recommended reading

That library isn't going to wait forever. In recognition of that fact, I kicked out the jams and finished Andrew George's translation of The Epic of Gilgamesh. There is little I can say about this work in typical book review fashion, for two reasons. First, it isn't really a novel. It's an epic. A mythological epic, no less. These stories reside in a genre of their own, somewhere between fiction and nonfiction. They employ characters who may perhaps have been real, placed in fantastic settings, set against supernatural enemies, to make a point about humanity. (This is very similar to what I'm trying to do with my own novel series, in fact; but that's not important right now.) It's difficult to critique epics as such. Things like characterization, realism, and other craft-related concerns go flying out the window. The audience already knows, basically, who the characters were; there's no need to develop or even introduce them. Realism, as I've pointed out, is rendered moot by the mythical antagonists. One key element remains: plot. So let's talk about Gilgamesh. In reality, he may have been an actual person. There's a good chance that he was one of the first Sumerian kings, ruling the empire from the city of Uruk (lying between present-day Baghdad and Basra) in the 26th century B.C. Yes, that's right. TWENTY-FIVE HUNDRED YEARS BEFORE YEAR ZERO. You and I are closer to Jesus than Gilgamesh was, chronologically speaking. This was a long time ago, folks. Nearly five thousand years. That means there might very well have been woolly mammoths clomping around North America when Gilgamesh was king in Uruk. Don't that beat all? Okay, sorry for the digression. At some point, the Sumerians deified Gilgamesh. The legend goes that he was two parts god, one part man. He was neither an ideal king nor an ideal god, though. He was actually kind of a jerk. He didn't do mass purges or play his fiddle while the city burned, or anything. He just threw crazy parties, whooped it up all over town, and was into droit de seigneur, if you know what I mean. The good people of Uruk finally got fed up with it, and complained to the gods. The gods figured Gilgamesh just needed something to occupy himself with, so they created a wild man in the forests of Sumer, Enkidu. He ran with the wolves and was suckled by the donkeys, or something. A trapper spotted him, and decided to lure him to Uruk and see if he couldn't get Gilgamesh to calm down. I like this trapper guy. He's smart. He uses steel and nets and snares to trap animals. What does he use to trap a wild man? A prostitute. The trapper fetches a courtesan, Shamhat, from Uruk. They wait in the bushes and then, when the time is right, spring out at Enkidu. Of course he's smitten with with Shamhat, and agrees to accompany her and the trapper back to civilization (after Shamhat—ahem—persuades him). Enkidu and Gilgamesh fight, and a rapprochement is reached: Enkidu acknowledges Gilgamesh's rightful kingship, and the two become buddies. They do all sorts of good deeds, like slaying the vicious demon Humbaba in the Forest of Cedar. Enkidu eventually dies, and Gilgamesh, lonely and now afraid of death, travels the world to seek immortality. His quest leads him over the Sea of Death, into a battle with its ferryman and his stone henchmen, and to the door of the great sage Uta-napishti. The lone survivor of the great Deluge, Uta-napishti directs Gilgamesh to dive to the sea floor and retrieve a special plant that grants eternal life. Gilgamesh does so, but on the way home he leaves the plant unattended and a snake steals it. Heartbroken, Gilgamesh returns to Uruk. And so, what began like a comedy about an inept, randy king turns into a morality tale about the inevitability of death. Even Gilgamesh, two-thirds god, who built the mighty walls of Uruk with his own hands, is not powerful enough to escape the last great adventure. Throughout the epic, we observe Gilgamesh struggle, fight, toil, performing many acts of courage and valor. But in the end, it does him no good...apart from a safe empire and a host of worthwhile memories. One can only imagine the bald-headed Sumerian preceptor attempting to teach The Epic of Gilgamesh to a classroom full of fractious kids. I don't envy the guy. I'm still progressing through Little Women; I'm almost to the end of Part I. Aunt March, it seems, is going to blow the roof off Meg and Mr. Brooke's little secret, even though Jo already knows (and therefore, Laurie). And we're going to have us a wedding. My feelings on this are mixed. I hardly know John Brooke—hell, he wasn't even introduced until the eighth chapter or something. And I had no idea Meg had feelings for him until a few chapters after that. This engagement thing came out of nowhere. Se la vi. Now that we're over the triple threat of Amy's fall through the ice, Father's sickness, and Beth's fever, I think we can all relax and get on with it. I can't wait to see what happens to the rest of the girls in the remaining two-thirds of the novel. I'll keep you posted. And so onto the new volume into which I have now delved: Kurt Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse-Five. I've heard a lot of good things about Vonnegut from friends. Always meant to pick him up and read him someday. As I understand, he's the closest thing to Douglas Adams: an eminently satirical, gut-bustingly funny dude, a phenomenal and lyrical writer. So, of course, when I open up the book to the first chapter (Vonnegut's preamble) and learn that the book, in fact, concerns the fire-bombing of Dresden during the Second World War...I'm a bit thrown off. I enjoyed the introduction nonetheless. Vonnegut self-deprecates a little, but what impressed me the most is how unapologetically opinionated he is. He is anti-war, but not in the insufferable way that most hippies and beatniks are. He's against war because he's actually been in one. In the introduction, he recalls going to a friend's house, a war buddy, with a bottle of Irish whiskey. They plan to reminisce and take notes for the book Vonnegut is attempting to write. The friend's wife's irritation is thinly veiled. She eventually comes out with it: "You were just babies then! Babies!" Vonnegut admits this is so. "But you won't write it that way, will you," she huffs. The friend's wife's fear is that Vonnegut will present himself and his buddies as heroes, and that a new national interest in war will rise up, and another war will ensue, and more babies will be killed. Vonnegut assures the woman that he intends no such thing to happen. "I tell you what," he says, "I'll call it [the book] The Children's Crusade." And indeed, under the title of Slaughterhouse-Five on the first leaf, the words "or the Children's Crusade: a Duty-Dance with Death" are inscribed. This might be an entirely different book than I thought. And now, before I let you go, I simply must tell you about this: Yep, I won an award. Again. This one's the Sunshine Award, given to "celebrate the positivity and creativity of our fellow bloggers." Wow. I have a host of friends. I'm incredibly honored and humbled by these accolades. This one's from Entrepreneur Chick, an eminently classy, brazen lady, whose business-savvy and kindness and street-smarts know no bounds. Check out her blog if you're the slightest bit interested in entrepreneurship, successful business practice, wise tips for living and finance, or dancing. (Wink wink, EC.) The rules for this award are kind of a trade-off: you don't have to write ten facts about yourself (whew, I'm running low). But you have to nominate twelve fellow bloggers for it. Twelve. Yikes, do I even follow that many blogs? Okay, here goes:

• [carrotspeak.]
• Amelia K
• From the Faraway, Nearby
• JINXED
• Let's have a cocktail...
• Life at Willow Manor
• propinquity
• ResidentAlien
• smithyblogs
• Things I Yell at You
• Through Laura's Eyes
• Where Sky Meets Ground

Congratulations everyone! You're creative as all get-out, and just plain fun to read. Pat yourselves on the back. That is all. Tune in next time for one of my few-and-far-between movie reviews.