Third Outside Reading

Last week I finally started a book I've been meaning to read for a while. It's called Water for Elephants by Sara Gruen, and so far it's very interesting. This book is easy to read without being poorly written, and I like the unique setup of the book. For example, it starts with a somewhat confusing (but in a good way) prologue, about a typical circus performance that is instantly interrupted when the animals escape. This is, of course, the clichéd idea of a circus disaster, but is made interesting by the protagonist witnessing a murder among all the commotion. I am almost certain it was the murderer let the animals loose for the sole purpose of committing this act under ultimate chaos--hense, a distraction so she is not seen. Strangely enough, the protagonist states that he has kept her secret all these years and will never turn her in.

The first chapter takes place in a nursing home, and the witty, sarcastic character who's first person dialogue this is coming from is instantly lovable. I run into some confusion soon enough though, when this character runs into another man who claims to have been the one who "carried water for the elephants" in a circus when he was younger. So who was the prologue about? The man telling his first-person account, or the man who claims to have worked in the circus? Would the author really have two characters who have both worked in circuses randomly meet at the same nursing home? This seems like a way too obvious way to get a story going, and if that's the case, I am very unimpressed.

The second chaper has now switched to the point of view of a 23-year-old, who may or may not be the same eighty-year-old protagonist in the last chapter. I don't think it matters at this point anyway; and I expect to find this out soon enough. Nevertheless, I'm enjoying the book greatly, it's easy to read and don't think it'll take any time at all to finish it.

Second Outside Reading

This week I read an article from a book entitled "Chuck Klosterman IV". Chuck Klosterman is a journalist living in New York City, and his articles are very funny. The section I read this week was called "Three Stories Involving Pants" and was a collection of three separate articles. If this title isn't intreguing enough, the author has also included a hypothetical question before the articles even start. This question is:

You work in an office, performing a job you find satisfying (and which compensates you adequately). The company that employs you is suddenly purchased by an eccentric millionaire who plans to immediately raise each person's salary by 5% and extend an extra week of vacation to all full-time employees. However, this new owner intends to enforce a somewhat radical dress code: every day, men will have to wear tuxedos, tails, and top hats (during the summer months, male employees will be allowed to wear gray three-piece suits on "casual Fridays"). Women must exclusively work in formal wear, preferably ball gowns or prom dresses. Each employee will be given an annual $500 stipend to purchase necessary garments, but that money can only be spent on work-related clothing. The new regime starts in three months. Do you seek employment elsewhere?

And my answer is, of course not! I find the job satisfying, and in three months I'll be receiving 5% more pay. The fact that we'd have to wear ball gowns or prom dresses is a definite plus; who doesn't want to wear fancy dresses to work every day? I find this question rediculous because, if given the option, I would choose to dress up each day for work (or even school in my case). This hypothetical question somewhat dissapoints me because the "formal wear" theory is meant to be considered a reason to quit your job.

I realise that this question isn't actually part of the articles I claimed to have read for this week, so I will comment on an article that was. The one I enjoyed the most was titled "Mannequin Appropriation Project". In it, Chuck Klosterman describes how he went to a local Gap and bought the exact outfit desplayed on a mannequin in the storefront window. The outfit consisted of a blue sweater, a collared dress shirt worn untucked under the sweater, and jeans. As he walkes into work, he is greeted in many ways: "This is a stunning development!" "Are you in love?" Klosterman counters these arguments by saying he has now "become a mannequin," or, "I've turned into a new person by turning into a nonperson," as he puts it. The article ends with the author spilling gravy on his new sweater at lunch because, unlike the mannequin, he is a human being.

Perhaps this article is meant to be some deep insight on materialism, but it's not. In fact, after reading other pieces by this author, I don't think that was his intention either. It does prove an interesting point though. Nobody really dresses like the models in catalogues and in storefront windows. In reality, if anyone did dress like them, we'd look rediculous (no offence Chuck Klosterman). Models are supposed to look like someone spent hours deciding what they should wear. Human beings are not. That is why I thought this article proved a point everyone already knew: humans can't be mannequins and mannequins can't be humans.

As pointless as this article was, I still found it incredibly entertaining and would definately reccomend this book to anyone with a sense of humor.

First Outside Reading

This week I read a short story from the September/October issue of Cicada magazine, one of my favorite literary magazines for teens. The story I read was called The Champion of the Weather by O. Henry. In this story, a group of men are on a hunting/camping trip. Their guide, a man named Bud Kingsbury, has a talent for guessing someone's entire life and backround from just a simple conversation with them. When one of the men say to him, "Nice night," he knows instantly that the man is from New York. Bud then tells the group a story of how no one in New York is decent enough to have an intire conversation with him; they'll just say things like, "nice day" or "nice night" and won't elaborate. In Bud's story, he mentions that he even cornered the owner of a café for doing this and almost threatened him with a gun because the owner would't talk to him past those two words. After hearing this story, the man on the camping trip says to Bud, "As I say, Mr. Kingsbury, there is something really beautiful about this night. The delightful breeze and the bright stars and the clear air unite in making it wonderfully attractive..." and Bud answeres him, "Yes, it's a nice night."

I found this story particularily interesting because I'm not sure what to think of the ending. It's very O. Henry to end the story in a way you wouldn't expect, but this ending really just seems to make Bud's character confusing. Why is he saying this? It might be because he wants to show the camping trip man that he respects him more than he respected the man in the café. It could also be because Bud knows he's sort of a smart alec and is showing it off. I think O. Henry's point though is just that Bud is a very interesting, unpredictable character. Still, this ending seemed sort of cliché and not O. Henry's best. Despite the ending, however, the story was very well written and I definately enjoyed it.