Reading Magic and Watching Dreams

I took the weekend off from writing to finally read Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell. I bought the book shortly after it came out, but as it's a large book and I'm no good at dipping into a novel for an hour or two here and there, I put it aside. I also can't read while I'm working on a story; I like to be immersed in one world or the other--going back and forth ruins the enjoyment of both. So, the book sat on my shelf for a while and then has been travelling around with me for the past couple of years while I waited for an opportune block of time to read it. The book's been from California to China and back, and been lugged up and down the West Coast for the past year and a half. After all that time and anticipation (not to mention the work of carrying such a hefty tome in my suitcase), I was very much hoping that I liked the book.

I'm not sure why yet, but my response to it is very mixed. I must say that I very much admire the work. It's very ambitious, drawing together history and magical lore and the individual stories of a large and diverse set of characters, and for the most part, I was impressed with how convincingly the world she built came off. I loved the little bits of magical history woven in through the footnotes. But, delighted as I was for the first couple of hundred pages, I started getting bored through the middle and tired of trying to keep track of all the intertwining strands ("When did those people meet?" "What was he supposed to do again?"), and the ending lacked enough impact and resonance to redeem it. Perhaps my problem was, with so many characters to follow, I didn't have the leisure to really empathize with or care about what happened to any of them. Or maybe it's that I like books where friendship and love are more powerful, sympathetic forces than they are here. An impressive book, but in the end, it left me a little cold.

My Netflix movie-of-the-week was The Science of Sleep. Following the general trend of the weekend, the beginning was delightful and promising, the ending not so much. Visually, though, the depictions of the main character's dreams were lovely and whimsical; I loved the low-tech-looking effects, the cardboard cars and cellophane water. I love how he lives as much (or more) in dreams as in reality and the way the two blur into each other for him. But I didn't like the way his character developed and I wish the story had been as transporting as the effects.

Ah, well. Back to writing tomorrow.