I’ve mostly read canonized modernist novels, by Joyce and Woolf and etc., which use fragmentation and stream-of-consciousness narration and image-laden prose to excellent effect. Dos Passos tries to employ those techniques, and occasionally manages a great phrase or a haunting juxtaposition of words, but on the whole it just doesn’t work. The 42nd Parallel has four main streams of narration — three fragmentary and lyrical and one more straightforward and chronological prose — and the straightforward prose sequences, which make up perhaps 2/3 of the book, are by far the most successful and gain little from the fragmentary bits of newsreel lyric, biography, and autobiography jammed in around them. The novel as a whole doesn’t fail, or doesn’t fail entirely; the narrative sections are gripping at times, and consistently interesting, and I’m intrigued enough to pick up the next two volumes of the trilogy when I have a chance. But I think it would’ve been a better book without the self-consciously experimental sections, where Dos Passos attempts to use a particular set of trendy techniques — and does fail, despite his talent as a writer.

Most of the credit goes to M., who designed and is hosting the site — but be sure to click the link for the second page, wherein you can reap the benefit of my obsession with local restaurants. (Most restaurants have websites, which are easily found by asking Uncle Google.)

As M. notes, this site is in no way affiliated with the WFC, etc., etc. But it has a flying armadillo on it.

For future reference, you can also find the guide link on my sidebar (and my newly uploaded index page). Check it out — and let M. or I know if you have questions, suggestions, etc.

Marla, Michener administrator extraordinaire, took this photo at last night’s graduation dinner — I’m the one in pink, diving for the baked goods. I look pretty relaxed, yes? I was, and not only because of the tasty bread. Our graduation reading went well — I read a short-short and the novel prologue, and really enjoyed my classmates’ readings, since nearly all of us read different material this time. Adam Zaby, in particular, read a brilliant story about Stieglitz and Georgia O’Keeffe. There were post-reading drinks at El Chile and then a trip to Carmen’s house to see the kitten she adopted from me months ago, now a sleek, scrappy, adorable teenager. After the obligatory cat visit we went to the dinner, which was, luckily, not rained out. ‘Twas a nice afternoon, though it didn’t feel much like graduation to me, as I’ll be back in class in August. But I’m tremendously glad I’m staying.

Today I turned in my last master’s form, and T. finished his grading, so summer has officially begun. I celebrated it in the dorktacular way I often do: by making a quick summer reading list, which you can find on the sidebar. I’ll update as I go. But now I’m off to re-read a short story that needs revision and to work on my novel synopsis, that joy of joys.

This morning I slept in a little and then went to Café Mundi, our favorite eastside coffeeshop, only a short bike ride away. I ate a Belgian waffle with fruit and whipped cream and scuffled with the Much Ado About Nothing story, which has been extremely recalcitrant. I have to whip it into shape by Wednesday for workshop — I’ll probably spend most of the day working on it.

The coffeeshop got progressively noisier as lunchtime approached, so I left a little after noon and biked home, stopping to take several pictures. Only a few people out in their yards today; most were either inside, avoiding the humidity, or in church. I had to bike around fleets of Cadillacs parked along the curbs.

I put a few other photos on flickr, but here’s the House of Elegance, a local beauty parlor, which I’ve been meaning to take a photo of since I moved in last spring: