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In brief:
Far from the simple shepherd I’ve always pictured, So-called Abram turns out to be complex — a wealthy man, a traveller, a warrior, a slaveowner. Also Lots’ uncle. And a bit quick to say his wife is his sister.

Moses gets foreshadowed. Hagar gets set up, but then she and Ishmael and their descendants are blessed.

Abraham and Sarah are given new names, and that’s not the most dramatic change in the household, as the men experience an exceptionally memorable afternoon.

A few thoughts:

• The way Abram as slave owner is casually discussed unnerved me. There’s no moral layer to it. Just an accepted fact, that humans owned other humans.
• On the other hand, the importance of having offspring as plentiful as sand and stars was sort of primal and joyous. Multiplying ourselves as prime directive. And there’s the redeeming notion that your reward might be paid to future generations. A positive flip on the idea of punishing people for the sins of their ancestors.
• Gen 15.1: “Fear not, Abram, I am a shield to you.” Just beautiful.

If you’d like to join in… this is the place for comments and commentary on Lekh-Lekha (Gen 12.1 – 17.27)
Next up: Va-Yera’ (Gen 18.1 – 22.24)
-Cecil

This week it seemed like history and fiction were spinning faster and faster together in a tight grip, all I’m sure leading to a dizzying conclusion.

We also got another quick recap of much of what’s happened before, another mad dose of the rhythm Rushdie has been laying down throughout. Back and forth, back and forth — prophecy and recap and prophecy. DJ Rushdie on the 1s and 2s and 1s.

Also, am I the only one who thought that meeting a man who “resembled a large and bearded onion” was inevitable? I was like: finally!

One last thought: After Meandering through two faux memoirs in a row (See also: The Blind Assassin Meander) I’m wondering if the faux-memoir genre has some built-in limitations. It’s hard-wired to be an ego trip. There are no female characters who seem real in Midnight’s Children, but I’m not sure there’s anyone besides our faux memoirist who has three full dimensions.

Still, very glad to be finally reading this book after all these many years. And equally delighted to be headed toward…

…the last five-chip whopper: What say we meet at the back cover, where we may or may not find “peace.” As always, I believe deeply in you and your complicated-book-completion skills!

And this? This is the place for comments on really anything you’d like vis a vis Midnight’s Children.

Another wonderful section this week.

A few thoughts:

• Much like Seth, the Raven could use more/better PR. On the other hand, the animals that creep are getting tons of screen time.
• Holding the child responsible for the sins of the parents. A simple idea with a sad legacy.
• The Flood may have been 40 days and nights, but it took months for the waters to recede. Repair can take longer than destruction. On my mind at this particular moment in US history.
• There’s something lovely about the idea that the rainbow isn’t there just as a covenant but also to remind God. God the Mighty. God the Just. God the Sometimes Forgetful but Also Self-Aware.

If you’d like to join in… this is the place for comments and commentary on Noaḥ aka Gen 6.9 – 11.32…
Next up: Lekh Lekha aka Gen 12.1 – 17.27
-Cecil

Oh my goodness we are close to the finish line!

Meanwhile, I’ve been busy writing my thesis on pickles and Midnight’s Children, aptly titled, Midnight’s Pickles. Pickle-shaped noses aside, this section was a particularly rich source of literary dill.

Twenty-six pickle-jars stand gravely on a shelf; twenty-six special blends, each with its identifying label, neatly inscribed with familiar phrases: “Movements Performed by Pepperpots,” for instance, or “Alpha and Omega,” or “Commander Sabarmati’s Baton.” Twenty-six rattle eloquently when local trains go yellow and browning past; on my desk, five empty jars tinkle urgently, reminding me of my uncompleted task. But now I cannot linger over empty pickle-jars; the night is for words, and green chutney must wait its turn.

We’ve all been eating a lot of pickles, these last several weeks, it’s true. And you know, three jars of pickles is one thing. But twenty-six jars is something else entirely. With five to go.

Only… there are thirty chapters in this book, not thirty-one. I counted three times.

Another mystery to be solved?

And then there’s this:

Of my last miserable contact with the brutal intimacies of family life, only fragments remain; however since it all must be set down and subsequently pickled, I shall attempt to piece together an account.

I loved that. Writing as pickling. Experience plus vinegar, salt, sugar, dill, garlic, onion, and time.

Now maybe it’s just the waft of all this pickle-broth that’s clouded my thinking, but it feels like this could be a good time to catch our breath before we wrap, and perhaps give a few folks a little time to catch up as well.

All to say: Let’s meet at the end of the section entitled “The Wedding” (aka page 484 in the Random House paperback), where someone “really had it in for” someone. (A mere 20 pages hence, as we prepare for the grand finale!)

And this? This is the place for comments on section 3.5.

And also: “castellated” is defined by Merriam-Webster as “having battlements like a castle.” Which seems a little lazy as word-creation goes. But, ok.

As well as: “fissiparous(ness)”; Merriam-Webster: “tending to break or split up into parts” (ness).

In the Jewish tradition, there’s this idea of Torah portions — parashot plural and parashah singular — that you read each week for about a year. And it starts this week. This very one! Right now!

With a couple other family members, I’m embarking on this wee adventure, to get from front cover to back, as part of a larger series I call: “Finally reading books I was supposed to read in college and didn’t finish.”

Getting ready to dive in, I realized that this is sort of the world’s largest Meander. The Original Meander. A big text, broken into smallish weekly pieces, read by a multitude. For it turns out there is, in fact, nothing new under the sun…

Anyways, in that Meander-ish spirit, I thought I’d try to capture a few notes here each week.

If you’d like to join with your own observations for any part of the way — a parashah, or two, or twenty — all are welcome…!

This week: Bereshit (Genesis 1.1 – 6.8)

What a beautiful section. We meet the creeping animals. And the flying ones. Lots and lots of creeping animals. That seems to be important. The sky and the sea. The stars that guide us. God the decisive, God the judging, and God the just. Swift but not cruel. “Here’s some clothes.” (paraphrasing)

And we meet flawed humans a plenty.

A few thoughts that stuck:

• “They heard the sound of the Lord God moving about in the Garden at the breezy time of day…” just a wonderful sense-image that’s lasted through the years.
• All credit to him for being the first Man and everything, but Adam is also kind of the first jerk. I’m pretty sure he threw both Eve and God under that bus in one move.
• Pro tip: do not get attached to Abel.
• Seth on the other hand needs a much better PR agent. It might as well have been Cain, Abel, and Steve. Or Chauncey. Have you heard of so-called Seth? I hadn’t. Turns out he’s a big deal.

Overall, my head was spinning after the first few pages, in the best way. Sweeping text. Copious plot. The serpent shows up like 2 minutes in! Drama!

Eden turns out to be Iraq, which was news to me. They basically drew a map for us with a big X on it. There’s gold there! And bdellium! (bdellium: “a fragrant resin produced by a number of trees related to myrrh, used in perfume.”) Road trip?

Also, the Nephilim were a complete curveball. Which just goes to show that I’ve fallen asleep during a few crucial episodes of Supernatural.

Speaking of curveballs, what’s up with this: “the divine beings saw how beautiful the daughters of men were and took wives from among those that pleased them”? (6.2) I mean, I can’t even.

Head: spinning. Happy to be reading. Onward!

If you’d like to join in… This is the place for comments and commentary on Bereshit (Gen 1 – 6.8).
Next up: (a man called) Noaḥ (Gen 6.9 – 11.32)
-Cecil

-Cecil

Well, I cheated. Held off posting for an extra day to buy myself more time. But I finally caught up with you mighty Meanderers! And props to folks who are still reading and just a little bit behind. I am not in a judging mood, my friends. None of us perfectly pure. Faulty towels one and all, over-fed a tad on the piaya of prophecies, perhaps.

There was lots of truth in the thread this week, as ever — we marvel at the language. Many of us are glad to be reading this book. Many of us feel like “meander” is starting to sound a bit sarcastic.

Computillo hit it on the head when she said:

Despite the fact that many of us often feel lost in the detail of this novel, I see now that every detail has been critical. Every detail is “organized into one damn thing.”

I continue to swoon a bit over the way everything comes back again, usually 7 or 8 times.

Like Jeff, I was in a little bit of awe at the end of Book Two. Despite the carnage, I felt relief at a gazillion prophecies finally made real, resolved. Tidy.

But then of course, we met the man-dog. The hound-guy? You know who I mean. The children called him big nose. And so here we are back in the vortex with a new slew of onions to peel. Or as the pooch-person calls ’em: coming-soon featurettes…

Either way, we’re getting wildly close to the close, Meander-mates (tone: sarcasm-free!). We can do this. You can do this. I’m starting to think even I can do this!

But before we do that: Let’s meet at the end of the section entitled “The Shadow of the Mosque” (aka page 464 in the Random House paperback), where “God knows what to do with that poor girl.”

And here? Here be the post for comments on sections 3.2 through 3.4.

And also: “enuresis” is defined by Merriam-Webster as… No. No, I don’t think I’m going to define that one.

Friends, I have no one to blame but myself! I set us an ambitious goal and like a few fellow Meanderers, this is the week that tripped me up.

Perhaps both the book and real life had just a little more plot than my brain was ready to handle. 🙂

With your indulgence, I’ll go perhaps a little easy on us (aka me) with this week’s page target, and aim to rejoin you all at the next roadstop. Speaking of which….

The next roadstop: Let’s gather our ponies and/or kick up our sandals at the end of the section entitled “The Buddha” (aka page 413 in the Random House paperback), where something “swallows them up.”

And this? This is the post for comments on sections 2.15 through 3.1.

And also: Wikipedia tells us that “Shakespeare’s phrase, ‘hoist with his own petard,’ is an idiom that means ‘to be harmed by one’s own plan to harm someone else’ or ‘to fall into one’s own trap,’ implying that one could be lifted (blown) upward by one’s own bomb, or in other words, be foiled by one’s own plan.”

Past the midpoint are we — midpoint’s children mayhaps? More than that — we’re the ones headed for the finish line!

Like the excellent folks in the comments I’m find it tricky going here and there, but worth the effort.

A few highlights as I dash to make the Sunday night deadline:

• “When you have things, then there is time to dream; when you don’t, you fight.”
• “Most of what matters in your life takes place in your absence.”
• Rushdie (it seems) making a guest appearance at the Social as a young smoothie….

I also dug the section at the start of the The Kolynos Kid, when Rushdie spells out the many ways he’s weaving Saleem into the actual and metaphorical development of India’s childhood…

Speaking of which, Noodle sent along this excellent helpful graphic to assist in sorting things out:

Next stop: We’ve only got four weeks to go my friends and fellow travelers. Let’s dig in and meet up at the end of the section entitled “Jamila Singer” (aka page 373 in the Random House paperback), where someone “proved to be more believable than what she knew to be so.” (That sounds like a good thing…)

And this? This is the post for comments on sections 2.11 through 2.14.

And also: Merriam-Webster tells us that tergiversatory is an “evasion of straightforward action or clear-cut statement : equivocation.” Hat tip to So-Called Bill for calling that one out in the thread. Oh, and speaking of SCB, he’s just started what promises to be an excellent exploration of Van “the man” Morrison over on The Philter — well worth checking out if you enjoy words and/or music.

Thanks and have a good week all….!
-Cecil

Another great section, and the book is officially exactly nothing like I was expecting when we started.

And that’s a joyous distraction, this week of all weeks.

I’m going to keep the post a little short, but I did want to share a quote that’s been buzzing around my head while I’ve read the last chapter or two.

It’s my favorite line from TV’s Johnny Carson. Legend has it that during Steve Martin’s first appearance on The Tonight Show, Johnny leaned over during a commercial break and told him “You’ll use everything you’ve ever learned.” (See: balloon tricks, banjo playing, et al)

That’s how I feel reading MC. The time I’ve spent looking up tetrapods and reccine has been paid back 50 fold. So when I pause to look up “feronia,” I do so with the peace that comes from knowing my effort will be rewarded, if not in this book than perhaps in the bookafter.

Next stop: Let’s meet at the end of the section entitled “Commander Sabarmati’s Baton” (aka page 307 in the Random House paperback), where awaits “the possibility of love.”

And this? This is the post for comments on sections 2.8 through 2.10.

And lastly: wikipedia insists that “feronia” was “a goddess associated with wildlife, fertility, health, and abundance.”