Still working out what I think of Jenni Fagan's The Panopticon--and that's probably a good sign

I’ve held off on posting about this novel because I really couldn’t decide what I thought of it. I found it completely absorbing and read it in about two days. It’s not so much that the plot is absorbing--in fact, it’s hard to say exactly what the plot is aside from the suspense about whether the protagonist’s rough situation is going to improve. Instead, what’s really compelling about this novel is the voice of the protagonist. In the New York Times, Michiko Kakutani describes The Panopticon as a voice-driven novel, and that is exactly right--and that’s the real success of this novel. Fagan has created a central narrative consciousness that is absolutely charismatic. Anais doesn’t pretend to be anything other than completely messed up, and she doesn’t try to deny her bad behavior, although she can’t always remember what she’s done. In a less dark novel, I might be tempted to label her spunky because of her energy, but resilient is really closer, although that signifies a harder and much less likeable character than Anais. I don’t know exactly how to describe her, but Fagan’s characterization is brilliant.

On the other hand, I have my doubts about the narrative itself, and by that I mean that Fagan piles on the unpleasantness until it begins to feel absurd. Terrible things happen in this world, but at a certain point the narrative as a whole strains credibility. Of course, that’s also part of the point, I suspect, since neither Anais nor anyone else seems completely sure of the facts. Anais has one view of “reality,” and Fagan gives her enough charisma to make it possible, all the while undermining everything she says. In fact, as I write this, I’m beginning to doubt whether the realism or otherwise of the narrative isn’t actually a strength. Similarly, there is much talk about how oppressive the home Anais is living in is (the eponymous Panopticon), but the characters who are stuck inside it have a surprising amount of freedom of movement, and they seem to have internalized the disciplinary surveillance that the panopticon is designed to evoke. On the whole, the situation of Anais’s world feels like a distraction from the main interest, which is Anais herself.

On my shelf right now

Like most people, I’m reading several books at the same time right now, and I’m more likely to finish some than others. In honor of the beginning of a new semester, and the subsequent shrinking of free time for reading, it seems like a good time to take stock. The following is a list of what I’m currently reading, ranked from most to least likely finishers.

1) Five Star Billionaire by Tash Aw. Although it took a few chapters to get my bearings in this novel, I was immediately drawn into each character’s story. Unlike some multi-character narratives where you enjoy some of the narratives and feel like you're just waiting to get through others, so far each of Aw’s storylines is equally absorbing. I’m definitely going to finish this one--and soon.

2) Remains of the Day by Kazuo Ishiguro. This novel feels comfortable, if that makes any sense. It’s a rich, but understated narrative, and I enjoy the leisurely way in which the plot is unfolding. Ishiguro draws a perfect balance between inviting the reader to identify with the first-person point of view while giving you enough hints about the narrator's unreliability to feel superior.

I’m definitely finishing this one, even though it's an effort not to think *too* much about Jeeves and Wooster while I’m reading. Can any narratives about the perfect butler *not* feel like a parody in a post-Wodehousian world?

3) The Hotel by Elizabeth Bowen. This one has been slow going for me, even though it’s relatively short. This is what I get for having been attracted to a book by its cover when I saw it in the library’s new books shelf.

4) Wolf Hall by Hilary Mantel. I keep feeling like I should like this one more than I do because I’m always seeing references to how brilliant it is.

5) Dear Life by Alice Munro. I usually really like Munro's work, but the first story in this collection felt meandering and slack, so I didn’t feel like continuing with the next one. I’ll probably give it another try before giving up, though.

6) Vampires in the Lemon Grove by Karen Russell. The title story in this collection is a pleasure. Russell plays with the vampire motif in a way that feels new and that also creates a rich sense of tragedy and loss. I thoroughly recommend it, so I really have no excuse for not having read any further yet…

7) Kim by Rudyard Kipling. I’ve been working on this novel *forever,* or so it seems. If I were still teaching, I’d be eager to add Kim to my syllabus because I'd look forward to unpacking the geopolitical elements with a group of students. I love the way that this 1901 novel feels like a cold war spy novel. On the whole, though, I think that I like the idea of this novel more than the actual reading of it.

8) The American Heiress by Daisy Goodwin. When I started this, I thought I would enjoy it. A few pages later, though, I wasn’t so sure. The writing doesn’t seem as strong as I expected, and the interactions between the characters don’t seem believable. I don’t see myself finishing this one.

9) Summer and the City by Candace Bushnell. I was pleasantly surprised by The Carrie Diaries, but this one doesn’t feel as fresh.  

What’s on your shelf?

Professional vs. Pleasure Reading

This summer I rediscovered pleasure reading. Or, maybe closer to the point, I rediscovered what it is that I love about reading. As a librarian who works 9-to-5 and tries to keep up my scholarship--and a mother of two relatively young kids--my reading time is squeezed into the rare spare moment. This is especially true since our children don’t seem to need sleep, but you don’t need to hear about that….

Anyway, my main point is that although my reading time has almost entirely vanished, I’ve been trying, grimly, to keep up the professional reading that is key to my scholarship. That means that I’ve spent a lot of nights trying to slog through some work of literary criticism just before bed and getting about a page and a half read. When I do give myself freedom to read a novel, I try to pick something useful--i.e., something from the 19th century that is relevant to my scholarship. I’m not quite sure when reading stopped being something that I enjoy, but I’ve been so caught up in obligatory reading that I almost forgot how much I enjoy reading for entirely different reasons.

This summer’s vacation was different, though. Unlike trips where I load my suitcase with books and articles that I really *should* read (and that I wind up avoiding), I gave myself license to download whatever I felt like reading that was available through my library for the Kindle app. Sure, there are some 19th-century novels in that category, but there are also a lot of totally irrelevant books (from a professional point of view), like the Shopaholic series and a completely nonserious romance/mystery by Janet Evanovich called *Foul Play* (there’s a love story and a missing dancing chicken. That’s probably all you need to know). Since I was on vacation--and I was really trying to leave work behind--I stopped feeling guilty about reading them.

Along the way, I re-discovered contemporary fiction, like Jenni Fagan’s *The Panopticon* and Kathryn Stockett’s *The Help.* I used to enjoy reading pretty broadly in contemporary fiction before I specialized in the nineteenth century and became overwhelmed by the sheer number of novels, poems, plays, and short stories produced in that period (this is a big part of Franco Moretti’s claims for the value of distant reading). I’ll never get through all the works that I *should* read from the nineteenth century, much less everything else that relates to my research.

I’m not saying that I’m giving up on reading nineteenth-century literature and literary scholarship: one reason that I chose to specialize in the nineteenth century was because I’m interested in that very explosion of literature. At the same time, I recognize that it enriches my scholarship to keep up with what is being produced today. After all, an article that I published recently on Coppola’s Dracula and early film owes as much to my consumption of period films and Sarah Waters novels as anything else. I also think that it’s important for my quality of life to remember that reading can be a pleasure, whether that means *Lady Audley’s Secret* or Maria Semple’s amazing *Where’d You Go, Bernadette?*