Books

I finished two novels today--I didn't realize that I only had seven pages left in each one, and had obviously been half-consciously putting off finishing them.
What Maisie Knew was so dense, so complex and subtle. It really is an amazingly precise novel, where every line is written so as to require close, close reading to see all the depth it encloses. Everything that goes on, all the social/sexual power-trading that goes on between the adults, and what Maisie understands perfectly and what she misses, (and what she holds back), as well as what the adults do not realize she knows and see that she doesn't, is all encoded in the precise, subtle use of language. Each sentence demands a great deal of close attention, and yet the whole novel is generally fun, light, exciting and pleasurable.
The other one I finished was Gentlemen of the Road. This book couldn't be more opposed; it's utterly light, fun, throwaway, devoid of subtlety. The history that provides the background where the extremely broad story takes place, is carefully crafted (much as in Yiddish Policemen's Union), but the story itself doesn't require any attention. It's pure pulp, swasbuckling adventure. The characterization is exactly the same as in Kavalier and Clay and Yiddish (and somewhat Summerland), except with far less depth: you've got the sensitive, dour, smart yet adventurous hero, with his touch, cynical, realistic sidekick (it's a little Lethal Weapon, I must say) and his unsentimental, get things done would-be girlfriend, just trying to get by with their zany money-making scheme that unwittingly to them becomes an end of the world epic adventure.