Reading a book

Writing in this blog is like climbing atop a small steel cast children's ride outside the local bodega. I feel a little stupid most of the times, but when I'm really in the mood, I just want the world to know it.

I'm currently working on several books (reading! not writing.. Unfortunately).
Native Son
Moby Dick
Native Speaker
Freakonomics
Guns Germs and Steel
7 habits of highly effective people

I probably won't finish any of those books any time soon, but I'm almost done with Native Speaker, Chang Rae Lee. My friend said he sat down with the man once in an English Class. He didn't remember much about him. Nothing striking. Smart, suave, and soft, was how he described Mr. Lee.

Disappointing. Because I would like to talk to him about his book.

A book that seems to strain with its "problem" more than any other book I've read. It's a book about how difficult it is to write a book. Well, more accurately, it's a book about how difficult it is to write a character--and perhaps, it's a book about how writing a character close to home is like betrayal, spying, or worse, lying. And at one moment in the book, the main character talks about a hypothetical figure, a brother figure, a strong Asian man who's outspoken and confident. He also has an assignment to write profiles on a highly influential New York Politician, John Kwang. The main character struggles with painting pictures of the Korean Man. He ends up painting his own portrait as a sordid rant and tirade on his disfunctional and pathetic father and mother; he talks about his failing relationship with his wife, and his dead son. He sprinkles in some intimate details about New York.

Mr. Lee, is it so difficult? I mean, you write beautifully. Am I just missing the point? I have to say, I'm about 3/4 of the book done, and when I finish, I hope to have discovered some huge twist in this narrative of yours.

I'll tell you how it goes.