On Intellectualism

p. 288, On Beauty and Being Wrong

Based on the title, I know that the question of what constitutes beauty is at the heart of the book, but I've been more interested in references to intellectualism, such as Claire's interaction with her students at the Bus Stop:

Claire's kind of learning was tiresome to her [Zora]. Claire didn't know anything about theorists, or ideas, or the latest thinking. Sometimes Zora suspected her of being barely intellectual. With her, it was always "in Plato" or "in Baudelaire" or "in Rimbaud," as if we all had time to sit around reading whatever we fancied. pp. 218-19

What exactly does it mean to be an intellectual? Howard, Claire, Zora, and Monty all seem to be representative of different aspects of intellectualism, whereas Kiki and Carlene refuse to think of themselves as intellectuals. For me, intellectualism is equivalent to cultural currency. It’s being able to drop names of philosophers in a way that shows the speaker is not only widely read, but also understands these people. It also means having interesting projects that allow you to easily talk about art, literature, philosophy, and history. In other words, it’s a party that I want to be invited to and a discussion that I want to be able to participate in.

In fact, part of what makes intellectualism so intriguing to me, is its tendency towards exclusivity. Of course there’s also the added factor that my brand of intellectualism covers those topics that I’m most interested in discussing. What I love about Smith’s writing is that she’s able to make intellectualism seem both exclusive and elusive. Zora’s got the brains and the cultural currency, but her lack of heart and talent keeps her out of the poetry elite. Howard has plenty of knowledge and original ideas, but he’s published very little and is an arrogant jerk. Howard also seems to have missed the boat. And Monty’s ardent conservativism makes him seem like a pseudo intellectual, but maybe that’s because I’ve been indoctrinated by the liberal establishment. Claire knows poetry and is well read, but she doesn’t know Foucault. To be perfectly honest, I wouldn’t really want to hang out with any of these people. They all seem to have an overwhelming amount of that other trait of intellectualism: arrogance.

Despite my distaste for these characters and my preference for people like Kiki, Jerome (whose intellectualism hasn’t really been illustrated up to this point), and Carlene, I’m still drawn to this notion of intellectualism, in part I think because recently I’ve been coming to grips with the fact that I’m no intellectual myself. And for the most part, I will never be an intellectual because I don’t have the motivation to read Nietzsche or Foucault or Derrida on my own. And I can’t even pretend that I understand them. But I still want to go to the party.

Like poor little Katie Armstrong, I want to be able to say something intelligent in class. And that, I think, is the magic, in Smith’s writing. She’s turned intellectualism into the new aristocracy. Even though I find Zora, Howard, Claire, and Monty distasteful, their elitism, along with my own curiosity about their areas of study, makes intellectualism attractive. Yet, Smith has also helped me recognize my own glorification of intellectualism, leading me to reconsider how I feel about it and whether I really want to aspire to it. And I think to some extent, Kiki feels the same curiosity and desire to be included, but sometimes it’s safer to exclude oneself rather than take the risk of being shut out by everyone else.

***

On another note, I've been thinking a lot about Howard lately and his feelings towards Kiki. I think he really believes, at this point in the book, that he loves her. But love seems to be about self-satisfaction for him. He's still mezmerized by her face and appreciative of her love, but he's missed the part where love is also about giving to someone else, recognizing that your happiness comes only from their happiness. And that's why he had an affair when he thought he was still very much in love with Kiki. Instead he was in love with her love.

So, she's a writer too

A few weeks ago we went out to lunch with some people Tim worked with at BSU. One lady and I got to chatting about books and I asked her if she had any recommendations for me because I'm always looking for a good read. One book she suggested was The History of Love by Nicole Krauss. The name sounded a bit familiar, but I couldn't really place it. Anyway, once I finished our book, I went to the library and got this other one. I read it in a few days. It was really really good and oddly familiar in theme to Everything is Illuminated but better for me because even though it was dealing with similar themes of World War II survivors in the 21st century, it was done in a much more gentle way. I really enjoyed it.

Guess who Nicole Krauss is married to?

Jonathan Safran Foer.

Boy, I wonder what kind of conversations they have over the dinner table.

Catching up

p. 220 "the anatomy lesson"

I'm sorry that I've been so silent for so long. To be honest, I had a hard time getting into this book and I got distracted by some other books. However, now I'm reading it at a really good pace and I'm definitely "into" it. That said, here are some of my thoughts along the way.

First, do you remember when we very first started reading the book and I was confused about whether Howard is black or white? Well, I think we both kind've agreed that he is black, but now I definitely think that he is white. Do you agree? Smith seems to be pretty vague on his race, but there are a few clues along the way:

describing Howard, "The thin, papery, Caucasian nostril holes"(203).

Carl to Zora, "Your pops, the professor . . .' he said slowly, 'He white, right?'
'Howard. He's English'"(138). I thought this response to a racial question was really interesting.

The description of Levi at the Mozart concert: "The young man (Carl) turned and saw a boy a little shorter than him, but not much, and several shades lighter"(73). This sounds like Levi is the child of a white father and a black mother.

But most of all the comment that Zora makes during that amazing fight with Howard, "Everywhere we go, I'm alone in this . . . this sea of white. I don't see any black folk unless they be cleaning under my feet in the cafe in your college. Or pushing a hospital bed through a corridor"(206).

What do you think?

Second, I am really interested in Levi and the way he adopts a form of "blackness." He uses the language of the streets even though he is from the suburbs and he even tries to dress the part. I was really interested in the confrontation between Bailey and Levi where Baily calls Levi's bluff.

Third, Smith is constantly referring to Kiki's weight. I don't really have anything to say about this, but I just keep thinking that it must be important because nearly every reference to Kiki involves her weight.

Anyway, there's a short list of some of my thoughts as I've been reading.

To Be an Intellectual

Kipps and Belsey, p.89

"Is that what it's like, wondered Kiki, to be an intellectual?"

Recently, I've felt like my brain is melting. Last year I spent hours a day digesting information about Queen Elizabeth and trying to say something smart about it. After my thesis defense, I felt like I had just barely survived, but I also emerged with the sense that I had managed to hold my own in that room. I even got the idea somewhere along the way that I would try to publish part of my thesis. Then I talked to a professor about the publishing process. She was extremely encouraging, but after mulling over her advice for a few days, I realized I had missed the mark entirely with my thesis. The thesis in and of itself was okay, but if I wanted to write something publishable, I'd have to start from scratch because what I wrote isn't the sort of thing that gets published these days. Ever since that realization, I've started to feel like I'll always be a wannabe intellectual. And in my mind, it doesn't help that I spend my days trying to teach teenagers how to multiply fractions and the difference between a noun and an adverb, rather than studying and teaching literature.

I bring all of this up because as I read about Howard and Monte Kipps, Kiki and Zora, I can't help but wonder what it means to be an intellectual. Smith has set up interesting relationships between Howard, the liberal intellectual who fights philistines and hates what the rest of us call great art, and Monte Kipps, who seems to write for the masses rather than the elite and enjoys success because of it. Then there is the pretentious Zora, who wants to be an intellectual but isn't quite there yet, along with Kiki, who refuses to be an intellectual by refusing to give her opinion on Claire Malcolm's poetry. If I can’t be the intellectual, I'd like to think I'm like Kiki, but I'm probably more like Zora. Based on Smith's characterization, I have to admit that I'd like to be in the same class as someone like Howard, but at the same time I can't stand the guy. What a jerk and how self-absorbed can you be? So the obvious question would be, is Howard's elitism intellectualism? And does being smart and well-read make you an intellectual, or is there more to it?

But I think Smith is posing more questions than that. Clearly, she's also asking questions about what each of us see when we see black skin, as well as questions about what constitutes love. Between Carl, Zora, Levi, Kiki, Michael Kipps, and the Haitian jewelry salesman, Smith has presented and challenged several stereotypes about blackness. Levi could be the gangster except that his dad's a professor and he comes from Wellington. And I don't think it's accidental that Smith has Howard use the word "noble" to describe Michael (33) and then later he lumps Michael in with the philistines of the world (38). But these characterizations don’t seem to say as much about what it means to be black as what blackness means to me the individual reader. Smith’s panorama of personalities leads me to consider my own assumptions and biases. Whereas, I believe Forster's Howards End deals with issues of class, On Beauty seems to add to the issue of class, the wrinkle of race. Or perhaps she presents a new discussion about race, with the wrinkle of class added in.

I can see the same sort of thing going on with love and relationships. There's Kiki and Howard's relationship, which has been damaged by Howard's indiscretion and then sort of rebuilt with Kiki’s forgiveness. And there's Jerome and Victoria's short lived love, as well as, Claire Malcolm and Warren's recent marriage. Anyway, comparisons are obviously my thing. At any rate, I'm enjoying this book. I suppose that in some sense it has convinced me that I'm really not up to being an academic and don't really want to be even as it seems to glamorize such a lifestyle, making me want it all the more.

Introducing Zadie Smith's On Beauty

I'm not very well informed when it comes to newer books. Sometimes I suffer under the impression that all the really well-written books were written at least fifty years ago, far enough back for them to show up on a syllabus in one of my literature classes. But I'm starting to overcome that bias, aided in part by the realization that professors aren't waiting that long to add books to their syllabi. I learned about Zadie Smith's book in the sidebar to an article in Time magazine (some might say that's hardly the place to learn about well-written books, but I'm still new to this, so bear with me) called "Who's the Voice of This Generation?" (by Lev Grossmen in the July 10, 2006 issue). The article begins with the question, "who is today's leading young novelist?" Most of the article bemoans the fact that while we have several great young writers, including Jonathan Safran Foer and Zadie Smith, we don't have one that has really captured the experience of this generation. But then Grossmen also points out that all the previous "voices" were white men, raising questions about their ability to speak for a generation of people who weren't all white or all male. I'm not sure I'm qualified to judge whether Smith is the voice of my generation (she's 30, only a year or two older than me), but perhaps that's a question worth keeping in mind as we read.

The article also points out that the novels written by the likes of Foer and Smith have a lot in common. They're getting shorter and they're "hybridizing high and low [fiction], grafting the brilliant verbal intelligence of high literature onto the sturdy narrative roots of genre fiction." Perhaps this is another set of issues to keep in mind. What makes fiction high or low? Is that mix present in On Beauty? And does it work?

Here's some biographical tidbits I gleaned from another Time article on Zadie Smith ("Of Roots and Family Trees" by Nadya Labi, in the May 8, 2000 issue):

According to Zadie Smith, her first novel, White Teeth, was written to "prove something." Labi speculates that Smith wanted to prove "that a young, half-Jamaican, half-white female could write a novel that transcends her personal demographics." Is she still out to prove something in this, her third novel?

Smith grew up in London in a working-class, irreligious home.

She got her first book deal when she was only 21.

A review of On Beauty (Time, Sept. 11, 2005) points out that the book is loosely based on E. M. Forster's book Howard's End. I'm gonna have to add that book to my "To Read" list.

Addendum

Since my last post wasn't as thoughtful as I would have liked, and because I think you raised some interesting issues in your post, I wanted to respond to some of your ideas.

I love what you have to say about the grandfather. In the movie, I thought he killed himself because he had survivor's remorse. The movie gave me the idea that he should have been killed by the Nazis because he was a Jew, but he miraculously survived. Anyway, I think part of what makes this such a great book is the fact that his death is still full of complexity and confusion even though it also gives us a better idea of what happened to Grandfather and why he might want to kill himself. Perhaps after returning to that area of the Ukraine he was overwhelmed with memories and guilt. After all, the wife that he sacrificed his friend for was no longer alive and his son was a big jerk. Yet his death also seems so senseless. Why should he die now after choosing to live for so many years following the tragedy? Going back to Kolki and Trachimbrod seems like an opportunity to face his old demons and overcome them. But instead they become too much for him. I also get the idea that the most difficult thing for Grandfather was the knowledge that now Alex also knew what he had done and that was harder to face. And how terrible that must be, to first live through such an excruciating decision and then have to admit it to your grandson. In hindsight that night must have seemed even more terrible.

Going back to my theme of comparisons: Now that I'm at the end, I feel like Foer has woven all these different threads together without tying any of them off, leaving them loose and unresolved. But the theme of suffering links them all together in such a way that perhaps Grandfather's suicide and the sense of conclusion that it provides (even if it does feel senseless) becomes representative for all the different stories of struggle. Earlier I wanted to decide who had suffered more and what was real pain, but I think Alex's relationship with his father and his own grandfather's suicide suggests that trying to rank suffering is ridiculous.

The End

So I finally finished the book, only a week or so late. I feel like I should say something eloquent about this book, but I just don't have anything intelligent to say. Here are some of my rambling thoughts nonetheless.

I liked the way the book ended with all the loose ends. I'm confused though about whether Jonathan's grandfather died when the Nazis came to Trachimbrod or if we escaped or if he left before. And it sounded like Zosha died, but I thought she was his grandmother. And then there're all the questions I have about Alex's grandfather. I felt like the movie left me with some sort of closure and like there were some conclusions that I could draw, and that felt good. I guess I liked the idea that I could place this tragedy in a nice little box with a beginning and an end. But now that I've read the book, the end of the movie seems almost trite. This book seems like the first I've read to really address the fact that there wasn't a nice, complete end to the tragedy of the war. The war not only destroyed the lives of everyone who died, but it also reached out and poisoned the lives of those who lived, like Alex's grandfather and his own dad. I can't help but think about my own grandpa who fought in WWII and came back from the war a different person, according to some of my great aunts who knew him before and after. The book also seemed to be true to Foer's own experience searching for his relatives if indeed he did and was unable to find any connection to them.

This book seems to have the potential for further digging and discovery, but I don't quite feel up to it. At any rate, I'm glad I read the book. Even if it was a bit rough at times for my taste, there were also many poetic moments, and it got me thinking about war and the holocaust in a new way. Perhaps if I get a chance, I'll try to write something more intelligent, but I wanted to let you know that I did finish the book and to record some of my thoughts on it.

Some Final Thoughts

I actually finished the book a week or so ago, but I didn't want to post. I wanted to let everything just sit for awhile. It was just so sad. So sad. Throughout the entire reading of this novel all of my comments have had a reoccuring theme: recreating history. I've just seen this repeated over and over and I hope you won't mind that mind if I touch briefly on this theme again.

When I saw the movie, I wanted to know more about the grandfather. I wanted to know why he killed himself then, there, and in that way. I think the book really answered my questions and also goes along with the idea of history and what we do with it. The images that were painted by the grandfather of the burning synagogue, the shootings, the pitting of friends and neighbors against each other were really painful for me to read. It was also painful to read about Trachimbrod and what happened during the bombings. There's a lot that could be said about the river too and all that it means, but this isn't a paper it's a post, so I'll get back to my original thought. Here is why I think the grandfather killed himself: because he was the last link to those horrible events and he felt that in order for Alex to truly move on with his life and embrace a better one that all the connections with that night had to be erased. Alex had told his father to leave and his father was present that terrible night. Only the grandfather was left. He was the only survivor in the house and I believe he killed himself to sever any connection with that night. In his final letter to Jonathan the grandfather writes, "They must begin again. They must cut all strings, yes? With you, with their father, with everything they have known"(275). There can be no one left to remember and know firsthand the horrible events that took place. Even Jonathan's grandfather is dead and there is only one survivor of Trachimbrod and she will soon die too.

This book showed the effects of war and how they can be felt for so long after the war is over. The memories never disappear and color the choices the individual makes forever after. I thought the comment about being a good person during a bad time was interesting and also very sad. The grandfather had to choose between his family and his friend. People should never be made to make those decisions. Augustine/Lista's father had to make a horrible decision too: deny your faith or your family dies. Again, a horrific decision to have to make.

I suppose the grandfather thought that Alex and Iggy could start anew, but that's never really possible. Alex knows some of his family history now. He has experienced things with Jonathan that he will not forget. However, he is a good person and he is living in a good time. That makes a difference. I just wonder how he will speak of this experience 50 years down the road. How will he recreate his grandfather's story and his own? The recreation has already begun in the last chapter when he translates his grandfather's letter to Jonathan and the letter has no end. The story has no formal conclusion. It goes on.

Brod and Augustine (who's real name is Lista)

p. 202, "Falling in Love, 1934-1941"

As I've been reading (trying to catch up with you, Katie), I started to notice poetic connections between the different stories that appear in the chapters about Trachimbrod. For example, when I came to the part about the Wisps of Ardisht (p. 136) while reading "The Dial, 1941-1804-1941" (119-141), I got confused. I'm still not really sure who the Wisps of Ardisht are except for what it says about them in this chapter. If they were mentioned before, and I'm assuming they were, I forgot about them long before I got to this bit about them. "Why on earth did Foer insert this little story here?" I wondered. But as I read about their plan to keep their cigarettes alight by making sure that someone always had a lit cigarette from which others could be lit, I thought of the Dial. In a way I think he's sort of like the lit cigarette. His features are continually being remade in the image of his worshippers, but that contributes to his power and popularity in the minds of his worshippers. For a time, he was like the fire that continued to burn in the hearts of his adorers and the tradition that connected all the marriages in Trachimbrod.

And going along with what you wrote last time, I think the Dial is also symbolic of the writing that Alex and Jonathan are doing. As they try to tell the story of others, they can't help but remake their stories in the image of their own perception and perspective. Foer, through Alex, seems to nod at this idea when Alex complains about his grandfather sharing truths with the woman they call Augustine: "Or perhaps he was lying. This is what I wanted, for him to present not-truths to her. She did not deserve the truth, not as I deserved the truth. Or we both deserved the truth, and the hero, too. All of us” (p.156). For Alex there seems to be one truth, even in this world where they have to follow Augustine/Lista to Trachimbrod when she refuses to ride in the car. By following her, they seem to acknowledge, however impatiently, that they are going to view Trachimbrod through her eyes. And really this is their only option since the town no longer exists. This could probably be better thought out, but hopefully it’s making sense.

Other such poetic images include the house that's actually two houses, because it's only connected at the attic (p. 161). To get to the kitchen from the bedrooms, one would need to walk up to the attic to cross over and then walk down to the kitchen (could one use the front door instead of the attic?). This seemed like a great metaphor for Jonathan's and Alex's two stories in one book. They're almost separate stories, but I believe they will connect in a way that might seem distant or inconvenient. If the movie was faithful to the story, then Alex's grandfather should be connected to the story of Jonathan's own grandfather, even if it is a somewhat loose connection. The house also reminds me of Jonathan's family in the sense that much of his family lived in the Ukraine and knew only the Ukraine, but now Jonathan and his mother really know only America. Only his grandparents connect the two different families. I suppose I could go on.

At any rate, all of this leads me to compare Brod and Augustine. [BTW: am I off for thinking that Augustine/Lista was the older sister she described?] Both feel immense sorrow, but I think I find A/L's more credible than Brod's. I think Brod had every reason to feel sorrow when her husband became a psychopath, but Foer describes her as having sorrow before she ever gets married. And according to Foer she seems to enjoy the Kolker's abuse. I don't think it's really as simple as saying that Brod is selfish in her sorrow and A/L isn't. But I do feel that way. Is it a fair comparison? And are these women somehow connected like the two-house? Perhaps I should consider similarities other than their sorrow.

Returning Again to Recreating and Revising History

"17 November 1997" p. 142

I love reading Alex's letters. I really like this character, but in reference to your mentioning the quote on the book cover, Alex is the character who breaks my heart. As I was reading this letter I came across a paragraph that made me think again about my last post.

"I think that is why I relish writing for you so much. It makes it possible for me to be not like I am, but as I desire Little Igor to see me . . . with writing we have second chances. You mentioned to me that first evening of our voyage that you thought you might have been born to be a writer. What a terrible thing, I think. But I must tell you, I do not think that you understood the meaning of what you said when you said that . . . It is true, I am certain, that you will write very many more books than I will, but it is me, not you, who was born to be the writer . . . I beseech you to forgive us, and to make us better than we are. Make us good."

Another thought, I think I once read that Jonathan Safran Foer actually did go on a journey to find some of his relatives. If I remember right, he never found them. I suppose this whole book is his "second chance."

I'll check on this last point . . .

Two Enjoyed Moments

p. 105, "The Very Rigid Search"

On the front of my book (and probably yours too) is the quote, "He will win your admiration, and he will break your heart" from Joyce Carol Oates. At times, I've felt more disgusted than admiring. When I read "Falling in Love, 1791-1803," I felt completely disconnected from Brod and her sadness. And I felt a little impatient with her refusal to be happy. I just didn't get it. But by the time I got to the final sentence of the chapter, I felt like I wanted cry for Brod and Yankel. Maybe I still didn’t get it, but I felt more empathetic.

And despite the gratuitous language, occasionally I'm pleasantly surprised by the picture Foer paints. I know I'm a prude, and I'm okay with that. Sometimes I wonder though if authors feel like they won't be taken seriously unless they sprinkle their writing with a few F-words and lots of sex. Rarely do these things add to the books I've read, although there are some exceptions. At any rate, I was feeling particularly frustrated again as I read "A Parade, a Death, a Proposition, 1804-1969." Why is everything about sex, I wondered. But then, again by the end of the chapter, I was stunned by the closing image. I'm not saying it makes me more tolerant of the sexual references, but I do have to admit that Foer really has won my admiration, and he does create images that tug at my heart strings. Part of me wonders why all of this was left out of the movie. But I'm glad it was, because these two scenes aren't the sort that can be re-created on the screen. Their power comes from the language used to create them. And I guess that's why I keep reading.

Revising and Recreating History

p.56 "Going Forth to Lutsk"
First, let me say that I really liked your last post and the whole idea of plastic surgery in reverse. Very nice. I've been feeling the same way as I've been reading. I like that we are finally adding some meat and muscle to the skeleton that a movie so often has to become. Don't get me wrong, I really enjoyed the movie, but I was left with some questions (that are definitely still being answered or not even close yet) and I'm excited to hopefully find some answers in the book. Overall, I'm not yet sure of my overall opinion ie, "I really like this book" or "Yikes, I will never read anything by Jonathan Safran Foer ever again." As of now, I am involved and interested. Yes, I agree that there are "in your face" moments that I'm still not entirely sure are necessary. Thank you for the gratuitous language and alllusions to sexual acts. It really helps with the plot.

Anyway, I'm sure you are looking for comments that have a little more depth and I will do my best. Bear in mind that I have been out of academia and neck-deep in stay-at-home-ness for awhile now :) I've been thinking a lot about reconstructing history as I've been reading. Essentially, the book has two narrators and the reader is privy to their writing via their correspondance and letters. Now, I am jumping ahead because of the movie and making the assumption that Trachimbrod was destroyed during the war and therefore, Jonathan is reconstructing every inhabitant of the city because he has no real way of knowing just what happened. He is filling a void and possibly giving us a genuine reflection of himself and his own values in the process. Alex is doing the same thing but in a different way. He lived the story he is telling, yet he gets to revise it and make himself taller or smarter etc. He gets to revise history while Jonathan gets to recreate it. What do you think?

Plastic Surgery and Perception

p. 50, "Another Lottery, 1791"

Whenever there's a film adaptation of a book I've read, I always want to see the movie, but the experience sort of feels like waiting for a friend to come out of plastic surgery. I know that some parts are going to be cut and other things will be represented differently than I’ve imagined them. But there's always this tension, as I wonder whether it will be some unnecessary flap of skin that gets cut and re-shaped, or whether chunks of my friend's ear or nose will be missing. In other words, will my dear friend be recognizable even if she looks different, or will the cutting leave her looking horrible.

Reading a book after watching the film adaptation is sort of like the above-mentioned experience, but in reverse. The folds of skin are added back on and plumped up, as well as any toes or fingers that got chopped off in the movie. And I always find it interesting to see what made it into the movie and what didn't, asking myself if I'd do it the same, or if the director and screenwriter missed the essence of the book. As I read Alex's first few sections in Everything Is Illuminated, I recognized some bits that made it into the movie and enjoyed discovering everything else that didn't.

At the same time, I've felt a little overwhelmed by this book. Although I feel like I can catch Alex's gist, he comes across as rather harsh and so does some of the descriptions of the people of Trachimbrod. Occasionally I feel like I'm being yelled at, and at other times, I feel like my senses are being assaulted. I'm not sure I could recommend this book to anyone, but that isn't to say that it's not well written. And I’m still deciding whether I like it or not.

And although I like reading the sections about the people of Trachimbrod, I agree completely with Alex's statement: "There were parts that I did not understand, but I conjecture that this is because they were very Jewish, and only a Jewish person could understand something so Jewish" (25). This statement seems so self-conscious about cultural differences. After all, at times Alex is hard to understand because of the words he chooses. So I wonder if Foer wants Alex and the people of Trachimbrod to seem somewhat foreign and different. Knowing how the movie ends, I can't help but think that perhaps Foer is also trying to say something about the Holocaust and how it is generally viewed. And that leads me to a few questions: What happens when, in trying to honor the victims of the Holocaust, we idealize them? Isn't that just another form of ownership and domination? I guess I'll have to keep reading to see if these questions are answered in this book.

What This Is

After finishing grad school, we've decided that we still want to read and discuss books. Since we live in different states, a blog seemed like a good way for us to share our ideas. We've decided that our first book will be Everything Is Illuminated by Jonathan Safran Foer. If all goes well, we'll read other books together and post our thoughts here. Feel free to read along with us.