One thing this list is teaching me is that you should banish all preconceived notions of what a book is about until you’ve read it.  As Ayn Rand would say, “Check your premises.”

I always thought Wuthering Heights was more of a “Little Women” kind of story, romantic and flighty, with a weak passion more like Anna Karenina (my opinion, I’m sure some will disagree).  I was so wrong!  For some reason I expected Emily Bronte to be childish in her description of love, but she really captured the bare bones, inside out, gut wrenching torture of true love. 

Wuthering Heights is a perverse, twisted, abusive love story, full of real heartache and desire.  It’s the story of Catherine Earnshaw and her undying, unstoppable love for and with a man named Heathcliff.  Their love was without question; their souls were bound in life and eventually in death.  Part of the story is of the madness of both people when their love was denied each other.  Without spoiling it, at some point one of them dies, and the rest of the book is about the devastation and heartache of the remaining person (but it’s not as depressing at it sounds).       

The only thing I didn’t like was I got the feeling the book didn’t really end.  I still find myself thinking, “I gotta go finish Wuthering Heights.”  Oh wait, I did that!  It didn’t end abruptly or anything, and didn’t leave any loose ends, it just felt unfinished.  It may be because several generations of people were covered, and I kind of latched on to the second generation, so when their story ended halfway through the book I felt like something was missing. 

This is really a great novel.  Bronte did an amazing job of creating another world, very much like in The Secret Garden, where you could really identify with the characters and use Wuthering Heights as your place to escape.  I definitely recommend it.

Alert!  I’ve strayed from my list! 

I’ve been so gung-ho about staying on my list, but in the meantime, Luke and I have found a small joy:  reading out loud.  He doesn’t particularly like to read fiction of any sort other than Tolkien, but something compelled me to read Siddhartha out loud, and we both enjoyed it immensely.  Reading out loud puts a whole new spin on things – it makes you really slow down and cherish each word.  Throughout my entire reading years, I never realized how fast I read, or that I actually skip over words.  So in the end, I got to work on my vocal skills, and Luke said it was as if he’d read the books himself. 

This is a new joy in our lives, when we need it most, so I’ll be jumping around my list a little.  I am actually sticking to my list at the same time, and am almost done with Wuthering Heights.  In the meantime, Luke and I finished Siddhartha, as well as Illusions by Richard Bach.

Siddhartha by Herman Hesse:

I’d read this book years ago, on a ferry-boat on my way to Bremerton and back (which is ironic, as a key character in the book was a ferryman).  Took me about 3 hours to finish it.  At the time it was hard to read, but this time around I realized the true beauty of the book.  It’s the story of a young “Brahmin” in search of enlightenment.  The whole point of the story is that enlightenment can’t be sought, or taught for that matter, and it’s his journey through love, self-denial, self-indulgence, patience and finally peace. 

Herman Hesse did a wonderful job of putting the Eastern teachings into layman’s terms, especially for the 1950′s era.  Siddhartha meets the Buddha personally, the “Illustrious One,” but politely rejects his teachings, recognizing that wisdom cannot be taught.  The overall lesson is that “god is within you,” and the eternal “Om” flows within us all (basically, the sum of all our ancestor’s souls, past and present, as well as our own past, present and future all rolled into one).

What I gained from this book was the idea that to find peace within oneself, we must reject all expectations, relinquish all control, and let the natural flow of things, like a river, lead us where we are meant to be.   

All in all, I’d have to say it was a beautiful book with a peaceful message.

Illusions  by Richard Bach

This was the perfect follow-up to Siddhartha, as it is in the same spiritual vein, but a lot more low-key and humorous.  The tagline to this book is “the Adventures of a Reluctant Messiah,” and is a very modern story of an auto mechanic turned messiah, who retires from the job out of boredom.

I’d read this book in my younger years as well, when I was a bit more impressionable.  This story also promotes the idea that we are all in control of our destiny, but takes more of a “What the Bleep do we know” approach.  The main concept here is that all reality is an illusion, and if we can see through it, we can control anything – even being able to walk on water or swim in the earth. 

These concepts always drive me crazy, as I feel like deep down I know they are true, but cannot convince my brain of them, and am therefore stuck.  The concept is great, especially when we combine it with quantum physics, and the idea that atoms (which every single thing is comprised of) is subject to change based on how we observe them.  In my opinion, this is great in theory only, because I’ve yet to meet a living person who can walk on water or bend spoons (or the illusion of them) with their mind.

This book is well-written, putting the concept of the world being illusions into terms anyone can understand.  It is lighthearted and downright hilarious at times. 

For a crash course in “mind over matter,” I recommend both of these short, “enlightening” books, back to back.

I’m halfway through the book, and so far it is a lot less romantic than I expected.

Egotistical college sophomore creates monster in his apartment, then disappears for two years?  Huh??  Is this the right book?  Where’s the lightning?  The castle?  The climactic moment when the mad scientist screams, “It’s alive!” 

So far, not impressed.  

People are usually shocked to hear Mary Shelley was only 18 when she wrote this story.  To me, it seems pretty obvious.  The main character is rather emotional, experiencing bouts of melancholy at every turn, which to me is indicative of her teenage mindset.  As a child, Mary Shelley was neglected emotionally, but was reared with an emphasis on education, therefore the writing is kind of detached.  How do you describe emotions?  She seems to relate them from an outside perspective, instead of making her audience truly feel what her characters are feeling.

“My abhorrence of this fiend cannot be conceived. When I thought of him, I gnashed my teeth, my eyes became inflamed, and I ardently wished to extinguish that life which I had so thoughtlessly bestowed. When I reflected on his crimes and malice, my hatred and revenge burst all bounds of moderation. I would have made a pilgrimage to the highest peak of the Andes, could I, when there, have precipitated him to their base. I wished to see him again, that I might wreak the utmost extent of abhorrence on his head.”

See how empty that is?  Do you feel the character’s pain here?  I don’t know, maybe I’m missing something, but I feel like I’m reading an instruction manual on human behavior.  And now I will cry.  And now I will have anger.

And now I will wait patiently for this book to live up to its name.

Finished:  Warning **Spoilers*

This is just the strangest book.  I admit, I’ve never seen the movie, but my impression of Frankenstein was always a giant, moaning, unintelligible creature who walked with his arms straight out like a zombie.  Instead, the very first encounter that Mr. Frankenstein (this is actually the name of the “scientist,” not the monster) had with the creature was quite different.  He  coincidentally (there are a lot of unbelievable coincidences in this book) runs into the monster in the ice caves just above the town he lives in.  Coming toward him is a giant, terrifying, deformed “Frankenstein,” and instead of the moaning retardation you’d expect, these are the first words out of his mouth:

“I expected this reception,” said the daemon. “All men hate the wretched; how, then, must I be hated, who am miserable beyond all living things! Yet you, my creator, detest and spurn me, thy creature, to whom thou art bound by ties only dissoluble by the annihilation of one of us. You purpose to kill me. How dare you sport thus with life? Do your duty towards me, and I will do mine towards you and the rest of mankind. If you will comply with my conditions, I will leave them and you at peace; but if you refuse, I will glut the maw of death, until it be satiated with the blood of your remaining friends.”

Strange how Hollywood twists things.  Anyway, the monster takes over the narrative at this point, which becomes the most compelling, although sad, part of the book.  In a brief nutshell, the monster started out full of love, but after being repeatedly shunned and even attacked by humans, based on his looks alone, his heart became hard and bitter.  He finds the scientist, and (reasonably) demands that he make a female version of himself, so he can be loved.  Poor guy just wanted love.  He threatens to kill the scientist’s whole family if he doesn’t comply (feel the love?)

The scientist, although abhorring the idea, decides he better do it lest he lose his whole family.  But then he begins to realize he can’t control the emotions of his creations.  What if the female detests the creature, and takes out her vengeance on the world?  Worse yet, what if they have a whole pack of little monster babies (though they would be human, which Luke pointed out. Or why couldn’t he make her infertile?), and bring destruction to generations of humans?  He realized it would be selfish of him to make the female – not like this would be new to the scientist; the whole reason the monster needed companionship is because he was a selfish creator to begin with - and he couldn’t risk the whole of humanity to save his measly family.  He refuses to do it.  This means that the Bride of Frankenstein was another Hollywood creation (which I secretly admit to being happy with – Mrs. Frankenstein was hot!)

As promised, the monster kills his whole family, and the scientist dies on his voyage to seek revenge.  The monster finds his body, and runs off into the sunset vowing to kill himself, too.  The end.

I know there are some themes here that make this book a classic, worthy of top 100 lists the world over, but to me it was sloppy.  I can handle depressing, which this book definitely was, but the hypocrisy of all the characters was too much for me.  The scientist was disgusted by the creature he had hand-picked to be beautiful.  He willingly chose not to create a female companion, then sought revenge on the monster for doing exactly what he said he would do.  The monster went back and forth between heartbreaking despair and gleeful vengeance so many times it was hard to tell his mood at any given moment.  Finicky monster. 

I guess this is a story of the monster within us all.  Or something like that.

This is the kind of classic novel that makes me glad I started this list of books to read, or else I may never have picked this one up.  Some of the classics we take for granted, because we (think we) know the story so well already. 

The only image I had of Dracula was Bela Lugosi, with his black widow’s peak.  After reading Bram Stoker’s original novel, I wonder where that image ever came from.  The Dracula played by Gary Oldman was far closer to the image I had in mind while reading the book.  Dracula had a moustache!

Immediately after finishing the book I watched Francis Ford Coppola’s movie adaptation.  While there were some amazing scenes and casting (Tom Waits played the lunatic!), this was very much NOT Bram Stoker’s Dracula.  Stoker’s Dracula was a love story, but never between Dracula and Mina.  She was repulsed by him, and it was her true love and devotion to her husband that destroyed Dracula in the end (stake in heart, not broken heart).  Mina was a strong, devoted, brilliant woman, and Coppola stripped her of those virtues, making her a weak-minded, love-sick traitor.  Booooo. 

Anthony Hopkins gets a bunch of thumbs up from me for his role of Van Helsing.  I didn’t know that the Van Helsing name/ character was invented by Stoker; I always thought there were deeper, more factual roots.  Coppola did a very good job of casting the role; Hopkins fit the character even better than the mental image I had in my mind. 

I didn’t know much of the history of the Dracula character; there are loose ties to Vlad the Impaler, but Count Dracula is really just a figment of Stoker’s imagination.  He set the stage for literally hundreds of vampire movies, books, etc., all putting a different twist on the vampire “rules” (sadly, this is where sparkly vampires come into play).  According to Wiki, as of 2009, an estimated 217 films feature Dracula in a major role.  That’s some powerful writing.  Much like Frankenstein, Wolf Man and the Mummy, these characters have taken on a life of their own and far surpassed the death of their creators, proving them truly immortal.

For starters, I want to respond to my friend who said this book was stupid. . . It is - if you’re reading it for the first time as an adult.  But this book became an instant cult classic and is even cited by some to be the “most popular science fiction novel ever written.”  It’s cheesy, philosophically tame, and its moral taboos are nothing shocking – and it’s the perfect story for a 14-year-old science fiction geek.

Brief synopsis:  A human raised by Martians returns to earth.  He is still “merely an egg,” (akin to a human 3-year old), and his innocence is slightly irritating.  He’s a little too “puppy dog” to be tolerable.  Within a two year period he “grows up,” and becomes a spiritual leader and revolutionary.  He starts a church where he teaches humans the Martian language, telepathy, telekinesis and out of body experiences. 

This book was referred to me by someone who cites it as his first introduction to polyamory.  The poly lifestyle described in this book is in its truest form - pure joy at sharing the beauty of love and sex, with not a stitch of jealousy.  It’s like poly utopia.  For his time, I’m sure Robert Heinlein was really pushing the envelope, and I admire that about him and the story.  He also takes his shot at spiritual philosophy, describing how each of us is connected with other people (or objects) by “grokking,” them (fully knowing and appreciating them), and thereby become one with them.  This concept was so popular, “Grokking” is now in the English Dictionary.         

Having read it for the first time in 2010, this book did not wow me.  There were parts that were utterly nauseating in their sappiness, (“Thou art God, my brother” at every turn, and loosely using the term “grok” to the point of irritation).  It didn’t push my boundaries or stretch my imagination very far, but I can see why so many people have deemed it worthy of being on book lists nationwide.

One of the most fascinating aspects of this book is that it helped defined a new genre: Science Fiction.  In War of the Worlds, HG Wells introduces us to the alien weapon of mass destruction – the Heat Ray - as well as intergalactic warfare.  When reading this book, it’s hard to not take it for granted that the concept of “men from mars” wasn’t a common theme at the time - Wells really brought it to life. 

A brief history of this story:  In 1938 a radio adaptation of the book was read by Orson Wells, and was presented in the format of news broadcasts suggesting an actual alien invasion (why, we’ll never know).  Evidently, people took this seriously and wide-spread panic ensued – it is rumored that people were so terrified at the thought of alien invasion that they jumped out of windows to their death.  That’s the power of words, I guess.

From Wiki, I got this account from right here in good old WA state:  “While the broadcast was heard around the country, it made a deep impact in Concrete, Washington. At the point [in the broadcast] where the Martians were invading towns and the countryside with flashes of light and poison gases and the lights were going down, there was a loud explosion and a power failure plunged almost the entire town of 1,000 into darkness. Some listeners fainted while others grabbed their families to head into the mountains. Others headed for the hills to guard their moonshine stills. One was said to have jumped up out of his chair and, in bare feet, run two miles to the center of town. Some men grabbed their guns, and one Catholic businessman got his wife into the car, drove to the nearest service station and demanded gasoline. Without paying the attendant, he rushed to Bellingham, WA (50 miles away) to see his priest for a last-minute absolution of sins. He reportedly told the gas-station attendant that paying for the gas ‘[wouldn't] make any difference, everyone is going to die!’”

War of the Worlds and the panic that it caused have become examples of mass hysteria and the delusions of crowds.  Conspiracy theorists have even suggested that the broadcast was a test in psychological warfare.   

As for the book itself, it was very focused on the psychological impact an alien invasion might have.  It was far less action based as it was emotionally charged, and described what it might be like in the first couple of days after an “alien pod” lands on earth.  The author painted a grim picture of a community’s mindset if they were faced with extinction.  He was a little apologetic when the main character resorted to violence, but I would expect that from the era in which it was written. 

The story ends beautifully, with the main plot twist being revealed only ten pages from the end of the book.  I won’t ruin it for you, but it really speaks to the natural order of things, the beauty of nature.  That’s all I’ll say. 

Buy the book 

Maybe the extreme popularity of this story, or the title alone ruined it for me, but it was hard to develop an interest in the character.  You go into the story knowing the man is invisible, so when the author is describing the man’s strange behavior, it only confounds the other characters in the story, not the reader.  Much more suspense could have been built if the story were titled, “The mysterious case of Joe Blow” or whatnot, to at least keep the readers in suspense for the first 40 pages (I should note, the book is only 150 pages).

This is the story of a scientist who discovered how to make himself invisible.  Once he’s done it, however, he realizes it’s incredibly hard to survive, contrary to his original expectations.  He is still human, and therefore must be clothed or else he’ll freeze.  How disappointing to become invisible, only to have to wear costumes to let people know you are there (otherwise, you’d be a walking set of clothing with no body). 

The invisible man was also filled with a rage that is never really explained.  From the beginning, his motives were selfish and evil, and he would go on mad rampages, destroying cities and even killing people.  He talked of his father’s death (which he was the direct cause of) with contempt, because it was a nuisance to his free time.  It was hard to have any compassion for the man, even in the beginning, when he is suffering from the downfalls of his new existence. 

The story was very literal, rather passionless, and was almost like reading a play by play of a football game, as we follow the Invisible Man’s antics from town to town.  The end of the story was very cut and dry, and for a story titled “The Invisible Man,” it didn’t leave me with a very haunted feeling. 

Perhaps it’s because this story was wildly popular during its time that reading it now, after so many years of hype and recognition, it just didn’t live up to its own expectations.

I picked up A Wrinkle in Time off my daughter’s shelf, because I ran out of books on my list but knew this was a must read. I was so pleasantly surprised.

It’s the story of three children, whose father is a physicist and has apparently disappeared on a time traveling journey. The children are visited by three entities, Ms. Whatsit, Ms. Who and Ms. Which, who tell the kids their father is in danger, in another world, and they must help rescue him.

This author has an amazing way of describing abstract experiences, like being “tessered” through time and space, and what it feels like to be 2-dimensional.

Toward the end of the book it felt like the author lost momentum, and the story crawled a little, which made the sudden ending seem a little lackluster, but the wonderfully descriptive scenes will stay with me for a while.

This would be a great movie (remake please, the 2003 version looks AWFUL), somewhere between Pan’s Labyrinth and the Neverending Story. It’s written for children/ young adults, but it was a very enjoyable, quick read.

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde was exceedingly more interesting than I’d expected.  My only knowledge of the story was that Dr. Jekyll drinks a potion and turns into a monster, Mr. Hyde.  I’d actually had the two confused, imagining the one with the name Jekyll as the evil one.  I think the only real image I had was from the Tweety Bird cartoons.

Robert Louis Stevenson (who also wrote Treasure Island) did a wonderful job of keeping the plot confusing, and building a true mystery.  I came into the book already knowing the story, or the punch line, and I was still made to believe that Jekyll and Hyde were two different people.  

His writing style is a lot like Lovecraft, in the sense that he sets a mood of terror among an air of mystery.  Similar to Lovecraft, he has many characters “confessing” to “images of horror.”  This is my favorite type of horror novel – the kind that haunts you with possibilities, rather than spelling it out in graphic detail.

Lloyd Obsourne, Stevenson’s stepson, recalls, “I remember the first reading as if it were yesterday. Louis came downstairs in a fever; read nearly half the book aloud; and then, while we were still gasping, he was away again, and busy writing. I doubt if the first draft took so long as three days.” (wikipedia)

The best part of this book is learning exactly what Mr. Hyde was.  He was the representation of evil in all of us.  Dr. Jekyll was obsessed with the duality of man, realizing that if he had good in him, he had to have evil as well.  He concocted a potion that brought out Mr. Hyde – a much smaller, twisted and knotted version of himself.  Since Dr. Jekyll was primarily a good man, his normal body was sturdy and thriving;  since he was only partially evil, Mr. Hyde was childlike in stature, and underdeveloped, almost deformed.

This quickly changed.  As Mr. Hyde committed all of the atrocities that Dr. Jekyll secretly longed for, the balance of his good/evil began to shift, and Mr. Hyde started to take over the body by will alone – whether the doctor drank the potion or not.  His body grew bigger and stronger, and sometimes the doctor would go to sleep as himself, and wake up in the gnarled body of Mr. Hyde.

This is an interesting concept, especially for the time (1886), that human nature is comprised of both good and evil, and that we should allow for both, or else one might surge and suffocate the other.  It’s about balance, and accepting both the virtuous and the depraved parts of ourselves.  Even when Dr. Jekyll was living his “good” side, before Mr. Hyde’s appearance, he felt tortured and out of place, like he was living a lie.  How many of us haven’t felt that way at times?

Buy the book.

The first 250 pages were boring to me, except for the interactions between Pip and Estella.  There was way too much back story, though it did lead to some great character development.  It all leads up to a pinnacle moment, and once that moments is reached (no spoilers!), it’s like a rollercoaster soap opera, with one twist after another, til the very end.  Unfortunately it takes about 300 pages to get there, but once it’s there you won’t regret having picked up this book.

I was a little biased toward this book because I am in love with the movie, and while the characters are the same (though not their names – awkward), the differences are such that it makes it seem like a different story.  But the actors chosen for the movie couldn’t have been a better representation of Dickens’ characters, and having seen the movie really enriched my experience with the book.

The book offered twists and haunting scenes that weren’t in the movie, and one in particular that the movie should have adopted.  The book was also a lot more dramatic than the movie, tying everyone together in the end, where the movie left things more to the imagination. 

In one of the last scenes in the book, I actually got goosebumps, which books don’t generally do for me, so for that reason alone I’d recommend it.  I actually recommend seeing the movie first (which I immediately ordered on Amazon for nostalgia’s sake), to get a really vivid image of the characters.  Here’s a trailer/video that highlights it pretty well, though I can’t find enough on the unforgettable Miss Havisham/Dinsmoor:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=of6AVghH3Uo

Watch the Movie. Read the book.  In that order.