50 Books to Read Before You Die

words to inspire before you expire

Tag: Missing From the List (Page 2 of 3)

Missing From the List: Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass

November 23, 2017 /

Happy Holidays, class! Let’s talk about nonfiction.

The full title of the work is Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, an American Slave, Written by Himself.

While the Bible depicts some historical events, the only nonfiction work on the entire 50-books list is The Diary of Anne Frank (which I will write more about in a future post). And though I think the nonfiction novel In Cold Blood by Truman Capote is missing from the list, too, I also believe so about the Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass—for entirely different reasons. In Cold Blood is an unnerving look at humanity’s desire for witnessing a brutal and real crime. In some ways, Douglass’ Narrative is similar—Douglass shows the criminality of slavery that scarred his own life and American society as a whole. But it’s a redeeming tale, too, revealing the outcomes of perseverance against a system of oppression . . . one that Douglass defies with his very existence.

Douglass writes of his life growing up as a slave, the people who influenced him, and the realizations he came to in his hardships. He’s a traditional storyteller, which he was likely conscious of in order to attract a traditional audience—the kind of audience who needed to read his story, and to understand his humanity. His experiences can affect hearts and minds by their ever having been allowed to happen.

And while each of his experiences are both meaningful and inhumane, one stands out to me every time. The wife of his slaveowner begins to teach Douglass to read, until her husband stops her and tells her it’s illegal and will “spoil” the slave for life . . . meaning that reading tends to empower a slave beyond a slaveowner’s control. This is not only all the evidence Douglass’ story needs to prove his own humanity—that his intellect, as a human quality, cannot be denied—but this is also the passage that proves that reading can set a person free.

It makes me think of all those blissfully stupid inspirational posters in public schools about how knowledge is power and how reading can take you to the stars. It makes me think of the stress parents and teachers put on the importance of reading and learning. Our society’s idea that reading is everything came from stories like Douglass’ Narrative—where the kindness of a fellow soul and the strength of a human mind can conquer slavery, and where reading can change lives.

Douglass’ life also has enough historical significance that it should be read whether it’s good or not (it just so happens that it’s good writing as well). The Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass is an important historical milestone for the abolitionist movement of its time, which forever altered American history through the Civil War, the Civil Rights Movement, and modern race issues we still struggle with today. Like similar nonfiction works, it should be required reading for everyone—it belongs on the list because it helped change the world.

As I continue to read Memoirs of a Geisha by Arthur Golden, the fictional account of a geisha’s life in the first half of the 20th Century, I’m noticing similarities between it and Douglass’ Narrative, if only in the way the story is told. The attempt to reflect on one’s own life and tell as rounded a story as possible is something no one can completely achieve. Douglass’ story is, more often than not, about slavery, and not about himself. The picture he paints for us reveals the experiences that affected him more than it reveals his character. To describe yourself, using your own point of view, is one of those impossible things human beings always try and fail to do—which actually makes Douglass’ Narrative more meaningful and Golden’s Memoirs of a Geisha more enjoyable.

More on that next class!

Prof. Jeffrey

Off-Topic: My Want-To-Read List

October 30, 2017 /

Happy almost-Halloween, class!

Let me be honest with you. I’m only 23 years old. 23 years is not enough time to read all of the best books ever written, no matter what the other 23-year-olds tell you. I’ve read a lot of ’em, but my Want-To-Read List is longer than my Already-Read List.

All of those posts I’ve made about books that are missing from the list are my way of filling in the gaps of the list itself; but then there are those amazing books that I haven’t read yet. You’ve probably heard of them too—they pop up on lists and blog posts, or in English classes for all ages. You may have even read some of them yourself, but I’ve never gotten around to them.

So below is a list of the literary greats I’ve heard about. Some were recommended to me by friends or teachers (or both), and others have been praised by critics for decades. Some are centuries old, and others barely a decade young. It’s a rather arbitrarily made list, but they’re all books I’ll be excited to finish one day.

If you’ve read any of them, feel free to tell me why you think they’re great! And if I need to add to my list, tell me what I’m missing. If your recommendations are flowing, I may begin reading something new sooner rather than later. 

  1. American Psycho by Bret Easton Ellis
  2. And Then There Were None by Agatha Christie
  3. Angela’s Ashes by Frank McCourt
  4. Animal Farm by George Orwell
  5. Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand
  6. Atonement by Ian McEwan
  7. Beloved by Toni Morrison
  8. Blindness by José Saramago
  9. The Book Thief by Markus Zusak
  10. Breakfast at Tiffany’s by Truman Capote
  11. A Clockwork Orange by Anthony Burgess
  12. The Corrections by Jonathan Franzen
  13. Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoyevsky
  14. David Copperfield by Charles Dickens
  15. A Doll’s House by Henrik Ibsen
  16. Dracula by Bram Stoker
  17. Emma by Jane Austen
  18. Ender’s Game by Orson Scott Card
  19. Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safran Foer
  20. Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury
  21. The Fall of the House of Usher by Edgar Allan Poe
  22. The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo by Stieg Larsson
  23. The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood
  24. The Help by Kathryn Stockett
  25. The Hours by Michael Cunningham
  26. Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison
  27. The Joy Luck Club by Amy Tan
  28. The Jungle by Upton Sinclair
  29. The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini
  30. The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry
  31. Little Women by Louisa May Alcott
  32. Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov
  33. Madame Bovary by Gustave Floubert
  34. Middlemarch by George Eliot
  35. Midnight’s Children by Salmon Rushdie
  36. Mrs. Dalloway by Virginia Woolf
  37. Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck
  38. The Old Man and the Sea by Ernest Hemingway
  39. One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel García Márquez
  40. The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky
  41. Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen
  42. Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut
  43. The Sound and the Fury by William Faulkner
  44. Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe
  45. The Things They Carried by Tim O’Brian
  46. The Time Quintet by Madeleine L’Engle
  47. Uncle Tom’s Cabin by Harriet Beecher Stowe
  48. Watership Down by Richard Adams
  49. We Need to Talk About Kevin by Lionel Shriver
  50. Winesburg, Ohio by Sherwood Anderson

Missing From the List: The Outsiders

October 19, 2017 /

Hello again, class.

The Outsiders reminds me a little of The Catcher in the Rye. Both are told from the angst-y teenage minds of mid-20th Century boys, and both support much more realistic depictions of teenage life than most novels ever have, then or since. But there are two simple differences between them: 1) Salinger wrote Catcher for adults, while S. E. Hinton wrote The Outsiders for teenagers; and 2) Hinton was a teenager when she wrote it.

So this book—of teenagers, by a teenager, and for teenagers—was one of the first of its kind, and remains the embodiment of young adult literature even today. It clearly should be on the list.

The story of the gang war between the Greasers and the Socs is by now a classic. Ponyboy Curtis, our protagonist, is young, clever, misguided, and heroic, and he lives with his two brothers on the Greaser side of the war. After Ponyboy and his friend Johnny murder a member of the Socs in self-defense, they go on the run, upsetting the dynamic of both gangs and the war between them.

But more important than the story and even the colorful characters is the spark that started the novel. S. E. Hinton was unimpressed by the stories written for teenagers of her day—she found nothing but stories about mindless high school drama and cheesy romantic relationships, none of which reflected her own experiences. She did what any creative person would do—she wrote her own novel to fill in the gaps. The result was a competent story that changed the game for teenage fiction.

Image from the movie adaptation, The Outsiders (1983)

The Outsiders was controversial, and still is. No one wanted their children or their students reading about gang violence, and as a result, the novel has appeared on lists of banned books for decades. You all know by this point that I believe no book deserves to be banned, though it’s particularly strange that this book ever belonged to that category—the violence featured is tame, and it isn’t even the point of the story. Hinton’s intentions were about realism; she wanted people her age to read a novel and see themselves reflected in the characters. The Outsiders was meant to connect with young readers, who want a story that doesn’t patronize and actually means something.

I don’t imagine much of the young adult genre would exist today without The Outsiders. The controversy probably helped make it more famous, and the power of the work itself helped keep it there, but its value extends beyond itself. Without The Outsiders, there’s no Harry Potter Series, no Hunger Games Trilogy, Giver Series . . . and the list goes on. For that, The Outsiders deserves recognition. For being a good story, it deserves a spot on the list.

I’m still finishing up The Amber Spyglass, the third novel in the His Dark Materials Trilogy—another series that wouldn’t have made it in the young adult genre without The Outsiders paving the way first. It also happens to be one of the more controversial book series in the entire genre, and for much better reasons than The Outsiders was.

We’ll discuss it more next class!

Prof. Jeffrey

Missing From the List: To the Lighthouse

September 28, 2017 /

Welcome back, class.

I’ll start with the concerning fact that Virginia Woolf doesn’t have a single work on the list. And, to follow up: out of 50 titles on the list, ten are composed by women. So today is about Virginia Woolf’s 1927 novel, To the Lighthouse.

Virginia Woolf is one of those hallmark authors who stand out by reputation alone, regardless of sex as a qualifier, while still being one of the clearer representatives of feminism known in literature. The fact that she has no novel on the 50-books list highlights the fact that so many other women are left off of it, too.

So either the creators of this list actually tried and failed to find an appropriate amount of female authors, which hints at incompetence (hence, my Missing From the List posts); or, even worse, they deliberately chose all books by male authors and decided in retrospect to throw a bone toward diversity, and the female authors they did choose are featured simply to meet a diversity quotient (and that’s just considering female authors—for authors of racial and other minorities, you’ll have to hear this rant in a separate post).

Either way, the misogyny is strong with this one.

After such a rant, though, I have to admit I’ve only read one of Woolf’s works—but it was really good! To the Lighthouse is a beautiful work of modernist fiction that is special not because of the story, but because of its meaning and the way it’s told. For more on what modernism is, look at my previous post on it.

The Isle of Skye, where the action of To the Lighthouse takes place.

The novel is separated into three parts. Part 1, “The Window,” takes place on one evening in 1910, while the Ramsay family visits their vacation home on the Isle of Skye. We meet the characters and understand their complicated dynamics. Then there’s part 2, “Time Passes,” which is a fluid and ambiguous portrayal of ten years of time, encompassing World War I and the deaths of many major characters in the family. Finally, part 3, “The Lighthouse,” takes place on another evening in 1920, when the family returns to their vacation home as almost completely new people.

The story’s strength is it’s symbolism. The lighthouse represents an unreachable goal, and the terrible weather is the natural world that attacks and hinders humanity’s endeavors. The link between the two evenings, separated by ten years of time, is portrayed through the painting one character works on for those ten years, incomplete without the passage of time—just like the novel itself, incomplete without the strangeness of part 2, loosely stringing together the beginning and the end of Woolf’s novel. Through such symbolism, To the Lighthouse is careful, artistic, experimental, and wonderfully strange, and belongs on the list simply because of what it’s able to do.

Something I tend to forget about modernism is its obsession with time. Novelists from this period liked to portray the unreliability of time by reorganizing chronological order, speeding up and slowing down the story, and confusing a single moment with an eternity. Virginia Woolf fit right in with these modernists—entire chapters in parts 1 and 3 of To the Lighthouse take place in seconds, while part 2 speeds through ten years in no time at all. The action of parts 1 and 3 is also mostly internal, letting stream-of-consciousness explain characters and their motivations—something modernism all but invented.

Which brings me to a complicated point. In a lot of ways, this novel reminds me of Ulysses—need I remind you, one of my favorite novels ever. To the Lighthouse may never match Ulysses in my eyes, but it comes closer than most novels because it does everything Ulysses does (challenges convention, scrambles time, uses stream-of-consciousness to tell a better story, etc.), to the point that if I wanted someone to try Ulysses, I might have them read To the Lighthouse first.

And if To the Lighthouse accomplishes what Ulysses does, and it’s easier on the brain to boot, maybe To the Lighthouse should be on the list INSTEAD of Ulysses (which hurts me to write, I assure you). I’m noticing that there are works on the list that shouldn’t be read—studied or made aware of, absolutely, but not “cozy-up-with-on-the-couch” read. The Bible, The Divine Comedy, The Canterbury Tales, and Ulysses are each books on the list that make more sense as references and less sense as cover-to-cover reading challenges.

Author Virginia Woolf

On a list called “50 Books to Read Before You Die,” there should be books that readers can gain something from. Books like Ulysses fly a little to close to the sun for readers to enjoy, whereas a book like To the Lighthouse (while in no way an easy novel) allows readers the chance to fly as well.

To bring it back to feminism, and the lack of it featured on the list, here’s a post I made back in March (National Women’s History Month) on the great women writers I know.

Part of the reason To the Lighthouse should be on the list, even in place of Ulysses, is because it’s more accessible. But more importantly, Virginia Woolf’s lifetime statement on behalf of female authors allows To the Lighthouse to have something Ulysses only hopes to have: the voice of the female artist. This is more than the idea of a diversity quotient. This is about representation of female authors, and how statements of all kinds—novels, plays, poems, paintings, stories—when represented mostly by one kind of person, are incomplete statements.

I am still reading A Passage to India by E. M. Forster, another representative of modernism and of a minority—but more on that next class.

Until then,

Prof. Jeffrey

Missing From the List: The Giver

September 7, 2017 /

Hello again, class.

Everything about Brave New World that depresses me is something that gives me hope in Lois Lowry’s The Giver. It’s the same futuristic society, heavily medicated and rid of all the emotions that plague humanity; but there’s room for change. There’s a hero with the emotional strength and the courage to do what he thinks is right, and there’s the tiniest cracks in his perfect world for him to slip through, allowing him to succeed. If Brave New World were like this, it probably wouldn’t be as impactful or important.

Thankfully, the comparisons between Brave New World and The Giver end there. For all its similarities, The Giver is actually something quite different, and that’s why I think it should make the list of books to read before you die.

Jonas is a regular 12-year old kid in this futuristic society. At 12, children go through a ceremony designating them to a role in the community—Nurturers, Instructors, Pilots, Birthmothers, Laborers, etc. At the ceremony, Jonas is chosen as Receiver of Memory, a rare assignment. He is to spend every day with a older man known as the Giver, and eventually take on his duties.

Jonas’s sessions with the Giver involve the transfer of memories—the Giver gives them, and Jonas receives them. They are the memories of humanity . . . things that Jonas’s community has purposely removed, which only the Giver and Receiver of Memory are allowed to hold. Memories of war, terror, grief, depression, violence . . . but also memories of elation, passion, joy, and love. Even colors have been removed from people’s minds because of what they can do to destabilize society.

Poster from the movie adaptation of The Giver (2014)

Eventually, Jonas begins to see through the cracks. He realizes things should be different, but that won’t happen while everyone else is happy—which, as he comes to understand, really means that everyone is medicated, lied to, and ignorant of the mistakes they are making. And that’s when the action really begins.

The Giver is the first book in a series, and I have yet to read the rest; I hope they are just as amazing as this first entry. For me, The Giver is special. In the same way that reading Brave New World in high school challenged me to read uncomfortable adult literature, reading The Giver in middle school challenged me to imagine literature that wasn’t neatly tied up to perfection. The Harry Potter series, for example, looks like a magical explosion of chaos, but underneath is J. K. Rowling’s carefully constructed artistic mechanism. But Lowry does the opposite: the world she creates is perfectly ordered, but underneath that is humanity trying to break free.

Author Lois Lowry

This is best shown by the ending. Where Harry Potter ties up at least 99% of its loose ends, Lowry leaves the ending of The Giver as open-ended as children’s literature will allow. The action isn’t resolved, the mystery of Jonas’s choice remains a mystery, and there’s only the possibility of hope that Lowry just barely lets readers see before ending the narrative. Sure, there are other installments in the series, but it’s still a daring creative move that did a lot to twist my reading habits.

And that’s the point of The Giver: to give young readers an idea of a perfect society, and to tarnish it; to show readers that perfection, if achievable, is not good. Perfection can actually be what hurts humanity most of all. Our imperfection is better for us in the end.

The fact that Lowry tackles these themes in a book for children makes it all the more powerful. The attempt to teach children themes like these undermines the discomfort of Brave New World because it drives the point home sooner. The particular discomforts of Brave New World outshine The Giver by far, but The Giver gets the chance to show children how to change the world before they realize it needs changing. The book is dedicated to all children, “to whom we entrust the future,” which says a lot about Lowry’s aims. Just another reason why everyone should read it.

As a reminder, next week is my post on Wuthering Heights! Make it to class on time!

Prof. Jeffrey

Missing From the List: In Cold Blood

July 27, 2017 /

Hello again, class.

Last week, I talked about Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird, which for over 50 years was the only novel she’d published. It’s fitting, then, to talk this week about the other novel she worked on with friend and author Truman Capote. Though she isn’t credited as an author, she had a significant hand in creating In Cold Blood, a non-fiction novel about the 1959 murder of the Clutter family in Holcomb, Kansas. It’s an amazing novel that, I think, should make the list of books to read before you die.

Capote and Lee went researching after the murders were committed to tell the story: Herbert and Bonnie Clutter, and their two youngest children Nancy and Kenyon, were killed on November 15, 1959 by Dick Hickock and Perry Smith. The novel follows the murderers, the victims, and the rest of Holcomb leading up to and following the crime.

This isn’t simply a review of the facts, however; just like Lee, Capote has a knack for beautiful writing, and that’s partly why it should make the list. The expressive detail used in writing the book transforms a crime into a story—one that delves deep into the psychosis of criminals and the darkest elements of human nature. Like the best of the based-on-a-true-story genre, In Cold Blood takes the interesting, the mundane, and the twisted events surrounding this mid-century mass murder and makes prose.

In Cold Blood is also one of the first novels of its kind: creative nonfiction. Capote isn’t the first writer ever to write facts of a crime in a creative way, but he may be the first to do it in novel form. The nonfiction novel is unequal parts journalism, invented dialogue, history, and entertainment—real events told in both fictional and factual ways, which Capote had done better than anyone before.

Author Truman Capote

In Cold Blood is also criticized for this core concept—the reputation and financial success of both Capote and his novel stem from a real tragedy, which he used for the sake of art and his own personal gain. It says a lot about people who read the novel, too; how much are we glorifying violence or celebrating crime by buying his book, praising its achievements, etc.? The novel reveals the darker side of human nature not just from within the story, but from its margins as well.

That’s exactly why In Cold Blood should be read and studied: it’s culturally, psychologically, and artistically significant to our time. On the surface, it is a well-written and enjoyable crime drama. But underneath that is a lens that shows how far humanity is willing to go for fame, money, or even a good story. Underneath that still is a rather unnerving mirror.

Speaking of the darker side to human nature, I’m halfway through Lord of the Flies, and those children are terrifying. There are plenty of reasons that novel made the list . . .

But more on that next time; thanks for making it to class!

Prof. Jeffrey

Missing From the List: The Hobbit

July 12, 2017 /

Welcome back, class.

The Lord of the Rings is a sequel. Sure, it’s the more important and more famous sequel, but it is built on the backbone of another story: The Hobbit. I agree with the makers of the 50-books list that The Lord of the Rings is a story you need to read before you die, but The Hobbit came first, and it belongs on the list for that reason alone—without it, there would be no Lord of the Rings. It also happens to be a great story, with interesting characters and an amazing plot, worth reading in its own right.

Unlike The Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit is a children’s novel—the story is simpler, with the same feel as The Wind in the Willows or Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. But it doesn’t sacrifice the depth of Tolkien’s fantasy world by being kid-friendly; Middle-Earth is more extravagant and complete than Narnia, Neverland, and Oz combined. The only difference in The Hobbit is that it’s for all ages.

And despite this major difference, unsurprisingly, most of the themes and characters are the same in both books. Bilbo Baggins, Gandalf the Grey, and Gollum are the major characters that appear in both stories, and Bilbo obtaining the ring changes the fate of every character in The Lord of the Rings. I like to think that the books themselves mirror one of the novels’ major themes, that the smallest creature or character can change the world—The Lord of the Rings wouldn’t have been possible without the efforts of this one little children’s book.

Author J. R. R. Tolkien

Tolkien also contrasts the spirit of adventure with the longing for home in both stories. Bilbo’s adventure to save the dwarves’ home, his fear of going on an adventure at all, his delight at the comforts of home and his desire to return . . . Tolkien captures it beautifully. It’s early writers like Tolkien, who sold universal themes like these with hobbits and dwarves—just like other authors who sold them with talking animals, magical portals, and villainous monsters—that made fantasy popular for children and adults.

Oh, a hand up in the back—you ask, why read The Hobbit at all if it’s exactly like The Lord of the Rings, but for kids? We’ve already read one, why read the other?

If you don’t like reading, fine, don’t read The Hobbit. But if you enjoyed The Lord of the Rings and haven’t read The Hobbit, it’s certainly worth trying! And even though they are remarkably similar—like any two books written by the same author—these aren’t the same story. There are plenty of new characters, interesting and suspenseful situations, more witty and cheesy dialogue, all wrapped up by an exciting and heartfelt adventure. I wouldn’t say it’s better than The Lord of the Rings, but it’s definitely just as good.

It’s also easier and shorter.

Like I mentioned last week, I’m reading To Kill a Mockingbird now. It’ll be book #25!!

Until then, have an excellent week.

Prof. Jeffrey

Missing From the List: Dr. Seuss’s Children’s Books

June 14, 2017 /

Good morning class.

The 50-books list has a handful of options marketed for children: i.e.,  Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and the Harry Potter series. But I think it’s strange that there isn’t a single entry on the list by Dr. Seuss—a man whose work is synonymous with children’s literature.

Dr. Seuss’ picture books cover a wide range of topics marketed for all ages. In his quirky, made-up-rhymes, overused-exclamation-points way, he tackles environmentalism, prejudice, and politics alongside boredom, bullying, and loneliness, and it’s never dull. So I officially declare that at least one of Dr. Seuss’ works should be one of the 50 books you read before you die.

I’m too weak to claim one is better than the rest, so I chose my top 5!

1. Horton Hears a Who!

Statue of Thodor Seuss Geisel and his “Cat in the Hat” character.

Symbolically, the politics in this story are about involvement vs. isolationism—what happens when those with power intervene to help those without. Written in the 1950’s, this could easily be about WWII or the American-Korean conflict, criticizing Americans who wanted to stay out of international issues. Dr. Seuss rarely shied away from such controversial topics, even when writing for kids.

But even if that was Dr. Seuss’ intention, the messages for kids are more wholesome: all people are equal, even if they don’t have the power to say so; stick to your true beliefs, even if others make fun of you or hurt you for them; and every voice counts in times of trouble, so don’t be afraid to stand with others. This book is inspiring, and an emotional rollercoaster. Of course there’s a happy ending, but that doesn’t make it less stressful when the town of Whoville is moments away from being destroyed toward the end—I get chills reading it every time.

2. How the Grinch Stole Christmas!

I think it’s a stroke of genius from Dr. Seuss that the Grinch hates Christmas simply for the sake of hating Christmas. He hates the noise and the feasting and the singing—there’s no explanation, just that he hates it from the bottom of his too-small heart. It makes him instantly unlikable and easy to transform by the end.

And by the end, the message is clear—Christmas is more than decorations and gifts. Dr. Seuss doesn’t say what Christmas is beyond that, because that’s enough. Christmas may look flashy and bright, but what it actually is—the love and joy and peace-on-Earth that it stands for—is beyond words. Not many Christmas stories can relay that message well, and this is one of the few.

3. The Lorax

I tend to forget that “The Lorax” has a happy ending, because the death and decay caused by the greedy Once-ler’s business fills up so much of the story, and packs such a powerful punch, that the end just can’t match. Watching the bright and colorful land of the Lorax darken page by page, and seeing the devastating results of a rampaging business, has stuck with me more than the final scene, where the remorseful Once-ler passes a final Truffula seed to a stranger, who may be able to bring the forest back.

The environmental message is painful and foreboding (particularly, the whack of the final tree cut down and the Lorax’s final trace in his land, the word “UNLESS,” are both emotional battering rams). It’s a sad story, even with the happy ending, and most writers wouldn’t dare write such a story targeted at children—though the message probably means more to adults anyway, as they read this story to their children, their eyes forced open to the injustice toward the Earth. Because of this, I think “The Lorax” says more about Dr. Seuss than most of his books.

Author and Illustrator Theodor Seuss Geisel

4. The Sneetches

This is one of Dr. Seuss’s underrated masterpieces—I’ve only met a handful of people that recognize it. But I grew up with “The Sneetches,” and it’s themes of prejudice, greed, and classism are with me to this day.

The Sneetches are a divided people, the privileged identified by stars on their bellies, and the rest with no “stars upon thars.” Then along comes Sylvester McMonkey McBean with his star-adding machine, which can put stars on the Sneetches bellies and give them the world they could never have—all for three dollars each. But then, all the Sneetches are equal, which doesn’t sit well with the Sneetches born with their stars. So they go through McBean’s star-off machine, upsetting the rest of the Sneetches . . . well, chaos ensues.

The Sneetches learn their lesson, of course—a Sneetch is a Sneetch, star or no. It’s one of those lessons that people are still working on, and the Sneetches are a good model to study.

5. Oh, the Places You’ll Go!

In a previous post, I talked about this book as particularly special to me—like all of Dr. Seuss’ books, it has a way of speaking to the soul. It doesn’t have a big story or political message, but it’s full of hope and inspiration. Dr. Seuss tells the reader directly what they will face, both the good and the bad, as they grow up and move out into the wide weird world.

“Oh, the Places You’ll Go” doesn’t shy away from the pain, fear, and loneliness the world can cause (even if it’s in Dr. Seuss’ quirky way, it still means a lot). Coupled with the determination, success, and wonder the reader will meet, the good and the bad balance each other out, and make the message more meaningful. But it scales back at the end—the glamour and glory of all these possible new places boils down to an almost-blank page, leaving it to the reader to imagine what’s next. It’s a very hopeful message.

Even with these 5 favorites, I still feel like I’m missing several of Dr. Seuss’ greatest works—I probably forgot a few. Tell me your favorite Dr. Seuss picture book in the comments!

Next week, I’ll be writing about The Great Gatsby, so be prepared to discuss. It’s probably the easiest and most comfortable literature I’ve ever read, but it’s also one of the most layered and complex stories I’ve ever come across. But more on that next time.

Have a good week!

Prof. Jeffrey

Missing From the List: The Hunger Games Trilogy

May 31, 2017 /

Hello again, class.

The youngest book on the 50 Books to Read Before You Die list is Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, published in the summer of 2007. By that time the series was 10 years old, and it had already established a lasting impact on the world. The 50-books list, made in 2011, could see that impact and the quality of the novels, so the series was made required reading for everyone.

The Hunger Games Trilogy didn’t get the same advantage—the first installment was published in 2008, and the final installment in 2010, a year before the official list was released. If the list had been made later, I honestly believe this series would have been included. But, as always, let’s talk about why.

The story is popular enough by now, but for those who need the cliff notes: the main character, Katniss Everdeen, is a teenager swept up in the political slaughter of children disguised as an annual “game,” where 24 children are forced into an arena to fight against each other for their lives. The personal aspects of Katniss’s life get swept up, too; as soon as children are chosen for this sentence, they live entirely in the spotlight. From the opening chapters of the first novel, Katniss is being filmed and interviewed, giving the public every moment of the emotional roller coaster she’s experiencing.

That includes the intricate difficulties of the family she’s supporting, as well as the love triangle she so desperately wants no part of. And suddenly, her attitude, fashion sense, love life, and ability to survive become the absurd center of attention of an entire nation of oppressed people. How she reacts to her situation is a part of a larger political game she’s also forced to play, which is even more difficult to survive.

Katniss’s journey is only partially about her survival, and what she sacrifices to have it (her humanity, her future, her family). On that point, it’s a dystopian sci-fi action-thriller—interesting futuristic technology and fight sequences that rival war movies. I’d call it entertaining if it wasn’t so brutal, but we are talking about children fighting for their lives.

Suzanne Collins, author of The Hunger Games trilogy

And that’s the problem—the teenagers killing each other is broadcast to the whole corrupt nation as entertainment. The Hunger Games trilogy is a scathing criticism of our society privileging and promoting violence as entertainment, with upfront proof that children always pay the price. The society Katniss lives in has such a skewed perspective that it doesn’t see violence and death for what it is: raw, painful, and terrifying. The same could be said of our world, with action movies and violent news stories filling up every void in our daily lives.

The series does have a lot in common with 1984—another reason it might not have made the list, being too similar to an already featured classic. But the fact that The Hunger Games is the teen-fiction version of a great sci-fi classic means it’s even more worthy of being on the list; it’s such a layered and accessible view of societal dangers that it should be required reading for everyone.

It’s especially worth mentioning that The Hunger Games has a strong female lead in an action-based book series. Even at the time of the first book’s release (and even today) that can be hard to find. I definitely believe our society privileges men in stories like this, and it’s good to see a figure like Katniss Everdeen flaunt our societal expectations. But Katniss isn’t a through-and-through warrior either—she’s a teenager with a very messed up life, making mistakes and not knowing who to trust in a world of liars and politicians. Many current novels still fail to treat female characters as well as this, so author Suzanne Collins deserves props.

As I continue to read Jane Eyre, treatment of female characters is on the front of my mind. I’m really impressed with Jane as a character so far—but I’ll update you next week, students.

Enjoy your week!

Prof. Jeffrey

Missing From the List: The Shining

April 19, 2017 /

Good morning, class.

The 50-books list doesn’t provide a lot in the realm of horror. Sure, there’s Frankenstein and Hamlet, which both at least count, and even my current book The War of the Worlds portrays the horror element of classic sci-fi. But still, I don’t see much that’s horror, first and foremost.

There could be a good reason for that . . . horror is usually low quality; cheap thrills, shallow characters, bad storytelling. But there are exceptions to the genre, and Stephen King proves that with The Shining—so much so that it deserves a place on the list of books you should read before you die.

The story: a small, struggling family watches over the Overlook Hotel through the winter, as supernatural forces try to tear them apart. The father’s alcoholism leaves him vulnerable to the violent spirits in the hotel, and he becomes monstrously abusive. His wife tries to protect their little boy, who just happens to have the ability to communicate with the spirits around them—an ability called shining.

It’s a bad situation . . . and bad becomes worse. They are trapped by the snowstorm in a maze of a building that is crawling with fear, paranoia, rage, and evil. Of course, with Stephen King as the writer, tension smothers every page.

King’s novels are not high literature, in my opinion . . . but this is more compliment than complaint. Of the handful that I’ve read, his novels don’t have that air of pretentiousness found in most English-class pieces of literature. He is an entertainer, and he performs really well with tools like horror and suspense.

Author Stephen King

He’s said that his ideas are situational; the what-ifs inspire the story. “What if . . . a family is trapped in a haunted hotel?” Everything stems from that. So his characters are like pawns in a chess game, and we wait to find out who wins, who is sacrificed, and who makes a narrow escape. One of the reasons King’s stories are so well-received is because his approach is both the key to successful suspense and the essence of storytelling: the question “what happens next?”

If there’s any reason The Shining shouldn’t be on the list, it’s because horror isn’t for everyone. I might agree, if it wasn’t an amazing novel. The Shining handles fear in a way that is important to experience—fear of people who we think love us; fear of people who are under something else’s control; fear of large and imposing forces, and conquering that fear not through blindness or ignorance, but through courage and accepting fear.

Because The Shining handles fear better than any other book I’ve ever read.

It is important to mention that the abusive father character is spending most of his time trying to write a novel, and meanwhile Stephen King has suffered from alcohol abuse. So King isn’t approaching these characters by glorifying a real social problem. In fact, he’s pouring out his soul. That might be the one common denominator between all great works of literature. Food for thought.

See you next time.

Prof. Jeffrey

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