Gordon Comstock, you little bitch

Orwell's Aspidistra was a quick read, fairly easy and entertaining enough, though drawing too completely on exaggerated typecasts of generic classes (though I guess that was to be expected). "Struggling" lead character (I refuse to define him as protagonist...and now that I consider it, antagonist would be a much more fitting title) Comstock is irritatingly self deprecating and how such a person could continue to maintain the support and love of friends and family is beyond me. The character houses pride over having no pride -- it's supposed to be ironic, I know -- but Orwell's style of overly obvious irony does not work here. It is to my understanding that many parts of this novel were inspired by Orwell's own life, and I do appreciate that, but one knows a story needs much more than that to draw the attention of the reader.

Love interest Rosemary, however, is genuinely likable and made the read bearable. She is of course too good for Comstock, but that is always the trend in couples in entertainment is it not?

As for the mystery of the flying house plant, I am still in the dark. Mention of the aspidistra was brought up at least five times per chapter, but I see no importance in the choice to use this particular plant to illustrate the contrast between this thriving, sturdy thing versus the fragile and sorry Comstock. Personally, I find the use of the aspidistra as a tool for symbolism a weak one. In all honesty, when I pictured anything to do with keeping an aspidistra "flying", all I could imagine was shit hitting a fan. I know, I know, not even close to the point.

In the end though, I am not denouncing this book. It was not terrible, nor was it exceptional, and it is interesting to consider it as something still in (leading to?) the vein of Animal Farm.

I did especially enjoy this passage where the failing poet looks back on his writing project, as I found it genuine and accurate of anyone devoting themselves to such a task; "There it was, sole product of two years--of a thousand hours' work, it might be. He had no feeling for it any longer as a poem. The whole concept of poetry was meaningless to him now".
It is exactly the way I had been feeling about my thesis when I was graduating college. My thesis was comprised of a collection of vignette poems, imagery, and objects, and having worked on it for months and thinking of little else, the product seized to become poetry, or even as artwork, but rather a queer sort of assignment with a sterilized meaning. One's perception of their own creative endeavors become skewed so easily after being pored over for so long. I like to imagine that Orwell was feeling this way himself as he was writing, which is easy to assume.

So after all of that, the next book up is #188; Moon Palace by Paul Aster. I'm quite excited, starting a new book is probably the best part about reading, at least to me. The title too, sounds quite promising to me as it sounds quite lovely-nice in a calm manner. It is about an orphan and the previous generations in his family. It is also, apparently, a resort in Cancun. We shall see, we shall see.

Borders on Michigan Avenue is having a Going-Out-Of-Business sale with lots of price-slashing. I always think to go in there to get as many books as possible which I have remaining on the list but it never happens, and I am sure I will run out of time soon. I should learn from Orwell's character and just get on with it.