"Last train to Memphis" by Peter Guralnick

On to another music genius and another strong biography.
I remember Peter Guralnick for many years now, his writing about American popular music in its various forms and the guy was always great, however back in 2004 when first volume of his celebrated biography of Elvis Presley was published, I found it too cumbersome and overweight with far too many details. You see, Guralnick took a task to write down a definitive portrait of Presley's rise and fall and a mind-boggling amount of research work sometimes works against the book - the informations about where exactly Presley parked his car on that particular day, before he entered bar and what drink he had ordered don't make for very interesting reading - too many sentences like this just make me yawn. This is what I thought when I first read it a decade ago and now, upon a second reading I have not changed my mind.

I might be just slightly more sympathetic towards Guralnick now, since I know his biography of Sam Cooke and understand what he probably intended to do - not only a portrait of a certain musician but a picture of an era - however, where with Cooke he did excellent and inspired job, following a black, gospel performer who went pop and mainstream, with Presley he might have just went slightly overboard. I am still reading a book, second time around and "Colonel Parker" had just entered the scene but to be honest, again I feel that same old yawning impulse - if details about early impoverished childhood and growing up as insecure, shy teenager fully aware of his low social status where illuminating, once when Presley (almost accidentally) starts working professionally as musician, the sheer number of details of his concerts, roads driven and color of the car just bogs the story down. It came to the point that I approach the book more like a task than out of interest or pleasure, like previously with Bob Dylan where I couldn't wait my job to finish so I could return to the book - when I open the Guralick book, I already know he will hit me over the head with so many details that I will have difficult time staying awake. I do have to admit that I read it from slightly different perspective today than previously, probably because I am more familiar with music now and I do look somewhat affectionately on this young guy so eager to please everybody. File under "reading right now".

"Chronicles Vol.1" by Bob Dylan

From one genius to another.

Umberto Eco was perhaps a little difficult and complicated (I have suffered as much as I enjoyed trough every page) but with this book I had no problems whatsoever. It was completely by chance that one passenger on my ship had mentioned that in a ship's library there is a first volume of Bob Dylan's autobiography - so far I was too busy to even check out the library & from previous experience I assumed this is a place forbidden for crew (it just shows what kind of everything-is-forbidden circumstances I lived with for many years on different ship companies) - this was too good to miss so one day I sneaked in to have a quick look at this library and it is truly a cornucopia, embarrassment of riches. Yes, Bob Dylan was there, amongst many other interesting and inviting titles. I hurried back to my room with book under my arm, feeling guilty as I had stolen something, when in fact later I found out there is no problem with it, crew very rarely goes for books - they mostly spend their free time drinking and cavorting in crew bar, I might be one of the very rare few to even think of browsing the bookshelves.

Bob Dylan is of course the name I was always familiar with, but in my early years the language barrier and cultural differences meant this music was way above my head - I knew he was influential songwriter whose voice was far removed from easy listening pop that appealed to me back than and I knew nothing about American Folk music, Woody Guthrie or what it all means. So I ignored him for a longest time, until recently I kind of took a task to educate myself and give his music a careful listening. Being careful, orderly and systematical Virgo, I started with his earliest LP albums from 1960s and this is where I am still stuck more or less, still enjoying work of young artist very much - I love not only the music and lyrics but also got used to highly individual and stylized singing style which purposely and decidedly rejects any "pretty crooning" - this is someone raised on raw Folk music and inspired with artists like Woody Guthrie and Robert Johnson - I couldn't wait to read his autobiography.

I gulped it.

I swallowed it all and wallowed in it and I thought the library book has to be returned (for the sheer honesty of sharing it with others) I will probably buy my own copy, that's how much I enjoyed it. Did I expect it to be so good? I probably did, somewhere down in the bottom of my heart, though musicians often don't write interesting books - I have read many autobiographies that were not very illuminating at all, however Dylan knows his way with words and as a writer he is inspired, passionate and darn brilliant. Contrary to what people might expect, he did not go for any chronological order but roams trough several chapters of his life (his arrival in New York in 1961, circumstances around recording two relatively obscure albums in 1971. and 1989, than back to his earliest music influences that inspired him to became songwriter) and again I found this to be highly individual, original concept that works beautifully - he writes perceptively about his early, young years when he was still a homeless musician playing around New York's clubs and about people he had meet, about books he read, how exciting it was to discover Tolstoy, Pushkin, Chekhov, Gogol, Maupassant, Poe, Byron, Shelley, Milton, Ovid and Baudelaire, who were people he hung out with, his very first impression of Joan Baez ("A voice that drove out bad spirits") as seen on national TV, the thrill of hearing Bertold Brecht's "Pirate Jenny" or any of the music that inspired him - the person emerging from these pages is intelligent, witty, sensitive, honest and perceptive. I know very well Dylan had been cursed with all this adulation where people worshipped him for seeing in him whatever they recognized as their own voice articulated artistically - and often he would have been tired of it all and misunderstandings built around his public image, however I also understand how easy it is to get carried away with his work, because it is really so good. I mean, how to find faults with someone who writes so brilliantly and makes you feel like this is in fact your other self somehow living in 1961. New York? I just loved everything about this book and yes, I bow down to a talented man. 

"The Island of the Day Before" by Umberto Eco

I have strange relationship with Italian writer Umberto Eco - he is undoubtedly an extremely interesting, talented and erudite man who gained international fame with his best-selling medieval mystery thriller "The Name of the Rose" back in the 1980s and it seems to me that ever since people expect him to continue in the same style (some other writers even made career out of copying this path) though he decidedly follows his own muse and goes in other directions. The name is here, the fame is here but I don't think that the old man really cares to be spoken in the same breath with new best-selling authors - his writing style and education is way above new kids on the block and seems he does what he wants - in other words, Dan Brown can count his millions but he is just a school boy compared to Eco, who in fact is an philosopher, literary critic and professor at University of Bologna.

This is the novel I finally finished in a second attempt.
The first time around, I simply couldn't wrap my head around such a strange book where "nothing is happening" (Lewis Carol's Alice would also add "what is the point of the book without pictures in it") and after some valiant attempts, gave up and left it aside, forever destined to patiently wait on my bookshelf, waiting for another chance. Fast forward few years later and after plowing trough "The Prague Cemetery", here am I,  the head still buzzing from Eco's writing and perhaps this time I am somehow better prepared to face him again - I had purposely took this book with me with firm mission to finally read it all the way trough. And so I did, clenching teeth and all.

Umberto Eco is demanding writer.
Even genius perhaps, in any case he is slightly intimidating with all this knowledge, erudition and education - as for his writing style, here he consciously follows extremely flowery prose style of writers from 18th century like Laurence Sterne, Daniel Defoe of Jonathan Swift - guys who would mix comic prose with lengthy chapters that go nowhere except in sidelining everything and holding the story line in a limbo. This was what probably bothered me the first time around, as "The Island of the day before" simply meandered way too much for my taste - there IS a story frame somewhere in here, about a shipwrecked Roberto della Griva who finds himself on a deserted ship, looking at the mysterious island and unable to swim there - and for the rest of the novel he reminisce about his past life and slowly descends into madness. I don't know what was wrong with me back than but I left it unfinished - this time I started from the beginning and plowed my way trough, but I must admit I skipped occasional chunk and the feeling was one of the task more than of reading pleasure. It is a strange, how we read the book the second time around from a different perspective and I must be a different person at this point, because I actually find it interesting - maybe I even understand it a tiny bit more than earlier - in any case it helped that I was still fresh from another novel by same writer so my brain was kind of trained for Eco's style - he is definitely not a writer for audience looking for lot of action and cliffhanger thriller. His writing style here is extremely flowery, he purposely meanders left and right, goes into all sorts of 18th century philosophy and allusions, so much that occasionally I sighted, wanting him to return to the story. And now when I finally finished the novel, the feeling is one of the relief - like I just chopped my way trough a jungle - not that I am any wiser, since I definitely have to re-read it again to connect the missing pieces and to understand more of nuances this man simply throws out of his sleeves. He might even be one of the few very rare living literary geniuses around today - but because he is so demanding, I need to continue with his work immediately when my brain is still relatively used to his wave-lenght or else I will find it too difficult to face him later. I had really suffered trough this one.

p.s.
Umberto Eco is Cervantes of our day - there is lot of meandering here but I really liked some of the characters, notably Father Caspar who is such an lovable eccentric (and ends up at the bottom of the sea under metal bell, devised to walk on sea floor!). Honestly, I fought with this book but I will remember it much more than some other easily digested stuff. It is an unforgettable feast. I must also add excellent translation by William Weaver who brought all of this to english language readers. I will probably turn to another Umberto Eco novel very soon.