The Turn of the Screw (Henry James)

I was amazed to find what difficult reading this story was, especially since I remember having been assigned to read it (though not having read it) in high school. What I appreciated about it was that its subject is one that could be portrayed in a very obvious manner, but instead it is made exquisitely vague and subtle, so that until the end, the facts of the story are unclear, and at best, inexplicitly suggested. The horror felt by the main character is nameless, and transcends anything that might by typical in a "ghost story." I will now take a close look at the Benjamin Britten opera and compare.

The Temple of the Golden Pavilion (Yukio Mishima)

The first thing that intrigued me about this book was that the main character was one in which I saw myself more than any other literary character. Also intriguing was that it was based on a true story, and was supposed to be a sort of psychological exploration of the mind of a disturbed arsonist. The book kind of reminded me of Rebecca and Death in Venice, as it combined a story about a descent into chaos with the element of an obsession with a mysterious and beautiful building. However, unlike either of those two, the telling of the story was dramatically kind of flat, and the most engaging aspect of it was the philosophical preoccupation with beauty and isolation that was sometimes explored to the point of confusion. Overall though, it was a rather interesting book.

Lolita (Vladimir Nabokov)

I had wanted to read this book for some time, then second guessed myself when I found it in the Salvation Army for $2. But after reading the first paragraph I immediately put off any previously formulated reading plans I may have had, and decided to settle in for a Nabokov novel (only my second so far). I absolutely loved it at first. It was just the right combination of vulgarity, candor, and smartassed criticism of human stupidity. The lofty language and the constant esoteric references (including phrases of French with no translation) often frustrated me and sometimes seemed kind of stupidly elitist. On the other hand, Nabokov's writing is amazing, to the point that he must be forgiven for being an unabashed snob. The second half of the book was kind of disappointing, although I'm not sure why. Maybe I feel that the premise of the book (a very intriguing premise) is one that is not effectively sustainable for the length that it continues to develop. Somehow I think I lost part of my investment in the book, meaning the story and the language. I was sick of looking words up in the dictionary? I don't know, maybe it's my fault. I feel that I'm not doing this book justice, so I'll say that I fully understand why this is considered one of the great, enduring works of literature.