Book #104

Dog Days
by John Levitt

Since this is a milestone book -- the ones that marks two books a week for the year -- I wanted it to be the Emerson collection I started and didn't finish, so I got back into that. Unfortunately for my geekery, I still can't read Emerson for more than half an hour or so without my brain getting twisted into a nice pretzel shape. Though I liked what I read this time as much as the other three times I've tried to finish that book; I read four more essays, including really great ones on art and being a poet, and once I wait a month or so -- not eight months like this last hiatus between essays -- I should be able to finish the book. However, I have also realized that a single reading is not going to enable me to really grasp these things, and so I plan to read them again, a second time, and maybe again after that -- though I may look for some of his other writings after the second time through. I did read a very nice thing in the introduction to this collection, when the scholar introducing Emerson said that he doesn't try to study his work, just enjoy it, and also that Emerson's essays are not logical step-by-step constructions of arguments, but more explorations of themes, and as such are not really meant to be grasped as a single totality. Emerson is best at the level of the sentence, he said, and that's what I've found to be true. I loved some of the sentences I found this time through, and I look forward to reading them again after I have a basic initial grasp of his topic.

But after three or four days of slogging through that -- while we were snowed in and school was being cancelled prior to Christmas Break -- I gave it up and went for something nice and light, and stopped worrying about which book appears where in this list, which is a stupid consideration in the first place. So I read Dog Days, by John Levitt.

It's a good story, nicely written without being overly complex. The main character is a part-time musician and part-time magician, and too unambitious (okay, lazy) to really focus on either one and make it work. Much is made in this book of his undeveloped potential, and in some ways, I can relate to that. My own laziness and lack of focused ambition has held me back in both my writing career and my teaching, erm, career -- inasmuch as I would be better at either if I could focus on one. Not that I would ever focus on teaching, or that my unrealized potential means a whole lot to me; I'd be an excellent janitor if I focused on that, too, along with probably a hundred other jobs. But Mason, the narrator of this book, is only bothered when it is pointed out to him that he could be, but is not, a truly great jazz guitarist; I feel that way about my writing, sometimes. But then again, my real ambition is for a happy life, and today, on Boxing Day, when I'm about to start reading my new Denis Leary book after playing my new God of War video game, I have no complaints and no regrets.

Mason's closest companion in his relaxed, unmotivated life is his "dog," Louie, who is actually an Ifrit -- a semi-magical creature who will choose a practitioner of magic for a companion and stick with them, usually for life. Nobody knows why Ifrits choose the ones they do, or where they come from, or even what they really are; Louie is basically a dog, but also much more. Louie is extremely well-written, and is a very sweet and interesting character. The way the plot ties into the Ifrits was excellent, and it made the bad guy really a bad guy.

Other strengths of this book were the magic, which is very nicely imagined but could be explained more, and the magical action scenes, which were brilliant. Mason is attacked repeatedly in this book, and it isn't clear why until the end; what is clear is that the person attacking him is both powerful and clever, using mundane and magical distractions to great advantage, as well as having good ideas for ways to get rid of Mason. It is also clear that Mason's greatest strength, his ability to improvise -- and it's a clever strength, nicely done, and the tie to his jazz is very cool -- is what saves his butt from these attacks, along with Louie. I really liked the way Mason's creativity was compared to the strengths of other practitioners, to Eli's education and brilliance, to Victor's raw power and mastery, to Sherwood's subtlety and empathy, to Campbell's specific talent, which sort of is magic and sort of isn't -- and that's a realm that has never been explored enough, and really should be. But I would like to know more about the basic theory of magic here: what is it? Where does it come from? Why do these people have it, and not others? How can Mason "pull" the aspects of his surroundings into his spells? Why isn't he more powerful, and why is Victor? How is it that words are nothing more than rhythm to Mason, but they are the main aspect of the summoning for Harry Keller, and others?

So in the next book, which we just bought but haven't read yet, I want to hear more about how magic works, and Mason's place in the magical world -- why he is the way he is, and what exactly he's going to become. At least some hints about that. I'd also like to meet a female character who doesn't have a masculine sounding last name for a first name, though that's less important, I admit.