Now that I've spent so much time reading short novels, I've gotten a strange aversion to those big, thick tomes that I usually spend my time with. Suddenly Roberto Bolano's 2666: A Novel doesn't look quite so appealing as a book to carry around everywhere I go. Could it be that the tendonitis in my left rotator cuff, and the painful cortisone shot I had last Monday, is contributing to that feeling? Suddenly a Kindle doesn't sound like such a bad idea -- but don't tell anyone I said that.

Two more entries in this particular series, I think, and then on to your regularly scheduled programming. The plan right now is to read books checked out from the library for a while (I have a huge pile of them, which is at least slightly ridiculous, given the available books in my own library), and then follow it up with another project especially for this blog: works in translation. So 2666: A Novel will get its day in the sun after all.

Muse of Fire by Dan Simmons. This is the short work that set me off on this project, mostly because I loved it so much. It's been published in a gorgeous edition by Subterranean Books, which is unfortunately a bit too filled with typographical errors to live up to its beauty. I didn't know, when I picked it up, that it had already been published in The New Space Opera, edited by Gardner Dozois and Jonathan Strahan, but its quality was such that I finally purchased that volume in mass market paperback, having put it off for the two years since its original publication. Simmons's work posits a far future in which humans have become the slaves of a species which is itself the slave race of another species, itself the slave race of another species, and so forth. In this universe, a troupe of actors wanders from world to world, entertaining the dole slaves who work the mines for the Archons, performing the works of the immortal Bard. The novella is special fun for anyone who has studied Shakespeare at all, and who can therefore recognize that the characters are named after famous Shakespearean actors of yesteryear, and can understand precisely how the plays fit the circumstances. Much weight is placed on Shakespeare's genius in this story, and not undeservingly so, if you ask me -- but hey, I was an English major. I loved this story, its emphasis on eschatology and how we ultimately make our own fate, military might be damned. I'm not saying that Simmons is the equal of Shakespeare, but he is awfully darned good.

Fifty Days of Solitude by Doris Grumbach. If Muse of Fire was one of my February favorites, Fifty Days of Solitude was one of my least favorites. Grumbach set herself up to experience fifty days alone, without contact with another human being, to see what she would learn. But there is something immensely false about her solitude, as she herself acknowledges several times: she knows it will come to an end, and she has the opportunity to end it at any time she chooses. In fact, she must deliberately avoid human contact (such as by attending church, but sneaking in late and sneaking out early, so as to avoid other parishioners). She is no hermit in the wilderness, but a woman who has chosen to close the doors on her cozy home and hole up with her opera recordings and her books. She seems to discover nothing, really, except that she got lonely. No surprise there. If you really want to know about the creativity that solitude can bring, or the depression and loneliness, read May Sarton: Plant Dreaming Deep for the former (it's an ecstatic book, absolutely a transcendent journal) or Journal of a Solitude for the latter.

The Matisse Stories by A.S. Byatt. I fell head over heels in love with A.S. Byatt when I read Possession: A Romance 15 years ago in one holiday weekend in which I did almost nothing else but read. Since then, I've made it a point to gather together everything Byatt has written, and I'm parceling her work out to myself in doses, so I don't run out too soon. The Matisse Stories, in my hardcover edition (I've linked to a paperback reprint) is a lovely little book, pleasant to hold in the hand, printed on heavy cream paper with line drawings to illustrate the stories which are, after all, ekphrastic in nature, that is, about artworks in one way or another. The three stories in this book are all saturated with color, as are Matisse's paintings, so that one can almost see them, and all are about middle-aged woman coping. My favorite of the three stories is "Art Work," in which a family is surprised by their cleaning lady -- but each story is a little art work, crafted with the kind of care Matisse took with his paintings. Get your hands on this one.

Shakespeare Wrote for Money by Nick Hornby. I was terribly disappointed to read that this is the last volume of Hornby's collected Believer columns we will see; he is now devoting his time to other projects. His column, about what he bought and what he read and what he didn't read, never failed to amuse me. I've got books on my shelves that I wouldn't have bought and read but for Hornby's recommendations, and some of them I've loved and some of them I've hated, but that's how recommendations work. The best part is that Hornby is someone who loves books, all kinds of books, from young adult science fiction books to heavy, serious classics. One of these days I really must try one of his novels.

Enchanted Night: A Novella by Steven Millhauser. It's a hot summer night in Connecticut, and the moon is unusually bright, and everything is magic. Millhauser takes it from there, writing about how this magic affects everyone from a 14-year-old girl who sneaks out of the house with nothing but a half a roll of Lifesavers in her pocket to a middle-aged man who has been writing the Great American Novel while living at home with his mother for almost all of his life. Pan plays his flute, a mannequin discovers the joy of holding hands, and a girl gang is more surprised than surprising. The only word for this novella is charming. It is like a dream itself; you almost don't read it, it almost floats directly into your mind, and yet the lovely language, each word chosen deliberately, registers with precision. I want to experience this night.