<i>The Virgin Suicides</i> by Jeffery Eugenides

This was a very intense book. In that respect it reminded me of Ethan Froam. Throughout the story you have a sense of the tragedy that will come, but you don't yet know the true horror/terror of it until the last few pages.

The descriptions of the house embodied the intensity of the book. The first descriptions are about the thickness of the hormones, etc. that are found in a house where five teenage girls are cooped up. The image of the always-damp bathroom sort of made my skin crawl. Thinking about the moist dead skin even now gives me the heebie-jeebies.

The book, I believe, is trying to make the argument that you can't hold people back from the world. Individuals must have some outlet for their lives. If none is given, one will be found. First it was Lux on the roof, later it was the deaths of all the girls. The only parts of their lives where they felt they still had control was the matter of their death. Breath and heart beats were all they could master.

The entire cavalcade of protection brought on by Celia's death was understandable. The lack of adjustment of that protection seemed to be what did the girls in. The father was helpless---thought I don't know why; maybe the outward appearance of the house represented the inward feelings of the mother?

The point of view for this book---sort of juvenile stalkers recounting their collection---added to the intensity. These now-middle-aged men still spent their time going over and over their collections, bringing back sacred memories. Just a bit creepy. It makes it tightly and seemingly lovingly (in the manner of the first half of Lolita) written. I found, though, that I had to step away from the story to break the intensity. I couldn't have read it in one sitting---though it seemed to beg to be.

Hocus Pocus by Kurt Vonnegut

Amazing---a Vonnegut that I have not read and really liked. There were a number of images that stuck with me. I liked the picture of the library with all the pieces of paper numbered for the book strewn out. I also liked the image of the professor sniping from the bell tower at the convicts below. Sort of a last ditch effort to save education. Oh, and the best has to be the bells that the students said were whale genitalia. Nice.

I think Vonnegut's point with this book is that life, on the whole, is thankless. No matter how long you care for your mad relatives, or help those who haven't learned to learn, you still aren't guaranteed to end up being given credit for that. You'll just end up in jail.

Here, Hartke (the main character) is not thanked by his wife, mother-in-law nor by his school. The prisoners---the outcasts of society---seemed to be the only ones who appreciated his help and used it for their own advancement, though not quite as he expected. The dumb and powerful don't know good information when they see it. The smart and imprisoned don't know how to use it. And each doesn't trust the other.