Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe

Officially known as one of the most influential Post-colonial works of the 20th century.

Not that I knew. I only found out a week after finishing the entire book.

To be perfectly honest, these titles that get attached to books can really skew your opinion. "Best" or "most influential" or "historically significant," what is it about these that automatically guarantee a book merit?

“It's the book all Post-colonial professors must teach in their lectures.”

“It's the book that started it all!”

“It's the book everyone knows and loves (well, I don't know about this part).”

When I read the book without knowing its celebrity status in the literary world, I found much to be happy about and much to disapprove. But after I discovered that this paperback actual sold in the millions, the unpleasant parts actually faded a bit from my memory. I stopped caring as much about them. Those weird or faulty bits? The author must have had some deep, philosophical, literary reason for having them.

 Huh. Conditioned reaction, I suppose. One can't help but find themselves bought in by renown.

But despite all this, I did do my best to shelve my bias onto a faraway bookshelf while I took a more critical look at Achebe’s work.

The book is what modern people would call a book "worth reading." It has all the elements that make it a time well spent, a project worth completing. There lives the main character: NOT a cliché, well-rounded Mr. Nice White Guy who swoops in to save the damsel at the end of the day. There is the village: NOT a quaint, rustic country town surrounded by hills in an area of England nobody has ever heard of. In an era where cliché, "normal" stories are ripped to shreds by critiques and readers alike, I'm positive this is one book that won't fall into that banal category of literature. In a word, it isn't canon (AKA it's an English book not written by a middle-aged white guy)—a trend that's been settling into our literary world for quite some time

I really appreciated that, I did. If only the author's language had been a bit more . . . rich. Sentences are short and choppy, descriptive adjectives appear once in a blue moon. I couldn't tell if it was written in such an abrupt voice because the author wasn't familiar with the English language, or if he was trying to convince me that he wasn’t familiar with the English language. In either case, it interrupted my flow of the reading quite a few times, because the appearance of a period for the 20th time in the same page tends to throw me a bit. At least throw in some more semi-colons for variety, please.

Also, Achebe uses a great deal of indigenous vocabulary to describe the setting, which, while it does convey a sense of locality and unique flavor, tended to confuse me after a while. Sure, the author does a fine job of weaving in the definitions of the terms he sprinkles into the story (like agbala, ogene, agadi-nwayi, obi, etc.). But a more in-depth explanation of the meaning behind these terms, and their significance to that particular culture, are lost.

I admit, that sort of cultural depth is hard to come by in a fictional novel, but a reader can always hope.

Still, the story deserves merit for its ambiguous, thought-provoking ending that questions the definition of right or wrong, challenges socially accepted perceptions and notions, criticizes the paradigms that shape this world and its inhabitants...all that jazz. The lessons to be learned from this book seem boundless. It points out the folly of stubbornness in one's own beliefs; as both Okonkwo and the Christian missionaries that settle in his village clash over their contrasting ideals, we get a picture of a bunch of men refusing to understand each other. The author does a pretty good job of portraying the flaws of both parties relatively equally. He could easily have made out the African tribe as the poor, innocent victims who got exploited by white explorers. Instead, he says they're both at fault.

Okonkwo, for being stubborn and violent.

Everyone else, also for being stubborn and forceful.

I hesitate to say that the book is 100% accurate in its portrayals, not to mention it might be just a liiiiiittle biased coming from an oppressed people's representative author, but the questions and discussions that can be pulled from this book's pages are worth pondering. Yes, the characterization of the white settlers and missionaries definitely carries bitter undertones. Most of them come off as aggressive, condescending, and unwilling to listen to the voice of the people. We don't know if this sort of behavior was common among white settlers in Africa during colonization, but we do know that most explorer and missionary publications at that time did not portray these figures in such a rude and violent light. We're all familiar with the age-old European belief: they are the light of the world meant to save the ignorant savages from their own sins...yeah. Achebe really takes a stab at this misconception in his book by showing just how vulgar this attitude would have seemed to the natives. It's pretty refreshing to read.

But regardless of the emotional responses this book might elicit, it must be given credit for its ability to leave the reader feeling not quite satisfied.

It's not that I don't feel satisfied with the book itself. Rather, I am left feeling unsatisfied with the world I live in.

The book holds up a mirror in front of you, shows an ugly side of human nature that cannot be erased, cannot be ignored, and cannot be blamed on anyone except ourselves. It makes you aware of all the imperfections around you. That's not something you want to be reminded of at the end of the day. But it's also necessary. Achebe brings that necessary probe to the surgeon's table, one more tool in the hands of a reader to help him better understand humans, their world, their minds. It may not be a solution, but then again, we'll probably never find one.

The protagonist Okonkwo's supposed solution certainly doesn't work, but neither do the remaining people achieve a happy ending.

It's not about the happy ending or the solution that satisfies everybody. This book isn't nearly close to that stage of the process yet. We're at the foothold of the first step, where understanding the "other" becomes each reader's entryway into a place where a solution might become introduced.

Gods at War by Kyle Idleman

Well, I definitely cringed and winced and twinged at quite a few pages in this book...

Idleman definitely is not the most eloquent writer out there--and he is not aiming to be. His words hit bluntly, and they hurt. His call for the audience to re-evaluate his or her life based on the things that take the most of their time, efforts, money, and thoughts really aims spot-on at the central problems in my life. Though it took me a very long time to get through, for the sheer amount of time I needed to chew my way through some of these challenging and convicting chapters, I feel that every page was worth my time, even those that did not directly apply to me.

What is a god? It is something you worship, something you revere, something you sacrifice things to, often very valuable and important things. Kyle Idleman takes this familiar concept--something that even non-Christians would agree is a pretty standard, well-rounded definition of what a 'god' is--and replaces the word "god" with other things: your money, your spouse, your work, your schoolwork, sex, love, material possessions, even your pursuit of simple pleasure or success....all of these things, and many more, can become a god. You put your time into it, often sacrificing other things in your life just so you can devote more energy into that ONE thing that you simply can't do without. Your life doesn't feel complete without this. You need it. You revere it. And Idleman calls this idol worship.

It's not a nice book by a long run. Heck, it's pretty mean. But the heart of the author comes out here, in his desire that no man or woman should be wasting time, money, energy, and their very lives going after stuff that isn't as valuable as we make them out to be. He states pretty clearly that all of that, it's a waste. Period. Wow, what a way to think about all those times I spent during summer breaks back in high school reading comic books or playing video games. But he is also uplifting in his repetitive exhortation that the reader turn to Christ, the one God that is actually worth everything we might give Him, and so much more. I won't go into the nuances here, but let's just say Idleman rams this point home by giving it a good mention at the end of every, single, chapter. Yeah, the point gets across all right.

The checklists and examples given at the end of every chapter were really nice. They were formatted into pretty boxes, so it felt like I was reading something new every time, and it kept my mind from wandering too far from the topic at hand by presenting a fresh look at the chapter's main argument. It also gave some questions to think about: these were the things that had me thinking on them long after I inserted my bookmark and closed the book for the day. Little details and extra touches like these can really go a long way.

There's nothing quite like a light Christian read to get myself back on my feet. I think taking a break from my normal reading list for this was a very good choice, and if there are any Christians out there, I would recommend this book to them as a way to get their life prioritized and re-focused onto the truly important things.

And for those of you who aren't Christian, it's still a helpful read. Admit it, we all have something in our lives that we spend way too much time on. Here's an entire book that'll help you convince yourself that it's not worth it. You have better things to do with the 100 years or so that you have to spend as your life.

Sister Carrie

Sister Carrie

by Theodore Dreiser

It took a long while for this book to gain my interest. It was recommended to me by my mom, with the advice, "pay attention to Hurstwood. I daresay he's the real main character of the story." So I did. But at first the book really didn't appeal to me; Carrie was too emotional, Hurstwood a little too old, for me to empathize with them. I couldn't muster up the sympathy necessary in order to actively be engaged in their fictional lives. So the first half of the book dragged on for a few months while I dabbled in other books . . . but after Hurstwood tricks Carrie into running away with him, I became absorbed in this fascinating, very real-life story, which quickly takes the reader into a world where right and wrong become blurred, where an individual's sins or wrong choices can't be blamed on him/her alone, and where money, power, success, and beauty is out of reach no matter what.

This book is, overall, a book about Carrie and Hurstwood. The story zooms in on their little lives, paying barely any attention to other details in their world. Though the limited 3rd-person narration switches between them often, it rarely ventures to narrate the POV of other characters. I think the next largest character was Drouet, but he is only the foil, the initial spark, whose role was to set off Carrie's journey and facilitate her meeting with Hurstwood. Drouet fades out quickly towards the 2nd half of the book, and Carrie and Hurstwood quickly take center stage. Their character development is unique--something I have yet to see in other books. Carrie and Hurstwood develop not so much as "characters," but rather in financial and social ways. As a matter of fact, both characters remain relatively unaltered in personality by the end: Hurstwood is still prideful, Carrie is still wistful. But at the same time they are altered significantly by their external situation: Hurstwood is sullen, destitute, poor, and dreary as he loses his fortune, his love, his home, and everything that defined him in his old life of rich comfort. Contrarily,  Carrie is independent and beautiful, in the spotlight. These changes do not come to them internally, but externally. In fact, their entire persons are described via outer circumstances. It's curious to note that outside their financial ups and downs, their relationships with each other, there is very little to be said about Carrie and Hurstwood as individuals. The author shapes and develops them almost entire through their fortunes.

Which brings us to the huge significance of financial success in this story. Throughout the entire book, being rich and well-off seems equated with happiness. Carrie longs for happiness indirectly by seeking such materialistic objectives: first she wants money, then luxury, then recognition, then prestige. In the beginning when she is poor and jobless, she is miserable. But by degrees as she achieves first an income, then a more luxurious lifestyle through Drouet, she tastes "happiness" and begins grasping for more. In a similar way, Hurstwood displays the importance of fortune in his initial situation: he is a rich manager of a club, is well-off, and holds in his hands the satisfaction of a prestigious circle of friends and a good reputation. In his initial state, Hurstwood represents the ideal picture of "happiness" which Carrie wishes to obtain.

Yet the truth is not so simple--as the author quickly informs us. Hurstwood is troubled by his family's growing indifference to him, and falls in love with Carrie who represents an "emotional happiness" which he lacks in his current life. This leads him to desert his old lifestyle with her, eager for a more modest, but happy home life. Of course, he begins to realize that without money, happiness is very far off--with their income cut off and the money in his possession dwindling, Hurstwood falls into a sort of indifferent stupor of denial. His mental state during this time is fascinating. He displays an apathy towards making money yet is in a situation where money is dire; whether his dwindling interest in finding a job as time goes on comes from a sort of pride that refuses him a lesser job than he previously possessed, or whether it comes from the indifference of a man who has never reached "rock bottom," is difficult to say. It certainly gives much food for thought, however, as he sinks lower and lower...from destitute to homeless, and finally to suicide. It causes us to question: how can a man who had such success at the beginning possibly fall so low? There is no clear answer, really; should his initial felony of stealing money be blamed? Or the businessmen of New York who refused to hire him? Or Carrie, who deserts him later on? Or himself, who refused to condescend to a lower job until too late? Whatever the cause may be, his life is a picture of the need for money if happiness in this world is to be gained.

In a way, his life could be considered the opposite of what Carrie's life represents: the strange paradox that money cannot buy happiness. Carrie continuously reaches for higher and loftier dreams in the book. Initially when she has nothing, she is satisfied when Drouet provides her with a life of modest luxury. But when this becomes the norm for her, she wishes for something more, and her experience acting in one play solidifies her desires for things she does not yet have: namely, fame and prestige. After she runs away with Hurstwood, she is for a time again satisfied, until a trip to Broadway with Mrs. Vance shatters her complacency and ignites in her a passion for the luxurious life of New Yorkers. This desire prompts her to leave Hurstwood, who without his previous charms and fortunes, no longer has a hold on Carrie's heart. She then takes a one-way road to success through the theatre, and eventually reaches the pinnacle of success she always dreamed of. But, is she happy after she accomplishes her lifelong ambition? Not really. The concluding paragraphs state clearly that she will forever be chasing after happiness, without ever being able to reach it. Her growing apathy towards the fame and pleasures that she once desired, her increasing restlessness in her new position in society, speak clearly of her "unhappiness" in her new-found wealth. It is interesting that both Hurstwood and Carrie, though they end up on polar opposite sides of fortune, never realize complete satisfaction and happiness.

Actually, Drouet presents an even more interesting look at the whole picture. While Hurstwood experiences a drastic fall in fortune, and Carrie experiences a gradual rise, Drouet remains largely unchanged in both fortune and person. At the beginning and in the end, Drouet stays modestly successful, still playful and flambouyant, still chasing after idle pleasures and women without much thought. He, more than any other character in the story, provides a contrast with which to compare Carrie and Hurstwood's situation, and gives the reader additional food for thought in considering what then, really, can lead one to happiness.

This is definitely a book worth reading. It is thought-provoking and stays with you long after the last page is turned. I am still pondering the question of "why?" even after the last paragraph. Why did Hurstwood fall so hard and so rapidly? Why did Carrie succeed so well? Why did things turn out the way they did? There is no clear answer to these questions, and it adds a touch of reality to the book like nothing else. Because really, in real life, nothing has a clear answer.



The Lord of the Rings

The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring

by J. R. R. Tolkien

 

I have never watched the movies and this was my first time attempting the trilogy, and I must say it was not exactly how I expected it to be. Perhaps because I've heard so many conflicting opinions about the series, but it wasn't nearly as masterful as I was looking forward to discovering.

 

I did appreciate the quiet and quintessential beginning that takes place in the Shire. The life of the hobbits before their fantastic journey, the everyday conflicts and family problems, birthday party celebrations, the locality of the setting...it all provided a wonderful contrast with the grand scale of the adventures that would dominate the rest of the book. In fact, arguably, the beginning was my favorite part. There is a sense of excitement that runs beneath the currents of the opening scenes in the Shire--sort of an expectation for what we know will come with the arrival of Gandalf--that makes the reader flutter with yet-unnamed emotions.

 

However, when the actual adventure gets underway, I felt that some of those forshadowing elements were lost. Can't be helped, I suppose...the story must go on. But the high tension of the narrative seemed to slacken as the hobbits ventured further and further away from the Shire, instead of rising, as a proper adventure story should. The more obvious reason for the lack of heart-throbbing excitement could probably be attributed to the sheer amount of time the author devotes to describing the continent. I generally have no problems with long description passages that detail the hills, the trees, the rivers, the sky, the roads, the birds, etc, etc...but when Tolkien begins to attribute proper names to each and every single one of these elements, regardless of whether or not they can be pronounced by the English tongue, it started to get just a bit tedious for me.

 

Of course, the adventurous story of Frodo and his company is very enjoyable. There is a bit of everything that makes a good fantasy novel, and each character is appropriately fantastic while at the same time grounded in faults that makes everyone human. (That...sounded very cheesy and bookish just now, but it's true. What can I say.) But it becomes a problem when the only character you fully empathize with is Frodo. Every other character has some sort of backdrop--a history, a motivation, various circumstances that shape their past and will shape their future decisions. But literally, there is almost no explanation of any of this. Gandalf remains the mysterious wizard, Aragorn remains the mysterious Strider, Boromir remains the mysterious (i.e. suspicious) dude/person/guy, Gilmi and Legolas both also mysterious dwarf and elf, respectively. In a way, Merry and Pippin also remain a mystery--why are they so loyal and eager to follow Frodo into danger? What is their past relationship with the protagonist? Everything remains somewhat outlined, but glossed and skipped over in the course of the story. Therefore it's harder to understand where each person is coming from. The group doesn't come together cohesively. I mean, it's understandable that the characters within the story wouldn't just become chummy right away, but as an omniscient narrator, it wouldn't hurt Tolkien to give us readers a little bit of an inside scoop.

 

I have a sneaking suspicion that a lot of my criticisms will be cleared away once I actually read through the entire trilogy. Nevertheless, as a single standing book, The Fellowship of the Ring left a lot to be desired. Or maybe I was just a little too lost between Rivendell and Mordor and couldn't figure out my way as well as Aragorn could. In any case, I think I'll wait a little before attempting to tackle the sister novels of this work.

Little Women

Little Women

by Louisa May Alcott

 

An episodic sort of story, almost like a fairy tale, with a moral to be learned on every page. When I first picked up this book, I confess that I thought of it as more of a children's book. But it struck me as a surprisingly pleasant narrative, enjoyable for any age from 8 to 80. Actually, as any good book, it's easy to read, but can be better enjoyed by readers who have a bit of experience under their belt, because the depiction of the lives of the members of the March family is better understood by adults. Yes, the story is simple, but it is also a message of how to live life. There may be some feminists out there who would like to burn this book out of existance, but I thought it was a picturesque telling of the moral values of Alcott's time.

 

Plot is deceptively simple: life and times of the four March sisters. But this sentene isn't enough to really encompass the whole of it. These are four different lives. The happenings in the everyday life isn't one that can easily covered in the span of one novel. Of course, there's a great deal of interweaving between the stories of the four girls, seeing as they all live under the same roof, but there's still a degree of separation that ensures that none of them take center stage. The quite little details that piece together into the larger story--these elements make the novel a far more pleasant read than if it was just big drama and Hollywood action.

 

Admittedly, the characters tend to come off as a little too upright, too eager to fix their mistakes, even a little unrealistic in their constant strivings to be good. I mean, as humans, we all make mistakes, even Beth March. The faulty human side is a little lacking here, because even when the sisters do make some mistake, it is quickly and easily mended before any serious damage is done. Yet at the same time that this takes away from the reality, it's also a wonderful breath of fresh air. As a reader, I thought it a nice change that I didn't have to keep on the edge of my seat the whole time screaming "don't do it! Don't do it!!! DON'T....great, you've gone and done it."

 

No, none of that. I could rest easy in the confidence that any and all mess-ups would be mended and done away with within the same chapter. Is it potentially dull? Possibly? Do I like Meg better than I do Frodo Baggins from Lord of the Rings? Oh, Yes.

 

The story progression flowed quietly from one event to the next, seamlessly connecting the lives of the characters into a larger picture of everyday life. There wasn't really any major climax that I could detect; rather, there were multiple major "happenings" that kept the story from sinking into the mires of mundane mugginess.

 

One thing I noticed was the varying personalities of the sisters. Of course, the book is known for having four protagonists, but I thought Alcott did a remarkable job of distinguishing the sisters from each other without ever favoring one sister above the rest. Each sister takes up an appropriate amount of space within the narrative, and if Jo seems to have more dialogue than Beth, than I say it's due to the nature of their characters rather than a bias on the narrator's part. In fact, it almost seems like the author is allowing the reader to choose his or her own favorite character. Which sister can you most connect with? Which one rings true to your heart? I had a great time following up on Jo's adventures, because the 21st century dotes on tomboys and the strong-willed character. But I also liked Amy, she was just so cute.

 

And of course, you can't forget the sage quotables of Mother March--the quotes that every good person highlights and less than half of them can actually carry out. If only the things she advises were that easy to accomplish...

 

Quick and light, it's a story I enjoyed with the heart of a child sitting in the lap of her mother while she tells a good bedtime story.

Nerds

Nerds: Who They Are and Why We Need More of Them

by David Anderegg, Ph.D.

 

This title caught my eye at a booksale I went to. It's the first non-fiction essay I've read in a while, but I have to say that the topic was what drew me to pick it up. A book about nerds? That sounded fascinating.

 

The writer introduces a series of questions: exactly what sort of qualities constitutes a nerd? What's the difference between a nerd and a geek? How prevalent is the nerd stereotype in our American culture? Is the stereotype of "nerdiness" affecting the children of America in a negative way?

 

The author's voice is approachable and reader-friendly. Despite the social psychology aspects of this topic, he rarely uses professional jargons or long, winded-out sentences and makes sure to define and reiterate any potentially confusing ideas. So if I didn't understand something the first time I read it, I move on; nine times out of ten, he repeats it in a slightly different sentence format that helps get the point across.

 

This book raised a lot of inner questions for me. My first reaction after completing the first chapter was to ask myself: is the nerd persecution of elementary and middle schools of America really as bad as he makes it out to be? Because when reading this book, it's pretty bad. Kids are being driven to depression, self-denial, loss of identity, and all sorts of social problems because they are being labelled as "nerds" by other kids. The author also points out some correlations between the decline of interest in math and science of middle schoolers, and the increasing phenomenon of nerdism among those students. Though he refrains from declaring the thesis outright, there is an implication here that essentially, children's desires not to be labelled as a nerd contribute to a decrease of interest in maths and sciences...because maths and sciences are nerdy.

 

I can't say anything as a representative of any pool of nerds, but as a studious type of student myself, who posts book reviews on my very own blog in my spare time, I'd say that I may also fall into the nerd category. And the persecution was never as bad as how this book describes it. Perhaps the majority of the children he interviewed/sampled for his research happened to be kids suffering problems as a nerd. Perhaps he didn't get a lot of kids coming into his office to declare: "I'm a nerd and I'm proud of it!" But in any case, I found myself wondering if this book is just slightly exaggerated.

 

But otherwise, it's an intellectual read, worth the several days I spent reading the results of Dr. Anderegg's social studies. I especially liked the advice to parents that he included in his conclusion. No matter what I may or may not think about nerd stereotypes after reading this book, it still gives some practical tips in how to help my future kids deal with such social problems, should the need arise. Better safe than sorry.



The Jungle

The Jungle

by Upton Sinclair

 

A bit of chugging required. Before I picked up this book, I already had a basic knowledge of the background circumstances. Mainly, the political graft and corruption that ran rampant in the United States in the early 20th century, as well as the severely harsh conditions imposed on the immigrants coming in through Ellis Island. It helped me have the rght perspective in mind when I read through some of the drier parts of the narration: the overly detailed accounts of the butchering processes in factories, the elaborate monologues by socialists, the overbearing description of the protagonist's utterly bereft situation. All of these I interpreted as supporting statements for the author's argument about immigrant workers in America, rather than as divergeances from the main storyline. Indeed, in Upton Sinclair's novel, the plot is hardly central. If somebody picks up this book expecting a good story and some sympathetic characters, there is not much to be gleaned. But if every element, every paragraph is taken to be a survey of the lives of the oppressed in the 20th century, then this book can be fairly enlightening.

 

The first chapter starts off at a wedding. When I read the opening paragraph depicting the merry celebrations of a newlywed Lithuanian couple, I confess: I did a double take, made sure I had the right book in my hands, and read the paragraph twice more to ensure that indeed--it was a jolly wedding. It is only when Jurgis, the groom, suggests that his bride Ona take the next day off from work that the theme of the book becomes clearer. Ona protests violently, despite it being their honeymoon. Her reason is that if she takes the day off, they "shall be ruined."

 

This first glimpse at the darker side of the narration leads to an explanation of how this family ended up at a wedding in America, and at first, the author's voice, and the characters' attitudes, are deceptively upbeat. Everything is flowers and meadows, dreams of hope and riches and freedom, awestruck wonder at the technology of the US meat-packing industries.

 

But time moves forward. The family buys a house. They get jobs. They settle down to earn a living. And they find themselves caught up in the destructive competition among workingmen. If one doesn't work well enough, they find themselves out on the streets, replaced at the job by someone else willing to work for half the pay. The jobs are dangerous, unsanitary, and monotonous. It becomes increasingly harder for the family to make ends meet. It is at this point in the story that Jurgis and Ona get married. Their attempt to hang on to their traditions, and indeed, humanity itself, glitters as the last glimpse of their happiness, before they are plunged into debt, poverty, oppression, and misery.

 

I thought this to be a clever set-up on the author's part. Behind the merrymakings of the first chapter, there lies a deep cavern of human misery into which polite society dares not look. Most Americans of Sinclair's time must have imagined the lives of immigrants to be something like that wedding--though they may not have the best of circumstances, they make do with what they have and achieve happiness one way or another. But in the rest of book, Sinclair clearly denies this illusion. Immigrants are not even given the chance that Lady Liberty stands for. As the book puts it, they sow so that others may reap. They die without ever gleaning the fruits of their labor.

 

Another thing I noted in the course of this book was the way Sinclair managed to portray all the different facets of American society through just one character. Jurgis, who starts out as a dreaming young man moving to America, lives through a great many changes in his lives, each reflecting an aspect of the US that hadn't been visible before. First, he toils as a working man among the machines, slowly wasting away under the pressures of family burdens and low wages. At one point, he finds himself being paid to vote for a political candidate of his district, showing the readers a glimpse of the lowest portion of the political corruption system. Then he is unjustly thrown in jail and meets the criminals of America--an even darker side of American society than before. When he emerges, he goes on to wander the country as a "hobo," and through a series of events, becomes involved in the heart of the political manipulations going on in Chicago. In essence, Jurgis travels from being politically manipulated to becoming a political manipulator. Thus, the reader has a chance to take a look at the process directly, rather than simply wondering at its inner workings the whole time.

 

But Jurgis' period of political involvement doesn't last too long, and he finally ends up among the Socialists. During this time period, most Americans scoffed at the idea of socialism--it seemed unnecessary when democracy ruled DC. But Jurgis' interpretation of Socialism is startling. To him, socialism is the only doctrine that offers a solid, practical way to escape the endless cycle of misery he has been condemned to. Everything in this book, portrayed from the point of view of the lowest class of men, becomes inverted. The meat-packing industries that provide food to so many homes are now the lowest, dirties, scum-of-the-earth who suck the life and will out of the poor to buy diamond rings for the rich. Unlike the American ideal of a settled home and a family, Jurgis prefers to wander alone, unburdened by the responsibility of blood relatives to take care of. Democracy is powerless; it is socialism that brings renewed hope. All of these would have contradicted typical American beliefs at the time, yet Sinclair portrays these views so convincingly that even president Roosevelt felt the need to act upon it, if somewhat reluctantly.

 

Mostly, what strikes me about this book is the imploring voice of the narrator. It felt a bit over-the-top, and sometimes downright exaggerated, but overall there is a sense of urgency and disgust at the state of conditions that calls for the reader to think more deeply about the truth of these statements. It isn't so much about the disgusting tubs of lard and fat being processed through contaminated tubs. This book reveals the absence of democracy in the land of the free, as seen through the eyes of people who felt the repurcussions the most.