Oh wait…I forgot.

But wait, you say. I’m Starved for You is a Kindle Single and is too short to qualify as a novel! And I reply, That’s okay! Because it’s a novella, and it’s awesome! Last year I read and blogged about The Invention of Hugo Cabret, which is only 26,000 words, or so. Also, it’s my blog, and if I say it qualifies, it qualifies. So there. That said, it really is just a longish short story.

Anyway, I’m a huge fan of Margaret Atwood, which you’ll know already if you’ve read my reviews of Oryx and Crake and The Year of the Flood from last year or my dystopia rundown from a couple of weeks ago. I especially enjoy her writing style, which is easy to read but not condescending at all. And we all know how much I like dystopian fiction.

I can’t give out too much information on I’m Starved for You without a Super Duper Spoiler, which, in this case, I don’t want to do, especially since this story is so new. It’s a dystopian novella about a near-future city in which the residents (voluntarily) alternate months between prison and home. They go to prison for a month and have a job, etc, there, and then they return home to their houses and families for a month. While one couple is in prison, Alternates stay in their homes until the Alternates go to prison, and so on, and so one. Families and their Alternates are allowed no contact. Except the protagonist, Stan, finds a note under the refrigerator and starts to investigate. Which is where I stop.

I think I discovered this novella from Margaret Atwood herself: she’s very active on Twitter, which is soooo cool. (Incidentally, one of my other favorite writers, Salman Rushdie, is, too.) It’s a Kindle Single, and it’s only $3. You can’t, of course, check it out from the library because publishing companies make it as hard as possible for libraries to offer ebooks. But that’s another story.

I don’t have that much to say about I’m Starved for You except that it’s very Atwood-y and that it’s fantastic. If you don’t have a Kindle, you can read it anywhere that there’s Kindle software, which includes PCs. Here’s a handy link!

As you might know, I’m reading Yevgeny Zamyatin‘s dystopian novel, We. And I’m totally not going to finish it for a couple of weeks because I have Other Things going on. So I thought I’d give you a quick rundown on what is possibly my very favorite literary genre. (Read on if you’re wondering what a dystopian novel is. I’ll get to it eventually.)

What happened: In high school, I was assigned quite possibly the best known dystopian novel of all time. Ever. Yep, Nineteen Eighty-Four by George Orwell. It remains one of my favorite novels, though I haven’t read it in several years (*adding it to my to-read list now). Written in 1948, takes place in 1984, this novel is a terrifying vision of what the world can be if the government becomes too powerful. You’ve heard of Big Brother. Here’s where he came from.

Second, for me, was Brave New World. It’s about a society in which people are conditioned from birth to think and behave in a certain way. The theory is that if every thought is conditioned, poverty, hunger, and crime will be wiped out. One of their tactics is to limit reproduction and, when a child is born, take him away from his parents to be conditioned by the government. And so on. Good novel.

There was also The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood. Atwood is one of my very favorite authors. (She’s also active on Twitter!) The Handmaid’s Tale was the first book of hers that I read, and I was enthralled. Like Brave New World, this society is dealing with population problems, but on the other end of the spectrum: for some reason, most women have become infertile. Young women who can have children are forced to become handmaids – or, basically, concubines to rich men. Still one of my favorites. Lots of Atwood’s novels are dystopian. If you like The Handmaid’s Tale, check out Oryx and Crake and The Year of the Flood, both of which I read and reviewed last year. Then read everything else she’s written.

Several years ago, I read Ayn Rand’s Anthem, which is about a society in which even thought is supposed to be collective, and “I,” “me,” and “myself” are Unspeakable Words. I dislike Ayn Rand, so I’m not saying anything else. But Anthem is a dystopian novel that I’ve read.

And don’t forget Fahrenheit 451! A very special book for librarians everywhere. (See? Isn’t this genre exciting?!?) It’s about a society in which books are banned. Owning a book is a crime, and the government conducts regular and very public book burnings. Here’s another one I need to read again. There’s also a good movie version from the 1970s.

Wikipedia’s list of dystopian novels also includes Kafka’s Metamorphosis, which I’ve read and enjoyed, but I don’t think it fits into this category. Dude wakes up turned into a cockroach. His life becomes unpleasant. Things Happen. Not dystopian.

This one’s a short story: “Harrison Bergeron” by Kurt Vonnegut, in which everyone is supposed to be so equal that “normal” people are required to be handicapped in some way. People with above average intelligence have to wear headphones that make a high-pitched noise ever so often, interrupting any intelligent thought. TV anchormen have to have speech impediments, and so on. If dystopian lit sounds interesting to you, but you don’t want to make the novel commitment, “Harrison Bergeron” might be a good place to start.

And there are so many more! Here are some more that I’ve read and that I recommend. A few are juvenile novels, and I’ll mark them with a J. That shouldn’t keep you from reading them, though. They’re all great books no matter your age.

• A Clockwork Orange - Anthony Burgess
• The Children of Men - P.D. James
• The Giver - Lois Lowry (J)
• The City of Ember, The People of Sparks, and The Prophet of Yonwood - Jeanne DuPrau (J)
• Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell, my 2010 Book of the Year
• The Hunger Games trilogy – Suzanne Collins (J)

Do you see a pattern here? A dystopian novel is usually set in the future (sometimes in the very near future) and in a society that has gone horribly wrong. They usually involve totalitarian governments and/or a spent environment. Dystopia is the opposite of utopia, in which society functions perfectly, and everything is pleasant and beautiful and such. If you want to read about those, try Plato’s Republic or Thomas More’s Utopia. I generally find utopian novels a bit, well, boring, so I haven’t read any, I don’t think, except those two. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t!

Bonus: Here’s the iconic Apple Macintosh ad from 1984. It’s worth a watch!

I’m not one to get involved in book clubs. I’d never even participated in one until the other day, when The Atlantic’s 1book140 group started reading The Blind Assassin yesterday. The main reason, I guess, was that I’d never seen a book club reading a book in which I hadany interest. At all. But! The Blind Assassin was on my reading list! Ever since I read Oryx and Crake and The Year of the Flood and remembered how much I love Margaret Atwood, I’ve kept The Blind Assassin near the top of my pile – I even picked up a copy at the Shreveport Library Book Sale a few weeks ago.

I was excited. Reading a book with a bunch of people sounded like fun, and using Twitter, with its length constraints, sounded like something I was bound to enjoy. The Atlantic even put out a reading schedule so everyone would know what to read and discuss when. So, Tuesday night, I read the first two chapters of the book and added lists in Tweetdeck for #1b140_1 and #1b140_2. Then I waited.

Once a few posts started to appear, I quickly realized that a book club like this one might not be for me. Most of them were just speculation (some of them eye-bleedingly dumb) about what would happen next. What it boils down to is that it’s really, really hard to discuss a book before everyone’s finished reading it. The first two chapters of The Blind Assassin are merely an introduction with bits and pieces of deliberately mysterious information. Discussing this information before you’re far enough into the book to be able to make an educated guess about what might happen next is a waste of time. And, again, many of the tweets were dumb. I’ll be nice, though, and not post any here.

That said, some people had really interesting things to say, even about the first two chapters. The Atlantic has posted some of them on their website. There was even a (too brief) discussion about recursion and how the novel’s various storylines might be tied together. That qualifies as interesting speculation. And, yes, I did participate, but only with one tweet: “The literary prize judges will consider ‘literary and also moral values’ (31). Prob has to do with the story w/in story.” I even got an intelligent reply!

My frustration with dumb tweets isn’t the only reason I’ve decided to quit so quickly. Reading, for me, is a very personal experience, and it’s one I don’t really like to share with others. When I was in college lit classes, I’d usually keep my mouth shut and save my thoughts for papers. I figured I was paying for what the professor had to say, and not students’ opinions. I still feel that way, but most people enjoy participating more than I did. Part of it was that I didn’t want to sound stupid, so I was more confident in making a claim once I’d had time to research and to think about a topic. Most of the people tweeting about The Blind Assassin seem to be rattling on from the tops of their heads rather than thinking about whether their information is correct or if others might be remotely interested in what they have to say. Others are just telling Margaret Atwood, who, for whatever reason, has agreed to participate, how much they love her. It’s like they’re all googley-eyed over a celebrity. The other members of the group probably don’t care.

Once everyone has finished reading the book, I might take a look at the Twitter stream. Since I was going to read along, according to the schedule, I started reading Julia Child‘s My Life in France at the same time. Now that I’ve lost interest in the book club, I’m putting The Blind Assassin back on the shelf, for the time being, to concentrate on Child. Then it’s on to Roberto Bolaño‘s The Savage Detectives, which I’ve been wanting to read for a few weeks. I’ll eventually get back to The Blind Assassin, but it’ll be on my time.

I’m kind of disappointed that I’m evidently not cut out for a group reading experience. Reading, for me, is a solitary activity. Yes, I go to Starbucks almost every day, so I’m surrounded by chattering people, but I can usually focus on the book well enough that their voices drift into the background. It’s like I’m alone and not alone at the same time. A book club on Twitter is kind of analogous in that there’s really no centralized discussion, and members of the group remain relatively anonymous. An intelligent tweet might receive one reply because so much gets looked over in the avalanche of tweets. So you read the book and have a sort of one-sided discussion. Sure, there are people engaged in an actual conversation, in spurts, at least, but the structure of the group is so decentralized that I’m not sure that much of anything worthwhile is coming out of it.

The Year of the Flood isn’t really a sequel to Oryx and Crake like I expected it to be. The two novels’ events happen at the same time: the plots and characters are interwoven. The Year of the Flood is narrated by two of these characters, Toby and Ren. They’re both part of an environmentalist group called God’s Gardeners. The novel jumps around in time between Year One, when the God’s Gardeners first organize, and Year Twenty-Five, when the Waterless Flood knocks out most humans. The Waterless Flood is the virus Crake intentionally spreads in the first novel. Then Things Happen, as they did in Oryx and Crake. We hear a bit more about what happens at the end of the first novel, though not much. Many of the characters in The Year of the Flood are minor characters in Oryx and Crake, and vice-versa, which makes it interesting.

I think I liked The Year of the Flood more than Oryx and Crake, though that one was good, too. I gave this one four stars on Goodreads because, unlike Oryx, it’s really preachy. Explicitly so, even. The way Atwood does it, though, isn’t annoying, at least for the most part. Adam One, founder of the God’s Gardeners, gives sermons of sorts, followed by poems Atwood says were inspired by William Blake‘s poetry. You can listen to some of them here. They’re super-corny.

I explained my past with Margaret Atwood in my Oryx and Crake post, so I won’t talk about it again. These books, though, have reminded me of how much I enjoy her stories and her writing style, so I’ll revisit her novels soon, though only after some DeLillo because I’ve given myself a stern talking-to about the Thesis Monster situation, and I have to get to work.

I really enjoyed Oryx and Crake . It’s a dystopian, post-apocalyptic-type novel about one of the few men left on Earth. He calls himself Snowman, and the plot bounces back and forth between him and the man he used to be, before the catastrophe, Jimmy. This part is set in the near-future, where everything is genetically spliced together – food, animals, medicine, etc. Jimmy and Crake had been good friends since they were kids. Crake was really intelligent. They grew up, and Crake worked on what he claimed would cure all of the problems caused by humanity. Then Things Happen. Snowman survives with Crake’s humanish creations, called Crakers, who think Crake is a god and Snowman is almost one. Then there’s Oryx, who might or might not have been sold as a slave into the sex industry when she was a child and who is revered as a near-god, too.

I tend to like dystopian novels. I read Atwood‘s most famous novel, The Handmaid’s Tale, when I was fifteen or so, and I liked it so much I even remember some of it. I’ve noted before that I rarely remember what books are about after a few years. I think 1984 was the first dystopian novel I ever read: my high school freshman English teacher assigned it, and I actually finished reading it. Another feat.

I bought Oryx and Crake in 2003 when it was first published. I tried reading it but lost interest after the first chapter or so. I don’t know why: this time, I had a hard time putting it down. I ordered The Year of the Flood , the events of which are contemporaneous to Oryx and Crake, from Amazon, but I think I’ll save that for later.

Oryx and Crake really sucked me in – moreso than most novels do. It’s the usual dystopian warning of sorts, but it’s not preachy. I’m not sure of a comparison – maybe a not-so-grim On the Beach. I really like Atwood’s writing style: it’s very easy to read, though I guess I’m comparing it to the two dialecty novels I just finished reading. I’m really looking forward to the sequel.