky, whose primary impetus seems to be engaging, and who fail, utterly or maybe just barely, to engage, almost every time they try. The overshots and undershots and near-misses, everyone terribly, frighteningly isolated and nearly irreparably damaged because of it, which makes the rare connections, when they do come, all the more poignant and dear, and throws the misses into sharp relief.

Okay, I've got off-point here. My points are these:

(1) I am reading Infinite Jest. I am enjoying it very much. If you feel the urge to read, hang in there. It is worth any effort you put into it.

(2) Do you have literary bulletproof kinks? What are they?

Comments

[laurelwood.livejournal.com]

First of all, thanks for my first laugh of the day over "getting increasingly annoyed with David Foster Wallace for being so apparently willing to sacrifice everything worthwhile in his novel to his obsessive love for his own voice."

Also, your bulletproof kink sounds wonderful. I'm trying, but due to my undercaffeinated state, unable, to think of examples of this kink in things that I've read. Can you toss out any popular examples?

One of my bulletproof kink is Great Depression-style "making do"- I cannot resist stories that feature people in hard times, finding ways to stretch resources, pool resources, or invent resources to get by. Not so much the "rags to riches" scenario; I kind of prefer it when life doesn't suddenly become glittery, but maybe just a little less meager.

Another is anything to do with communal living; boarding school, prison, the military, communes, kibbutzim, etc. (My family has teased me my whole life about lining up cots for dolls in grim little rows, and posting rigid bathroom privilege rules.) The dynamic of asserting/maintaining one's individuality in this sort of "everyone gets the same ration" environment is endlessly alluring to me.

[tilney.livejournal.com]

(2) I think a meeting with something other, new, unknown. Which is why I love travel and good erotic literature so much, it's a portrait of displacement and of a personality trying to deal with an encounter with something else, and trying to describe it.

I like it that you ask such interesting questions.

[amelia-eve.livejournal.com]

Sexually I have always used the term "kryptonite" for my never-fail fantasies, but part of what keeps them lively is that I never tell anyone about them. It keeps them shiny and new and doesn't wear them out.

Literature is actually a little tougher to define. I think of it by genres rather than by plot line. I am fond of almost anything set between the wars, the harder boiled the better. I'm a sucker for crackling dialogue and telling sartorial details; Raymond Chandler owns my heart on these.

I'm also devoted to career girl stories. The Best of Everything, Scruples, even Valley of the Dolls push all my "plucky girl in the big city" buttons. Lately I have been meditating about why I don't think that The Devil Wears Prada and other recent Chick Lit books are really the same, but I haven't formulated enough thoughts for a real post yet. I could watch reruns of That Girl until my eyeballs fall out.

Another genre that often intersects with career girl stories is the group-of-friends joint Bildungsroman. Valley of the Dolls actually falls into this realm, though of course the real doyenne is The Group. In a more modern vein, Lace is a good example with a clever premise, or Loose Change or Braided Lives for a slightly more intellectual angle.

I may be reading in the gutter but I'm looking at the stars.

[octoberstory.livejournal.com]

I've always loved that term of Te's, but never bothered to consider what my own BK would be. Thanks for making me consider. ♥

It didn't take me long to realize that mine actually is a sexual kink that happens to gratify (or intrigue?) me on every level. The Eroticized Rivalry has never yet failed to reel me in. No matter how shitty the execution, this dynamic strikes some chord of need or recognition in me that manages to salvage the story every time. Whether the characters experience an attraction in spite (or perhaps because) of a mutual tension, or simply manage to overcome their dislike long enough to share a moment of communion, I find myself so completely buzzed.

In terms of fandoms, this preference always dictates my ships of choice. Snape/Harry is my HP OTP, I can't get enough Season 2 Starbuck/Tigh action for BSG, and--if I ever got more than peripherally interested in Veronica Mars fanfiction--I would be the first to churn out some naughty and embarassing Veronica/Sheriff Lamb.

[coco-palmolive.livejournal.com]

Please email me and let me know the point at which DFW won you over because I can tell it happened far later for you than for me. But on the other hand, it's a subtle distinction; the point at which the book clicked into place for me was not when I realized how deadly serious it is (which was probably some scene with Don Gately) but just when I became comfortable that DFW was not actually making fun of me for not being as hip as he seemed to be. Which was the Erdedy scene with the simultaneous ringing telephone/doorbell.