Ditch The Kafka, Grab The Connelly

by Michael J. Mangano

I love to read. Always have. All kinds of books. But now, however, with all the upsetting events that are taking place in the country (you know what I’m talking about, right?), and the fact that I can’t open a newspaper (yes, you can still buy them) or turn on a TV or look at my magnetically addictive cell phone without learning of another alarming incident, I feel it’s time for me to take a break from heavy, serious literature, since so much of it reminds me of today’s real life, and thus, depresses the James Joyce shyte out of me.

Take, for example, one of the masterpieces, Franz Kafka’s The Trial: the story of Josef K., a bank worker arrested by a mysterious and inaccessible authority (sound familiar?) for an unspecified crime (also sound familiar?), who tries to navigate a seemingly impossible bureaucratic legal system (completes the trifecta, right?) to save himself – unsuccessfully (of course!). At the risk of sounding like a philistine, nowadays if I want to read a legal thriller, I’d rather not be reminded of what’s going on around me, and instead, curl up with a Michael Connelly Lincoln Lawyer, where I know what the person’s crime was, who made the arrest, who’s trying the individual, and that he or she is being defended by Mickey Haller, which means, if innocent, the accused is sure to get off. (Yay! Score one for the good guys!)

And then there’s Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale, where a totalitarian regime has taken over the United States government (seemed impossible not too long ago, didn’t it?) and young women have children who are taken from them (no kidding, mothers actually separated from their children?). With all due respect to Ms. Atwood, when it comes to depictions of women, nowadays I would much prefer to enjoy the light cleverness of Dorothy Parker or the perceptive humor of Nora Ephron, whose book titles alone put a smile on my face – in fact the only thing about their writing that might depress me is how much wittier they are than I am.

Oh yes, let’s not forget George Orwell’s 1984, where a totalitarian regime led by “Big Brother” (remind you of anyone?) controls every aspect of citizens’ lives, including thought and language (is that so, no free speech? hmmm!), and when someone does speak their mind, they’re subject to capture and brutal interrogation (can you believe it?). Well, the only interrogation I want to read about these days is Agatha Christie’s Hercule Poirot playfully grilling suspects.

There’s also Ray Bradbury’s famous Fahrenheit 451, which depicts a society where critical thinking and curiosity are suppressed, and where, as a result, books are banned (been there, seen that, unfortunately) and burned (not there yet but these days who knows?). Hey, if I’m looking to read anything about “critical thinking and curiosity,” right now I choose to smile my way through David Sedaris’s self-critical, revealing humor or Fran Leibowitz’s curious, witty, city-life insights (many of which I’ve experienced firsthand…regrettably).

And we can’t forget existentialist Jean-Paul Sartre’s groundbreaking The Age of Reason, where a Paris philosophy professor, grappling with the looming threat of World War Two, attempts to maintain his existential freedom (you remember freedom for all, don’t you?), while living in what he deems a world without inherent purpose. Ugh, talk about gloom and doom. Give me a Woody Allen book and his take on existential freedom any day, like: “I took a test in existentialism. I left all the answers blank and got 100”…or, “What if everything is an illusion and nothing exists? In that case, I definitely overpaid for my carpet.”

Naturally I realize that every serious literary work doesn’t contain thoughts that will remind me of today’s real-life travesties, but I figure why take chances. If and when everything gets back to the way it used to be, the way it’s supposed to be, maybe then I’ll go back to my old reading ways…maybe even finish War and Peace. (Yeah, right!).