Reading Round-Up: Hauntings, Dune, and Russian Nihilism

Some books I read specifically to review them, others I read because I want to, some I read because I have to for work or from my own sense of 'you should read this at some point'. From those last two categories not everything ends up as a review, and that's why I've decided to do this, a Reading Round-Up. I'll do this every once in a while, whenever I've got a few books to talk about but when I don't have enough to say for an entire review. Here we go!

The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson, narr. by Bernadette Dunne

This one is a re-read for me. I first read The Haunting of Hill House in 2017 and absolutely devoured it. And I think by inhaling it I probably missed some of its depth and subtlety. It's a small book, less than 200 pages, but Jackson has packed them full of details, hints, ideas, and tragedy. Bernadette Dunne was a great narrator for this book. Her voice has that kind of gravelly tone to it that serves well for a suspenseful read, but there is also a warmth and understanding to it in the right moments that really elevates the multiple levels on which Jackson is working. Mild spoilers ahead, so if you don't want that, skip!

The final lines of the book really hit me this time. They are a repeat of the opening lines, about the House, not sane, and the thing that dwells there, alone. But now Eleanor is wound up in that house, now she, perhaps, too, is stuck there, and that really hurt me this time around. There was such a sadness to it that I didn't feel the first time. On my first reading it was simply a moment of suspense, continued horror perhaps, but I had grown impossibly closer to Eleanor than in my first reading. Perhaps in the five years between readings I have grown up more but also experienced more. Perhaps through COVID-19 I have become more appreciative of a woman stuck inside her own little world with no escape out. Perhaps through my own anxiety, which sometimes showed itself through auditory overstimulation, I felt Eleanor's panic more. Perhaps the emotional weight of Mike Flanagan's excellent Netflix series also enhanced my reading. But this was a perfect example of why re-reading can be such a valuable experience. Books themselves technically don't change, but what you read, what you understand, does. 

Dune Messiah by Frank Herbert

I absolutely adore Science Fiction, in part because I grew up with Star Wars in a way some may consider unnatural. Somehow I'd never gotten around to the Dune books but after seeing the Denis Villeneuve film adaptation of the first half of Dune, I decided it was time. And as I wrote in my review of Dune, I was utterly gripped and entranced by it. Although my response could probably be summarized this way:

Even though the book had its downsides for me, it was constantly on my mind so I started listening to a podcast about it, with the idea that maybe overexposure would release me from its grip, but no such luck. And so I decided to read the next installment, Dune Messiah. It's set 12 years after the first book and in it Herbert tries to turn the hero-myth upside down. Because of that, it was not popular. People want their heroes and they don't like seeing them for the fallible humans they are. Herbert expands significantly on his world-building, but I ran into the same issue as with Dune, namely that the ideas are there but they're not entirely worked out. The ghola, which is a resurrected person with a new personality but some memories and mannerisms of their previous life, is fascinating but remains vague. The jihad, which Paul so feared, has already happened and the body count is only casually mentioned. But because the reader doesn't experience it for themselves, the horror of it stays distant. The Fremen, which were so crucial and so worked out in Dune, feel like they have been reduced to either frenzied followers or faithless dissidents. So while I really liked what Herbert was doing with the idea of the hero and will most likely get into Children of Dune next, I still think these books work more as a thought experiment, perhaps, than a reading experience. If you want to ponder and think, it's for you. If you want  acomplete story, you have to look elsewhere!

Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky, narr. by Will Poulter

So I love Russian literature and I was all over The Brothers Karamazov last month. I figured that because I liked that one I would probably also like Crime & Punishment. And yet... 

I still really liked the writing style and the way Dostoevsky writes and works his themes into his characterisation. But where, at least for me, the men at the centre of The Brothers Karamazov had a certain self-awareness to them, this felt completely absent in Raskolnikov, the main character of Crime and Punishment. He felt whiny to me, or perhaps not whiny, but utterly self-absorbed. At the centre of his philosophy is this idea that some humans are extraordinary and therefore they can overstep some of the rules and laws of society. They might still be punished for this overstepping, but within their own minds these rules don't apply to them. In and of itself this is a fascinating idea, since many of the people who changed the world did indeed do so by stepping away from what was considered the norm. But Raskolnikov comes to the harsh realisation he is not one of those people and this crushes him, alongside the guilt over what he has done. Through this he turns into a cold, cynical and often cruel person, while his family is utterly  forgiving and his friends work for him tirelessly. He is dismissive of everything, despite benefitting from it, he is full of a self-hate he projects outwards. and I struggled with this, intensely. 

And then I wondered whether I was overlooking a certain element in this story, namely that poverty and deprivation had driven Raskolnikov to this point. Perhaps in finding him annoying I was expressing an unconscious bias? So that's what I'm pondering over at the moment. A poor person should not be more virtuous than a rich one, they shouldn't have to bear their misfortune with saintly forbearance. So why would Raskolnikov need to be "good"? Dostoevsky is deeply critical of the nihilism and rationalism which has led Raskolnikov to this point and as such his actions are also those of someone slipping, of someone losing touch. Crime and Punishment is a fascinating read about the slippery slope of guilt and madness, and shame and I will definitely be thinking about it for quite some time. 

Will Poulter does an amazing job narrating btw, truly excellent!