i read thirty or so pages and then left to do something else. didn't touch it again. i hear it's post-modern
So he wasn't at school for the past few days and came in today all normal, talking about Everything is Illuminated. We're talking, and I ask him what he thought of HoL. His response? A silence, followed by a tight, terse, "It was good." Then he started talking about something else. For the record, I recommended him the book last year when I first read it before I knew how much these things fucked him up. I half-jokingly, half-seriously warned him not to read it after that.
I want to read this thread so bad but I'm still not done reading it. I've been slowed down quite a bit by classes starting up again.
My friend called me today and said he started reading this again, and that it was FUCKING SCARY. I was so happy But I think he got arrested so he won't be able to read it for a while
I just lent it to my girlfriend. When I bought it she sort of blew off the whole text-as-a-means-of-pace-and-emotion bit, and now that she's reading it she feels bad for thinking it was just a gimmick. She's only about 40 pages in but she loves it so far.
You know, I never understood it either until just now, and realizing how it sounded and then fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.
just finished this beast, but the most problematic thing with me and books like these is that i inevitably search for some illuminating message or reason behind everything in the story. the passages and references that seem to hold no obvious meaning are probably intended to be so and the author probably wanted these answers to be left up to the reader, but i can't seem to find a clear answer. the most memorable example would be navidson's burning of the book. it may be a silly thing to question and i may be reading too much into it... i dont know. maybe it's meant to be unclear, but i just don't get what that part is trying to signify. am i the only one that feels this way? is there some grand meaning between the lines that i can't gleam somehow because of my ineptitude? or do people simply pass off these moments as merely arbitrary bits devoid of any absolute meaning outside of oneself?
Spend five minutes on the house of leaves forum and your head will explode. http://www.houseofleaves.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?f=5 http://www.houseofleaves.com/forum/archive/index.php/t-5681.html
I wonder if it's just the natural effect of the book to be so memorable that I subconsciously look for connections and similarities in other things, but since reading it I've come across a great deal of instances in songs, stories, movies, etc. that seem very reminiscent of House of Leaves. it seems like everywhere I turn there's something I've found that could reasonably have been influenced by it, but not. off the top of my head, I wouldn't hesitate to think that "hallways of always" by ulver to be a direct reference if not for the fact that perdition city's release was barely within a month of the book's, and I've even thought of a part of an AFI song as being possibly influenced. anyway I was inspired to post here after having read yet another short story in what has been an accidental series of three, each of them reminding me more of the book than the last. "to build a fire" by jack london shouldn't surprise me much, as I discovered that it is directly quoted in the epigram of chapter 7, and "the open boat" by stephen crane is just as much like House of Leaves in that it is a similar story to jack london's. both are fantastic stories with really subtle similarities to the book. but I've just read "the jolly corner" by henry james, and despite some major thematic differences (it is, for all intents and purposes, an entirely different story), in a few ways it is eerily similar to House of Leaves. I did a careful google search to see if I could find any comparisons, and I did find one instance (but only one) where an interviewer asks if the interviewee, author, had read House of Leaves, since his book seemed so much like it. the author says he had not, but later goes on to say how much his book was influenced by "the jolly corner." I'm not entirely sure what my point is, besides maybe to point out a piece of fiction really amazingly similar to House of Leaves, and just to remark on how much the book has stayed with me and influenced my perception so much that I feel like I'm finding not only similarities everywhere, but also connections and references, that could just as easily be coincidental, in things entirely unrelated. I've not touched the book in almost a year, yet I'm drawing connections and finding myself trying to figure it out again as if I had just finished it yesterday. each time I find something like this it feels like I've found another puzzle piece in a seamless and impeccable synthesis of influences, and yet I feel no closer to figuring it out.
I want to read this book so badly that it pains me sometimes. I'm probably going to buy it this week, and my question to you, 5/8, is this: Do I purchase the regular second edition paperback version for cheaper, or go all out for the hardcover remastered full-color superfuck? Does it make a difference?
Aside from the hardcover being easier to handle while reading, and what I think are RGB color codes on the inside of the cover, there isn't much difference between the standard $20 paperback and the hardcover. However, if you have the spare cash to spend I'd go for the hardcover just 'cause they're better than paperbacks.
The remastered full-color edition, at all costs. Last time I checked, it was available in paperback only, not hardcover.
On Amazon all I see is the paperback and what they call "Library Binding" whatever that is. I have the paperback, which is as big as a hardcover and certainly no more difficult (probably easier) to handle when you have to start flipping it around. It feels great in the hands, good paper, good binding, good colors.
http://wiki.answers.com/Q/What_is_a_turtleback_book I think that's what "library binding" refers to, but I'm not certain.
This is the megafuck version I'm referring to: http://search.barnesandnoble.com/House-of-Leaves/Mark-Z-Danielewski/e/9780375420528/?itm=2 Don't worry about me getting ripped off, I'm a member. edit: It's still a ripoff, but I doubt the used bookstores I peruse are gonna have fucking House of Leaves. I use B&N as backup, and when I want really nice copies of shit.
That's completely unacceptable. If there's one thing I hate, it's when filthy, scheming women get their cakebaking hands on shit that doesn't belong to them. We're going to get your book back from your ex, and here is how it's happening: I will intercept her in the night the local coffee shop, where she will be going on a date with some middle-management twat. We'll have to do some research for this bit, you know, camping outside of her house, breaking in and checking her answering machine, going through her planner/diary (sure, we could take the book when we break in, but that would be too easy, wouldn't it?), all that high-tech spy shit. And we'll be bonding tons, so it's like killing two infants with one plastic bag. Anyway, I go into the coffee shop in my indiest outfit. We're talking my beat up 70's Pumas, skinnies, and Urban Outfitter Henley with the 3/4-inch sleeves. Who wears that? I do, faggots, and I gets mines. Fashion aside, I bust up in that little shack like I'm the fucking Fonz, and while loverboy is at the counter trying to pay for his shitty coffee in exact change, I hustle up to the ex and start laying down the charm. Evan, keep in mind, you're outside the coffee shop, hiding in some shrubbery, with a pillowcase full of batteries. Now, listen: I may be abrasive and impossible on this forum, but the reality is, I can be fairly charming when I want to be. One of my most prominent (and only) talents is my ability to sell myself, especially to women I don't know. They typically catch on after several weeks that I'm not worth the trouble I produce, but this had to be different. I'm bringing the fucking pain. I start a conversation by talking about some article of clothing of hers I like, be it glasses or pants or something, or maybe her haircut, I dunno Evan, I don't know what the cunty women you date look like, but I'm sure there's something to be praised, you seem like the type to reel in the goodpussy - you're a drummer, for crise sake. I sit down at the table with her, all leaning over and engaged in her shit, we just start chatting about jazz music or Woody Allen or dead Russian writers or any of that gay shit I really like. She's into it, because she's bound to like something I mention at some point, probably Wes Anderson or Oscar Wilde, because women tend to like those things. By the time her date starts toward the table, he realizes that I'm macking on his ladyfriend, and she's into it, and he slides gently out the door. At this point, you hit him with the pillowcase full of batteries - not for any reason in particular, it doesn't advance our plan any, just do it, drag him to a dumpster, and leave him there. So the coffee house is gonna close, and the waitresses are putting chairs on top of the tables, but the ex and I are just having a ball. She's really starting to catch what I'm throwing. Eventually, the waitresses decide that passive-aggressively tidying up the joint isn't really the most effective way to haul us out, so they just ask us to leave upfront. Just like a woman to do something wrong. Anyway, I take her by the hand and lead her out the door. Here's where you come in: you lunge at us with the pillowcase full of batteries (of the D variant, to fellate your need for details) - mind you, you're dressed in a ski mask and that whole TV-show-robbers-ensemble, so she sees you and thinks you're some homeless cat with nothing to lose, but you don't hit her and you don't hit me...because this is the part where I go "AYYEEEAHHGGGG!" and fuck shit up old school by putting you in a phony half-nelson and throwing you back into the bushes. She's impressed by this. I walk her to her car and kiss her on the cheek (the bitch lights up completely, bitches light up when you kiss them like that, stupid animals, the lot of them). We exchange numbers and she drives home. I take you to the hospital. Over the next week, you help me engineer perfect text messages. I mean, yeah, I get it, you're not dating her anymore, but you still know the things she likes and how hard she likes her clit rubbed, so you're my thumbs when I use my chode phone to send her cutesy messages. After a few days, we agree to meet again, this time at a Mountain Goats concert. I've already consulted John Darnielle about this, he agreed to book himself at a venue when we give him the signal, him operating out of my home state and all. I don't even give a shit about whether or not she likes The Mountain Goats, this part of the plan was arranged so that I could see them live, because I didn't go to the last show here because my cunt ex-girlfriend went and I didn't want to show up and have her be a cunt at me, fuck you, women. We're dancing and having a marvelous time at the show, and she starts grinding on me. At a Mountain Goats show. Seriously, you've got to really be in the mood for that shit, it's very out of context so I get that she's horny. And she is. It's like Hurricane Katrina in her panties. She wants to leave the show early to get frisky on this d, but I want to stay and finish the show and meet John Darnielle, and so I do, and then she drives me to her place. I'm about to take her to Pound Town. While we were out, you've been hiding somewhere in her room. We're going to make love, and you'll have to watch. I'm not saying you're not allowed to masturbate, but please, don't make a mess, else you blow our cover. These dates continue for a few months. Meanwhile, I'm living in a nice apartment uptown, which you'll be paying rent for since you're probably not a jobless piece of shit like me. I can't stay at your place, since she's probably been there and knows you and your family and your dog or any other mark that signifies Evan Lorchsvitchgoldbergy has anything to do with Josh "The Situation" Watkins. Sorry I made your last name sound like something the Swedish Chef would say. Anyway, we're living together, shut up Daniel it isn't gay, unless this bitch is coming over to ride me like a highway. Then you've gotta split, I dunno, go to Cosi and get some squagels, those smug fucking bagels. Who markets food like that? It's enough to make a guy sick. Finally, shit gets real. I ask her hand in marriage. I know what you're thinking, there's no way she wants to marry me at this point, but listen: I've been learning from the mistakes you made in your relationship with her, and I've been applying my own charm, and studying Cary Grant and NPH and I'm sure that after seven to nine months, she's dumb enough and young enough and woman enough to go for it. Wedding plans begin, much to the dismay of her parents, who don't want her to marry so young, but they like me because I'm a well-dressed college student and tell family-oriented jokes that appeal to their shitty old person senses of humor. So the ex gets a snazz dress, I already own a tux because I'm a fucking champ -- then the invitations go out. You're invited to the wedding, under the name "Claire Timberlake," which is the name of the shrink I had when I was seven on the account of me being terrified of being in a car on the highway. It's a reasonable fear, I think. All of this aside, you're gonna have to show up to the wedding dressed like a woman. Not full-out drag, maybe we could give you the dykeish and distinguished businesswoman look, you know, those suits and skirts (just shave your legs, geez) that give people the impression that women might actually know how to operate things that aren't made by KitchenAid. A wig, too. Lipstick would be nice but I don't have a gun to your head or anything. You'll check the "fish" option on your invitation because we're having grilled calamari and that shit is gonna be thoroughly good. Unless you're allergic, in which case, we'll work something out. The ceremony will begin, and of course, as if you didn't see this coming, the pastor residing will do his whole "any objections?" spiel and you'll stand up, sending your chair hurtling backward, scorching the ground with your intensity - and you'll yell "I miss you!" a la Brian McMahan at the end of 'Good Morning Captain' (moar liek Good Permenantmorning Captain, amirite lolcats the game moot lolololololololol [STRIKE]technologyisacancer[/STRIKE]). Security will throw you out, and you will be sexually assaulted by one of the officers who takes you to county. Trust me, this is part of the plan [STRIKE]somehow[/STRIKE]. We're married. She's a Watkins. My fams loves her, because my fams loves anyone I date. Even the Jewish girl I dated for a year, they were polite enough to wait until she left the room to tell me that she was going to hell if I didn't convert her to another goofy brainwashing cult. Just the goofy brainwashing cult with a less compelling history. So we're wed, we buy a house, get a dog, etc. Now, mind you, I've given up a lifetime of filmmaking, writing, and living for my passions to do this, so I end up teaching English at a private school, we have some kids of our own. I hate kids. Evan, I'm doing a lot just for this, so you'd better let me borrow your copy of House of Leaves as long as I swear to return it. Twentieth wedding anniversary. This puts us at age forty, forty-two, something in that range. I decide to treat my lovely wife and your wretched ex to a Hawaiian vacation. The kids, two young boys, accompany us. Here's the tricky part: she still can't recognize you, no matter what. We'll have to horribly disfigure your face for this. You know Owen Wilson's nose? Yeah, how about that, but your entire head. Start a fight with someone or get surgery, I dunno how to get a face disfigured, except for "be born Sarah Jessica Parker." So we're in Maui, in a cute grass hut hotel, the sun is a few hours away from setting, and the beach is cleared. The kids are playing outside. I made sure she brought her copy of House of Leaves, which to be honest, I don't even know why you let her borrow it all those years ago, what is it that she did to create the illusion that she could read? She can't, she has a gender handicap that will constrict her to pleasing men until she's cold and dead. So listen: you show up, come into the hut unnoticed, apprehend me, and put a gun to my head. She turns around to see me, standing there with this hideously disfigured freak ready to pull the trigger on her loving man. "What do you want?!?" she cries, panicking uselessly and blubbering endlessly, as women are want to do. You say "Give me the book." "What?!" "Give me the goddamn book or your shit husband eats maggots tonight!" "What book?! What do you want?!" (just like a cunt to repeat herself) Frantically, she gathers up the only book in the house, which happens to be House of Leaves. She hurls it at you, and you catch it, releasing me. You flip through the pages, examining the offering she has bestowed upon you. She runs into my arms, stroking my head, glad I've been released. I do not hug her back. This is crucial. I step back, and you laugh, and I laugh, and she stares blankly at us. Just then, my youngest son, age seven, runs in. He's sputtering off about finding a hermit crab or some shit kids are dumb enough to care about - so I stop him, take your gun, put it in his mouth and pull the trigger. Wife is appalled, she opens her mouth and no sound emits. "Oh, look at that," I say nonchalantly, "I guess that's what happens when you shoot a kid in the fucking mouth." So you pick up the book and beat her to death with it while we listen to Death Cab For Cutie. You finally have your book, as well as your revenge. We triumphantly hump atop my son's dead body. Bunk has been filming the entire twenty year process and releases it as a film titled 'Citizen Kane II: Kane Harder.'
My binding was awful.. In fact, I've owned three copies of this book (I've given two away and never gotten back, which, I guess is good) and in all three the art insert has fallen out, and the cover feels like it should as well.
The color insert behind the cover has fallen out on my copy as well. I use it as the bookmark for the book. I'd love a hardcover copy with more durable binding.
I should've gotten a hardcover version, but I just bought the bigass paperback full-color remastered edition for $20. At, get this, my school's bookstore. Where they sell oodles of Nicholas Sparks and Danielle Steele. What?
i've owned 3 copies as well, and all of them, no matter how well i take care of them, fall apart. honestly, i think it's part of the whole story. which is shitty...but also awesome...
I got mine at a mall B. Dalton's where they mostly sell calendars and romance and sci fi serial novels along with lots of copies of Tuesdays With Morrie. I've only read mine once and loaned it out once so it's still in pretty good shape. Edit: Just checked on it--if I were to give it another reading, the first page collage artwork would probably fall out--it is starting to detach a bit at the top.
bumping this thread cause i just finished it. holy. fuck. honestly, so much scared me during the book, one bit especially: when navidson is on the final excavation in the house, and he has to crawl into a tinier and tinier passageway, and the words just format into a smaller, and smaller box, fuck. also, the seen where tom dies, and how the walls just smash his arms, and then literally swallows him up. now, i do have a couple questions, regarding johnny's portion of the story specifically: what exactly happens to him? i understand that he pretty much went batshit insane, as he constantly contradicts himself in his journals, and jumps from dates, not knowing how time has gone. last i could gather, he was searching for the house himself, and that his journals and overall collection of the navidson record made it onto the internet, from which the musician made it. i don't quite understand what happened after that, he realized his mom didn't try to strangle him, he just tried to repress her out of her memory after she was dragged out? also, what the hell happens when he goes back into his apartment after beating the living hell out of Gdansk Man and whatnot?
well, johnny's last chronological entry does say something along the lines of everything's going to be ok it's not a detailed answer by any means, but I would take that at face value. me and a friend were discussing the book and I pointed to the last page (yggdrasil) and said something along the lines that that must be the ultimate conclusion/summing up of the book (in spite of the regular "post-book" nonsense that comes before it). not that I understand it any more for that reason.
yeah, i guess it's due to the fact that he's an incredibly unreliable narrator, like that one portion where he makes up talking to his two doctor friends and becoming cured. that also managed to freak me out, made me realize how crazy he really had become. that it's hard to really believe what he says. and yeah, i was going to ask about yggdrasil, and when i looked more into it, i saw that it apparently was held up by 3 roots. there was some speculation on the MZD forums of the possible johnny/palefina/zampano extended connection, they could possibly be the roots that hold up the madness that is the house? or something greater? it's a fairly big stretch at best though, honestly.
Fucking love those bits where Johnny really flaunts just how far down the road he went, and of course the early things in the book that reveal those moments where he "comes a little more into focus" ie;
exactly! i love how it really feels like johnny is really just fucking with you the entire way through, you can never be too certain. really, really loved those parts as well.
