The Happiness Project by Gretchen Rubin

I liked this book more than I thought I would. I kind of expected it to be a little more "spiritual," if you know what I mean. (Rubin made some references to that, herself, on occasion.) Instead, it was more organized and methodical, and made a lot of sense! (Not that I'm trying to say spirituality doesn't make sense, but it can be illogical, depending on how it's done.)

Anyway, I also really liked the concept. So much, in fact, that I decided to do a Happiness Project of my own! I'm going to keep a (very low-key) blog about it, which you can visit here, if you so desire.

But lest you start calling me Little Miss Pollyanna, I will say that although I loved the concept of the book, Rubin did occasionally bother me. Maybe it's because I was expecting the spiritual stuff, and instead I got constant waves of hard facts and evidence. Like, this book was the Niagara Falls of scientific evidence about happiness. And although it was often very interesting to learn what the studies said about happiness, there were occasions where I just couldn't help but start thinking threatening thoughts if I saw another sentence that started with "Studies show..." I guess I just feel like, although it can be interesting to learn about more ways to try to be happy, I'm not going to listen to some so-called "expert" tell me what's going to make me happy. Actually, I would consider myself the expert on my own happiness, thank you very much.

But Rubin herself admitted that the studies weren't always right and that ultimately she had to find her own way to happiness, so that was good. But it was just slightly annoying at times that she seemed so addicted to knowing (and sharing) what every single study has ever showed about happiness.

There were other things that annoyed me about Rubin (for instance, her compulsive list-keeping), but most of what I didn't like was just about her personality. I also couldn't help but be suspicious that she was just looking for the million-dollar book, and thought, "Everybody wants to be happy; why not write a book about  happiness? And of course, with the trend nowadays, I'll have to spend a year doing something..." But even though I'm still a little suspicious of her motives, I really do think she was sincere.

Annoyances aside, this was a lovely, inspiring book. I've been wanting to read it for quite some time, and I'm glad I finally did.

"Howl" by Allen Ginsberg

I'm going to be honest. I've never had much of a desire to read "Howl." This aversion is linked to all kinds of things, involving weird community college teachers, documentaries watched involuntarily, and various other things which I won't bore you by explaining.

But I had to read it for class on Monday. This being BYU, my teacher gave a disclaimer in class, assuring us that we could skim over certain parts if we wanted to, but ended by saying "We're all adults, we can handle it." (In other words, if you skim over parts, you are probably a way-too-sheltered wuss.) Now, let me get this straight--I didn't anticipate having to skim over parts; my aversion to the poem has little to do with skittishness about the dreaded "sexual stuff" and "vulgar language." But somewhere deep down, I kind of said to myself, "Okay...here we go."

Well, I read the poem. And...seriously? It wasn't half as bad as people make it out to be. And when I say "bad," I mean the "sexual stuff" and "vulgar language" was hardly worth batting an eyelash (particularly when you consider that movies with one "F-bomb" and partial nudity are considered appropriate for 13-year-olds in this day and age). Not that I'm saying I would feel comfortable reading the poem aloud to third-graders or anything, but people really make "Howl" seem like X-rated poetry or literary porn.

The truth is, "Howl" is a really amazing poem. Do I consider it uplifting and inspiring? Would I quote bits of it in church? Erm, no. But contrary to what seems to be popular opinion (among members of my church, anyway), poetry's sole purpose is not always to uplift, inspire, and be fodder for church talks so you can make it all the way to 10 minutes of material. "Howl" is dark and absolutely awful, but also positively entrancing with its ugly beauty. (And its ugliness--not even the worst of it--does not all come from "sexual stuff" and "vulgar language.") Somehow, Ginsberg has managed to take all the worst language in English (and I'm not just talking about vulgarity, but words that are just ugly) and weave it in with some of the most beautiful, corrupting it all and making it all ugly together. That's a pretty amazing feat. Whether it's worthwhile could be debated, but it's amazing.

I don't have any deep insights to relate about "Howl." But I read it. And I lived to tell the tale.

Library Books Readathon Begins: Goals

Books I want to finish: 

The Happiness Project by Gretchen Rubin

My Lost City: Personal Essays and

On Writing by F. Scott Fitzgerald

After that, it's free game! 

After participating in two readathons and using different methods for each to track my progress, I've come up with a new way to do it. The first time, I wrote a post about my progress every single day. This was nice because it kept me accountable and I enjoyed writing my thoughts, but after a few days it just got a little stale, and it also kept me online more when I should have been reading. The second readathon (not too long ago), I tried doing what many bloggers do and just keeping a log on a single post of page numbers, what books I read, etc. This turned out to be way too hard for me, and what's more, I didn't want to write any other posts during that week because then my readathon post would keep going down the page until no one would ever see it, even though I kept updating it every day (well, I tried to). 

So this time, I'm going to continue blogging like normal (reviews, etc.) during the readathon, and I'll write a post sometime in the middle of the week to discuss my progress, and then a wrap-up post at the end. Hopefully, this will help me get the best of both worlds! 

Library Books Readathon

So, after my mediocre performance in the last readathon, I need to prove myself with another one, right?

Right.

Starting tomorrow, I'll be participating in the Library Books Readathon hosted by Rachael at Rachael Turns Pages:

I am planning on reading my library books first: The Happiness Project by Gretchen Rubin, and a couple of F. Scott Fitzgerald books I got out of the school library while I was writing a paper about his short story "Babylon Revisited." However, I'm already halfway through The Happiness Project and it might not take me that long to get through the others. And then, I might have other things to read for my classes that start on Monday. Depending on how things go, I might turn to some of the books I own (or just use it as an excuse to get more books out of the library...).

I'm looking forward to it!

You didn't think it could get more exciting around here, did you?

Well, it's about to. 

Today (or maybe tomorrow, if I keep procrastinating) I am going to take my final exam for my American Literary History class. And then it will officially be over! 

I have loved every minute (well, almost) of this class. It's gotten me out of my shell and introduced me to some wonderful American authors whose work I'm excited to explore more. It's taught me to be more open-minded and more critical of classic works. And I've read a lot of great poetry, short stories, and creative non-fiction. 

This class was my last 200-level (sophomore level) class to take for my major. Now, I get to move on to 300-level classes! You know what that means, don't you? 

It means I'm halfway through! I can finally see the light at the end of the tunnel! I can almost feel the degree in my hands! 

(I always picture my degree as a rolled-up scroll of yellowed parchment, tied elegantly with a ribbon. But I know it's just a piece of paper with fancy gold lettering on it that I get to pay a fortune to have framed. Hooray.) 

But of course, the degree is not the main goal of my time here at college. The goal is a wonderful education. And to be honest, as fun as literary history is, sometimes it focuses a little more on the history part than I would like. (I do like history, but I prefer my literature classes to focus on the actual literature, you know?) I guess what I'm trying to say is, I've loved my literary history classes, but I'm ready to move on to better, brighter things. 

So, next term is going to be absolutely wild with excitement! I'm taking two classes I've been looking forward to since my freshman year: Shakespeare and Creative Writing. Two English classes, and not a single General Ed class to get in the way! (And hopefully, I won't suffer from too many difficult classes, because I will only be taking 6 credits, which is very reasonable for a summer term at BYU.) 

Well, I could probably ramble on about this for several more paragraphs, but I'll spare you. But this time, I'm going to actually write about my Shakespeare adventures (and maybe even creative writing adventures, who knows?) here on the blog, instead of waiting until the last couple of weeks of class to be brave enough to try writing about anything I read for class. (I still have a post on Allen Ginsberg's "Howl" to share with you. I know, you're dying with anticipation.) 

Summer classes start Monday. I can't wait! 

Our Dear Friend Robert Frost (as my English teacher would call him)

I'll be honest: I was not expecting to love Robert Frost. Before I was assigned to read him for my class, I had never really read any of his poetry, but I was quite familiar with the oft-quoted "Road Not Taken" poem. I wasn't particularly impressed by that poem, either, because everyone who ever quoted it seemed to assign a quaint little moral to it (aka "we shouldn't follow everyone else, we should take our own unique path," etc.). And, although this is not a bad moral, I don't like poems that have obvious morals. So that made me think that Robert Frost himself was quaint.

But I should have known better than to listen to all those quoters. Robert Frost is not quaint at all. He's not didactic and his poems don't parade around One Very Specific Moral. (Also, my teacher informed me that Frost actually wrote "The Road Not Taken" to be ironic. I have a feeling that every time that poem gets quoted in church, he rolls in his grave...with laughter.)

Robert Frost is...beautiful. Epic. Fascinating. Intriguing. Melodious. Incredible. And I feel ashamed that I ever underrated him so abominably.

Like Water for Chocolate by Laura Esquivel

So, I bought this book at the library book sale because I remembered hearing good things about it. Turns out it was definitely not my kind of book.

Most of it read like a Spanish-language soap opera. I kept hoping it would get better--and then it did! Finally, I started seeing some more complex ideas (Gertrudis's marriage, Chencha's role in the family, Pedro being not-so-nice, etc.). I was beginning to look forward to the end of the book. This might sound terrible, but I was so pleased to know that there would be no completely happy ending. There couldn't possibly be one! I knew that the way the story ended would answer a lot of my questions about what the book was trying to do. What would the ending have to say about feminism? Tradition? Family relations? Race? Sex? Mexican politics and war? There were so many possibilities!

But unfortunately, the book ended pretty much like it began. Like a Spanish-language soap opera. My predictions--which I had thrown out the window in the middle of the book--came true. Drat.

I don't want to totally discount this book, because I do think it probably has some interesting implications about feminism/tradition/family/race/etc., but I felt like the author may have succumbed just a little bit (or maybe a lot) to an obligation to entertain. There was far too much about sex and far too little about, well, everything else I kept hoping to learn more about. Like the revolution, for instance, and John Brown, and Tita's relationship with her nephew and niece. But it was not to be. In order to keep the book short and appease her youthful, female audience, Esquivel had to leave out interesting details and pack it nice and full of sex and ridiculous romance.

The way the book was written was certainly interesting: sort of a hybrid of magical realism and folklore and cookbook and, um, Spanish soap opera? (Ha. ha.) I enjoyed that aspect of it, but that was pretty much the extent of it.

It would be great if somebody out there could comment on this and inform my ignorance on this book. What is good about it? (I actually looked it up on Wikipedia and Sparknotes, and neither one seemed to have much thought I hadn't already considered.) I'm thinking it might go straight back to the library to be sold at another book sale.