The charmingly-named Bunnyslippers asked if I would link to past year-end book review posts. Who are you, Bunnyslippers? I feel like I should know you. In any case, yes, yes I WILL link to past year-end book review posts.
Huh. There aren't as many as I thought.
Books read in 2010 post here.
Books read in 2011 first post here, second post here, third post here. (Last year was the first year I started dividing them into two-star, three-star and four-or-five-star posts).
So, it's February. Honestly, I think January wasn't the worst one ever. Which is mostly good, and a tiny bit bad, because since I wasn't absolutely mired in despair I was frustrated with myself for not doing more, but I didn't really fell well enough to do more, but I felt well enough to be pissed at myself for not doing more... yeah, it was a whole idiotic cycle. I joined Weight Watchers Online because my doctor said Weight Watchers is a worthwhile program but the thought of going to meetings made me want to kill myself with hot dogs sharpened into stakes. It does seem like a really sensible program, and I think the fact that it makes you aware of what you eat is great, because it's really easy to lose track, but I hate that it's made it all about numbers again. At the end of January I was briefly depressed that I hadn't lost very much weight, and then I stopped and slapped myself around and said, dude - you lost weight. In January. Quit being a putz. So then the day before my weigh-day I find myself either trying to shave points to maximize the likelihood that I'll get a lower weight the next morning, or downing half a wheel of brie out of spite. Yeah, no food issues here.
My husband is doing it with me, which opens up a whole other can of worms. It's nice to think it would be a mutually supportive thing, but honestly, all I want to do it stir heavy cream into all his food. Men lose weight faster anyway, and he's generally pretty thin, and that's NOT THE POINT, his father had a heart attack at sixty and he does need to be making healthy choices, but all I see when he eats a doughnut is him thinking "well, we'll do this together, but you're the only one who really needs to", and then I have to forcibly restrain myself from dripping turkey gravy into his mouth while he's asleep. I promise, I'm working on it.
I've hit a bit of a roadblock in CPAP usage. I usually wake up in the night and look at the clock and take off the mask if it's five a.m. or later, because then I know I've worn it for five or six hours. But for the past week or so I've woken up at three a.m. or so and realized I've already taken off the mask without realizing it. And getting up still feels like pulling myself out of quicksand, with weights on my ankles and carrying a basket of wet towels.
Then there's the fact that now it's February, and I think, yay! January's over! I will feel instantly better! Yes, NOW! No? Okay, NOW. Wait for it, wait for it...um, now? And then I remember that this always happens in February, because somehow my serotonin and dopamine levels don't respond to flipping a calendar page. Stupid neurochemicals.
Anyway. My husband reminds me periodically, and kindly, that January is to be survived, not conquered, and gives me permission to go to bed early and read or watch movies on my ipad. I started rewatching Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and after Eve watched part of one episode with me when she couldn't sleep one night she started watching it on her own. Except she was just flipping through Netflix and watching random episodes, which may or may not have resulted in me becoming unreasonably irate and hollering "you're watching Buffy ALL WRONG", but in any case she's watching it in order now.
Yeah. Whiny Wednesdays for the win.
Showing posts with label books 2011. Show all posts
Showing posts with label books 2011. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 6, 2013
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Mondays on the Margins: Books 2011 part 3 - the ones that Kicked Ass
And it's before March (just barely, I know -- still counts!) And I know no one really cares - except Julie. You still care, right Julie? I still found the act of finishing it quite satisfying, and I promise that if it gets no comments I will not, under any circumstances, sink to the shameful low of begging for comments on Twitter (again).
The Reapers are the Angels by Alden Bell - one of the reviews on the back cover said that this was something like a Flannery O'Connor novel with zombies, which is a very apt description. The heroine is young but tough, smart and with a strong moral code. Oddly enough, her nemesis, the threat to her existence other than the zombies, the one who holds the place that would be occupied by 'bad guy' in another book, is not entirely different. The voice is measured and there is a feeling of inevitability about the whole thing. Someone on Goodreads was complaining about all the 'thinking' zombie novels, because this meant he was being cruelly duped into reading books where thoughtful prose, intelligent characters and the odd metaphor detracted from the experience of zombies just rising up and eating people. This book must have really pissed him off.
The Invisible Ones by Stef Penney - reviewed on blog.
Super Sad True Love Story by Gary Shteyngart - read for book club. I have trouble with satire, but I loved this, mostly due to the characters which were much more fully realized than they often are in satiric works. The 'less words means more fun!' marketing slogans, the way Lenny has to try to hide the fact that he reads real books from Eunice, the constant texting and shopping on mobile devices were frighteningly believable.
We Never Talk About my Brother by Peter S. Beagle - five stars. The first story I read by Peter S. Beagle was called Professor Gottesman and the Indian Rhinoceros. At some point during the story, I became aware that I was grinning like an idiot. As I read the last sentence, I had trouble drawing in a breath. That's right - when he's at his best, his writing literally takes my breath away. And yet, it is not heavy in the least. It is both light and full of light. Okay, now I sound like a douche. I don't know how to articulate what it is that makes these stories seem different and larger and brighter and more full of wonder than almost anything else I read last year.
A Drop of the Hard Stuff by Lawrence Block - I love the Matt Scudder series. I haven't been able to get into any of this author's other series the same way, although I did really like his Small Town. He renders a very vivid sense of place (it's just barely possible that he overuses the phrase 'smelling of mice and urine', since that's always the one I wait for when Scudder enters another oldish apartment building or hotel, but hey - it's certainly descriptive). I sometimes find books that go back in a character's history a little tiresome, but in this case the protagonist has straightened out his life and settled down to the point that I'm constantly afraid the series will end, so I'm all for it. The fact that this book takes place early in Scudder's sobriety adds an interesting element to the story.
Rotters by Daniel Kraus - The synopsis on Goodreads calls it "moving" (curiously, yes), "terrifying" (yeah, kinda) and "unconventional" (oh my, yes). Boy's Mom dies, boy moves in with his cold, withdrawn father, boy is eventually inducted into the age-old art of..... GRAVE ROBBING? Seriously? Yes, grave robbing. This was so close to just being a gross-out fest; the pathos, the intricate structure of the guild of "Diggers" and the characters elevate it to something more. Still gross, you understand, but also quite an affecting story. But really, really, cannot-be-overstated, over-the-top can-almost-smell-it gross.
Iron House by John Hart - good story, good writing. Always enjoy this author.
Feed and Deadline by Mira Hart - This is what I wrote on Beck's blog, which is why it's in a slightly different font that I can't get rid of: I love zombies. I can't get enough of zombies. But I don't read just any zombie books. They have to be well-written books with great characters and engaging plots that just happen to contain zombies. If the people in them don't actually HAVE any brains worth eating, I'm outta there. These books are fabulous, and topical - they take place in a near future in which bloggers are prime players in the news. In this future, two vaccines (which cured cancer and the common cold) have combined to generate a virus which is dormant in everyone, but results in zombification after death, with the added bonus that anyone can also undergo 'amplification' at any moment and zombify spontaneously. Also, everyone names their kids George or Georgia (after George Romero) or Buffy. This series succeeds in creating a completely believable world, characters I love and genuinely heart-wrenching moments.
Island of Wings by Karin Altenberg - reviewed on blog. Which review I would have been able to find much more easily if I hadn't kept typing in Island of BROKEN Wings. Sheesh.
John Dies at the End by David Wong - reviewed on blog.
The Broken Teaglass by Emily Arsenault - reviewed on blog.
Peter Nimble and his Fantastic Eyes by Jonathan Auxier - reviewed on blog.
Killer Move by Michael Marshall - another author I love, who completely transcends his genre. Another book that, come to think of it, took a darker turn at the end much like Andrew Klavan. What's the deal, Dudes? (reviewed briefly on Goodreads).
The Second Mrs. Giaconda by E.L. Konigsburg - Can't lose with this author. About Leonardo da Vinci, a whip-smart and perceptive street urchin who becomes his assistant, and the Mona Lisa.
Random Acts of Heroic Love by Danny Scheinmann - I think I'd like to read this again. I had some trouble getting into it, but then got completely swept away. The notes between chapters on manifestations of love in the natural world are enchanting.
Set this House in Order: a Romance of Souls by Matt Ruff - This was really different and very engaging. It's a story of 'multiple personality disorder', but avoids the associated clichés and sensationalism. It gets a little out of control near the end, but on the whole it was very moving and original.
Wild Abandon by Joe Dunthorne - reviewed on blog.
Digital Domains: a Decade of Science Fiction and Fantasy by Ellen Datlow - can't go wrong with a Datlow anthology.
Darkside and Blacklands by Belinda Bauer - Dark, affecting mysteries.
So Much Pretty by Cara Hoffman - This seemed to be marketed as a mystery/suspense novel, which isn't really accurate, even though crime is at the centre of it. I really liked it, but I can see being disappointed if you were looking for something more plot-driven. The portrayal of the town is disturbingly vivid - a former family farm turned into an industrial dairy operation, ground contamination, poverty, closed-mindedness, stultification. The family who moves there in a passionate, misguided attempt to get 'back to the land' and live their ideals, and the terrifyingly intelligent child they end up bringing into an impossible environment. And various other sentence fragments....
I Shall Not Want by Julia Spencer Fleming - dare you to read any of these and not fall in love with Russ and Clare.
Bookweird by Paul Glennon - okay, so the stuck-in-a-book thing has been done. But this is SO much fun. Kid nibbles on a page and gets stuck in a book and makes friends with a stoat - a STOAT, which is awesome, because really, talking horses and birds are kind of overdone, don't you agree? Also, other books his family is reading get into the game also and -- really, just read it.
The Razor's Edge by W. Somerset Maugham - I read this when I was working in audio publishing because my boss said it was the best book he'd ever read. Over the years I've thought about it quite often and decided to reread it to see if my discomfort with Maugham's treatment of his female characters still persisted. It kind of did. It's still a thought-provoking work with some finely drawn character studies. I tried to put it on the book club list for this year, but it didn't take.
Bury Your Dead by Louise Penny - Adore this author. Would want to live in the village she's created, if not for the fact that people keep dying there. While reading this book, I began to develop the whisper of a suspicion of a thought that perhaps, just perhaps, Inspector Gamache is a little TOO perfect. But I'm sure I'll get over that. I would recommend the early ones slightly more strongly.
The Replacement by Brenna Yovanoff - It might have benefited slightly from the three or four total crap YA novels I've read recently. For a first novel especially, this was remarkably well-written and affecting. It has some good characters and a nicely woven sense of melancholy and dread. I thought it was a little rushed and unsophisticated in some places near the end, particularly when Mackie is trying to formulate why he identifies with the humans more than his true 'family', and it has the common modern problem of 'when is a sacrifice not really a sacrifice', but overall it was really good.
The Opposite of Amber by Gillian Philip - Reminded me a little of A Complicated Kindness by Miriam Toews -- the same kind of smart, funny, lost adolescent female character, but the sister is still around, sort of. Less a mystery than a sort of sad coming-of-age story.
Attachment by Isabel Fonseca - An interesting twist on the 'wife suspects husband of cheating' trope. I was completely drawn in.
Spell Hunter by R.J. Anderson - Try to ignore the cheesy cover. It's an interesting and original imagining of fairies (I can't quite bring myself to use 'faery'. It makes me feel like those people who pronounce karate with the emphasis on the last syllable).
The Girl in the Green Raincoat by Laura Lippman - Not gonna lie, I do always feel slightly ripped off when authors put out novellas about their series characters - like throwing the dogs a bone so they don't lick you to death. But this was good. Short, but good.
The Happiness Code by Amy Herrick - Quirky, fun, thought-provoking. The voice sort of made me feel like I was reading a book written by one of my favourite bloggers. Pinky and Arthur are such a great pairing - the redheaded spitfire and the gloomy scientist - and Teddy is a refreshingly non-cutesy child, with his serious singlemindedness and irascibility. Some good questions about the nature - and desirability - of happiness, as an ephemeral state, an unattainable fiction, or a genetically assured certainty.
Exit Lines by Joan Barfoot - She really doesn't sugarcoat the realities of aging. A nice, unassuming, steals-up-on you story. Also one of those books that makes me wonder if people I know are cheating on their spouses since, if literature is to be believed, it's happening a lot more than I realize.
The Boy Who Couldn't Sleep and Never Had To by D.C. Pierson - I wonder if the editor shouted and screamed trying to get the author to change the title. When I saw the title, it seemed so cheesy and ridiculous that I almost didn't look at the book, but the book is fantastic. It captures the vagaries and tribulations of geeky adolescence and male friendship and first love perfectly. And, well, I've never actually met anyone who typefies a new level in human evolution or been involved in a sinister conspiracy, but I think it does a pretty good job of capturing that too. It's both entertaining and thoughtful. For any novel it's completely worth reading. For a first novel with a silly unwieldy title? It's pure gold.(less)
The End of the Jews by Adam Mansbach - Five stars. I can't put my finger, exactly, on why I loved this book so much, although the characters are a big part of it. It's incredibly complex and vivid, and there are moments of insight but no trite scenes of 'redemption'.
Shelter by Susan Palwick - I adore this author, who is as quirky and gracious and wonderful in person (and by 'in person' I mean 'on Facebook') as she is in her writing. This is a sprawling, generous, big-hearted, thoughtful book. I got completely lost in it and wandered slack-jawed in amazement. I did wonder if my admiration was coloured by my love of Susan Palwick, and worried about recommending it to others, but the first person I lent it to loved it as much as I did.
Liars All by Jo Bannister - Interesting - more of a morality play than a mystery, in a lot of ways. Definitely a lot more attention to character than you often get - verging on too much at times, or maybe it's just that the main characters are all a smidge too noble to be completely credible.
Better Living Through Plastic Explosives by Zsuzsi Gartner - reviewed on blog.
Say You're One of Them by Uwem Akpan - I usually read literary short stories with an attitude of detached admiration - of the narrative technique, of the shaping of the story arc, that kind of thing. Very rarely do I feel the kind of tension I did reading these -- I think it's the closest I've come to a genuine experience of Aristotle's catharsis involving pity and fear. In 'Fattening for Gabon' I was riveted, anticipating not just the actual taking of the children, but the realization that the adoptive godparents of whom they were so enamoured were actually child traffickers, and that their uncle was selling them. The hysterical shame and torment on the part of the uncle is horrible to see. In "Luxurious Hearses", a young Muslim boy is trying to pass for Christian so he can ride on a bus to his father's home in southern Nigeria, fleeing religious violence in the north. I was sick with tension reading about how he tries to disguise his accent and hide his missing hand, which will reveal him as a Muslim. I don't know how anyone turns the discomfort and recognition provoked by a book like this into a positive change (other than making another donation to World Vision). Anything that puts a face on the statistics has to be a move in the right direction.
Rush Home Road by Lori Lansens - I'm generally powerless in the grip of a Lori Lansens book. Stayed up way too late for two nights reading this. A lot of it is almost too freaking sad to even bear thinking about, but what a story, past and present.
The Wife's Tale by Lori Lansens - Couldn't put it down -- for whatever reason it was the exact right book for this time in my life. I love Lori Lansens, not for arrestingly beautiful look-at-me-be-brilliant prose (not that there's anything wrong with that, at times), but because she tells great stories, with heartbreakingly flawed and wounded characters, and sometimes you just need a really great story to take you out of yourself.
Enchanted Glass by Diana Wynne Jones - It's Diana Wynne Jones, DUH.
36 Arguments for the Existence of God by Rebecca Goldstein - I loved her non fiction book about Spinoza, and then felt quite tepid about the novel I read, so I wasn't sure, but this was highly enjoyable -- maybe because it combined a lot of the concepts from philosophy with the fiction. The language play and the exuberance of the writing reminded me (somewhat inexplicably) of The Ground Beneath her Feet by Salman Rushdie.
Pathfinder by Orson Scott Card - I always find living in an OSC universe so comforting and comfortable. Something about how he writes people and dialogue, how he think so deeply and carefully about how people think, draws me in so that I always feel sort of sad and bereft when it's over. Even with the slightly overly-belaboured dwelling on the intricacies of time travel.
Bedtime Story by Robert J. Wiersema - Thoughtful and moving, and also outstandingly plotted and wholly entertaining. A deeply satisfying reading experience.
All Saints by Liam Callanan - I hated the ending, but not because it was wrong or out of tone with the rest of the book. Otherwise, it was a rapturous reading experience and I was utterly charmed by the foul-mouthed, profane, irreverent, sarcastic Catholic school teacher with poor impulse control. If there were more people like this in it, I'd still be Catholic. I plucked this one at random off the library shelf for my Mom and then cracked it cautiously when she was done and my Tuesday night was totally hijacked.
The Whisperers by John Connolly - The same mix of shivery melancholy and great characters as all his other books. He's the only one I've come across so far who can work the supernatural subtly into a mainstream mystery and not have it come off hokey or unbelievable.
The Island Beneath the Sea by Isabel Allende - Five stars. Blew my mind. Haiti before it was Haiti. The purest expression of history coming alive.
The Namesake by Jhumpa Lahiri - It's such a pleasure sometimes to just read a great story. No narrative tricks, no flashy post-modern tactics (not that I don't enjoy those sometimes), just a great story about an age-old theme, with wonderful characters. I'm a little annoyed by how stupidly beautiful the author is, but I can get past it.
Let's Take the Long Way Home: a Memoir of Friendship by Gail Caldwell - Hard to objectively evaluate. The circumstances of their lives and personalities made for an extraordinary friendship, and Caldwell has the writing ability to articulate it well. Beyond that, either it will resonate with you or it won't. It did with me.
Moonlight Mile by Dennis Lehane - I love this author. I love this series. I love these characters. I'm not sure I can evaluate this book with anything approaching objectivity. If there were fifty more of these, I'd be a happy woman.
What I Didn't See: Stories by Karen Joy Fowler - urban fantasy-ish, feminist perspective, mind-bending.
Room by Emma Donoghue - Five stars. (Yes, yes, fine, you were all right and I was wrong, let's move on shall we? Hmph.)
The Knife of Never Letting Go, The Ask and the Answer, Monsters of Men, (Chaos Walking Trilogy), by Patrick Ness - quite a good trilogy. Set apart from all the other dystopic YA trilogies by a higher degree or originality, more flawed and less predictable characters, genuine moral conflicts with no certainty that 'the right thing' will be chosen in the end, and some vivid illustrations of how easy it is to be co-opted into corrupt power structures. The last book dragged on a bit, but overall I would recommend this trilogy.
100 Cupboards, Dandelion Fire, The Chestnut King, by N.D. Wilson - utterly, utterly charming. Particularly because when I gave the first book to Angus last year he kept walking around saying "where's my hundred cup boards book?"
The Reapers are the Angels by Alden Bell - one of the reviews on the back cover said that this was something like a Flannery O'Connor novel with zombies, which is a very apt description. The heroine is young but tough, smart and with a strong moral code. Oddly enough, her nemesis, the threat to her existence other than the zombies, the one who holds the place that would be occupied by 'bad guy' in another book, is not entirely different. The voice is measured and there is a feeling of inevitability about the whole thing. Someone on Goodreads was complaining about all the 'thinking' zombie novels, because this meant he was being cruelly duped into reading books where thoughtful prose, intelligent characters and the odd metaphor detracted from the experience of zombies just rising up and eating people. This book must have really pissed him off.
The Invisible Ones by Stef Penney - reviewed on blog.
Super Sad True Love Story by Gary Shteyngart - read for book club. I have trouble with satire, but I loved this, mostly due to the characters which were much more fully realized than they often are in satiric works. The 'less words means more fun!' marketing slogans, the way Lenny has to try to hide the fact that he reads real books from Eunice, the constant texting and shopping on mobile devices were frighteningly believable.
We Never Talk About my Brother by Peter S. Beagle - five stars. The first story I read by Peter S. Beagle was called Professor Gottesman and the Indian Rhinoceros. At some point during the story, I became aware that I was grinning like an idiot. As I read the last sentence, I had trouble drawing in a breath. That's right - when he's at his best, his writing literally takes my breath away. And yet, it is not heavy in the least. It is both light and full of light. Okay, now I sound like a douche. I don't know how to articulate what it is that makes these stories seem different and larger and brighter and more full of wonder than almost anything else I read last year.A Drop of the Hard Stuff by Lawrence Block - I love the Matt Scudder series. I haven't been able to get into any of this author's other series the same way, although I did really like his Small Town. He renders a very vivid sense of place (it's just barely possible that he overuses the phrase 'smelling of mice and urine', since that's always the one I wait for when Scudder enters another oldish apartment building or hotel, but hey - it's certainly descriptive). I sometimes find books that go back in a character's history a little tiresome, but in this case the protagonist has straightened out his life and settled down to the point that I'm constantly afraid the series will end, so I'm all for it. The fact that this book takes place early in Scudder's sobriety adds an interesting element to the story.
Rotters by Daniel Kraus - The synopsis on Goodreads calls it "moving" (curiously, yes), "terrifying" (yeah, kinda) and "unconventional" (oh my, yes). Boy's Mom dies, boy moves in with his cold, withdrawn father, boy is eventually inducted into the age-old art of..... GRAVE ROBBING? Seriously? Yes, grave robbing. This was so close to just being a gross-out fest; the pathos, the intricate structure of the guild of "Diggers" and the characters elevate it to something more. Still gross, you understand, but also quite an affecting story. But really, really, cannot-be-overstated, over-the-top can-almost-smell-it gross.
Iron House by John Hart - good story, good writing. Always enjoy this author.
Feed and Deadline by Mira Hart - This is what I wrote on Beck's blog, which is why it's in a slightly different font that I can't get rid of: I love zombies. I can't get enough of zombies. But I don't read just any zombie books. They have to be well-written books with great characters and engaging plots that just happen to contain zombies. If the people in them don't actually HAVE any brains worth eating, I'm outta there. These books are fabulous, and topical - they take place in a near future in which bloggers are prime players in the news. In this future, two vaccines (which cured cancer and the common cold) have combined to generate a virus which is dormant in everyone, but results in zombification after death, with the added bonus that anyone can also undergo 'amplification' at any moment and zombify spontaneously. Also, everyone names their kids George or Georgia (after George Romero) or Buffy. This series succeeds in creating a completely believable world, characters I love and genuinely heart-wrenching moments. Island of Wings by Karin Altenberg - reviewed on blog. Which review I would have been able to find much more easily if I hadn't kept typing in Island of BROKEN Wings. Sheesh.
John Dies at the End by David Wong - reviewed on blog.
The Broken Teaglass by Emily Arsenault - reviewed on blog.
Killer Move by Michael Marshall - another author I love, who completely transcends his genre. Another book that, come to think of it, took a darker turn at the end much like Andrew Klavan. What's the deal, Dudes? (reviewed briefly on Goodreads).
The Second Mrs. Giaconda by E.L. Konigsburg - Can't lose with this author. About Leonardo da Vinci, a whip-smart and perceptive street urchin who becomes his assistant, and the Mona Lisa.
Random Acts of Heroic Love by Danny Scheinmann - I think I'd like to read this again. I had some trouble getting into it, but then got completely swept away. The notes between chapters on manifestations of love in the natural world are enchanting.
Set this House in Order: a Romance of Souls by Matt Ruff - This was really different and very engaging. It's a story of 'multiple personality disorder', but avoids the associated clichés and sensationalism. It gets a little out of control near the end, but on the whole it was very moving and original.
Wild Abandon by Joe Dunthorne - reviewed on blog.
Digital Domains: a Decade of Science Fiction and Fantasy by Ellen Datlow - can't go wrong with a Datlow anthology.
Darkside and Blacklands by Belinda Bauer - Dark, affecting mysteries.
So Much Pretty by Cara Hoffman - This seemed to be marketed as a mystery/suspense novel, which isn't really accurate, even though crime is at the centre of it. I really liked it, but I can see being disappointed if you were looking for something more plot-driven. The portrayal of the town is disturbingly vivid - a former family farm turned into an industrial dairy operation, ground contamination, poverty, closed-mindedness, stultification. The family who moves there in a passionate, misguided attempt to get 'back to the land' and live their ideals, and the terrifyingly intelligent child they end up bringing into an impossible environment. And various other sentence fragments....
I Shall Not Want by Julia Spencer Fleming - dare you to read any of these and not fall in love with Russ and Clare.
Bookweird by Paul Glennon - okay, so the stuck-in-a-book thing has been done. But this is SO much fun. Kid nibbles on a page and gets stuck in a book and makes friends with a stoat - a STOAT, which is awesome, because really, talking horses and birds are kind of overdone, don't you agree? Also, other books his family is reading get into the game also and -- really, just read it.
The Razor's Edge by W. Somerset Maugham - I read this when I was working in audio publishing because my boss said it was the best book he'd ever read. Over the years I've thought about it quite often and decided to reread it to see if my discomfort with Maugham's treatment of his female characters still persisted. It kind of did. It's still a thought-provoking work with some finely drawn character studies. I tried to put it on the book club list for this year, but it didn't take.
Bury Your Dead by Louise Penny - Adore this author. Would want to live in the village she's created, if not for the fact that people keep dying there. While reading this book, I began to develop the whisper of a suspicion of a thought that perhaps, just perhaps, Inspector Gamache is a little TOO perfect. But I'm sure I'll get over that. I would recommend the early ones slightly more strongly.
The Replacement by Brenna Yovanoff - It might have benefited slightly from the three or four total crap YA novels I've read recently. For a first novel especially, this was remarkably well-written and affecting. It has some good characters and a nicely woven sense of melancholy and dread. I thought it was a little rushed and unsophisticated in some places near the end, particularly when Mackie is trying to formulate why he identifies with the humans more than his true 'family', and it has the common modern problem of 'when is a sacrifice not really a sacrifice', but overall it was really good.
The Opposite of Amber by Gillian Philip - Reminded me a little of A Complicated Kindness by Miriam Toews -- the same kind of smart, funny, lost adolescent female character, but the sister is still around, sort of. Less a mystery than a sort of sad coming-of-age story.
Attachment by Isabel Fonseca - An interesting twist on the 'wife suspects husband of cheating' trope. I was completely drawn in.
Spell Hunter by R.J. Anderson - Try to ignore the cheesy cover. It's an interesting and original imagining of fairies (I can't quite bring myself to use 'faery'. It makes me feel like those people who pronounce karate with the emphasis on the last syllable).
The Girl in the Green Raincoat by Laura Lippman - Not gonna lie, I do always feel slightly ripped off when authors put out novellas about their series characters - like throwing the dogs a bone so they don't lick you to death. But this was good. Short, but good.
The Happiness Code by Amy Herrick - Quirky, fun, thought-provoking. The voice sort of made me feel like I was reading a book written by one of my favourite bloggers. Pinky and Arthur are such a great pairing - the redheaded spitfire and the gloomy scientist - and Teddy is a refreshingly non-cutesy child, with his serious singlemindedness and irascibility. Some good questions about the nature - and desirability - of happiness, as an ephemeral state, an unattainable fiction, or a genetically assured certainty.
Exit Lines by Joan Barfoot - She really doesn't sugarcoat the realities of aging. A nice, unassuming, steals-up-on you story. Also one of those books that makes me wonder if people I know are cheating on their spouses since, if literature is to be believed, it's happening a lot more than I realize.
The Boy Who Couldn't Sleep and Never Had To by D.C. Pierson - I wonder if the editor shouted and screamed trying to get the author to change the title. When I saw the title, it seemed so cheesy and ridiculous that I almost didn't look at the book, but the book is fantastic. It captures the vagaries and tribulations of geeky adolescence and male friendship and first love perfectly. And, well, I've never actually met anyone who typefies a new level in human evolution or been involved in a sinister conspiracy, but I think it does a pretty good job of capturing that too. It's both entertaining and thoughtful. For any novel it's completely worth reading. For a first novel with a silly unwieldy title? It's pure gold.(less)
The End of the Jews by Adam Mansbach - Five stars. I can't put my finger, exactly, on why I loved this book so much, although the characters are a big part of it. It's incredibly complex and vivid, and there are moments of insight but no trite scenes of 'redemption'.
Shelter by Susan Palwick - I adore this author, who is as quirky and gracious and wonderful in person (and by 'in person' I mean 'on Facebook') as she is in her writing. This is a sprawling, generous, big-hearted, thoughtful book. I got completely lost in it and wandered slack-jawed in amazement. I did wonder if my admiration was coloured by my love of Susan Palwick, and worried about recommending it to others, but the first person I lent it to loved it as much as I did.
Liars All by Jo Bannister - Interesting - more of a morality play than a mystery, in a lot of ways. Definitely a lot more attention to character than you often get - verging on too much at times, or maybe it's just that the main characters are all a smidge too noble to be completely credible.
Better Living Through Plastic Explosives by Zsuzsi Gartner - reviewed on blog.
Say You're One of Them by Uwem Akpan - I usually read literary short stories with an attitude of detached admiration - of the narrative technique, of the shaping of the story arc, that kind of thing. Very rarely do I feel the kind of tension I did reading these -- I think it's the closest I've come to a genuine experience of Aristotle's catharsis involving pity and fear. In 'Fattening for Gabon' I was riveted, anticipating not just the actual taking of the children, but the realization that the adoptive godparents of whom they were so enamoured were actually child traffickers, and that their uncle was selling them. The hysterical shame and torment on the part of the uncle is horrible to see. In "Luxurious Hearses", a young Muslim boy is trying to pass for Christian so he can ride on a bus to his father's home in southern Nigeria, fleeing religious violence in the north. I was sick with tension reading about how he tries to disguise his accent and hide his missing hand, which will reveal him as a Muslim. I don't know how anyone turns the discomfort and recognition provoked by a book like this into a positive change (other than making another donation to World Vision). Anything that puts a face on the statistics has to be a move in the right direction.
Rush Home Road by Lori Lansens - I'm generally powerless in the grip of a Lori Lansens book. Stayed up way too late for two nights reading this. A lot of it is almost too freaking sad to even bear thinking about, but what a story, past and present.
The Wife's Tale by Lori Lansens - Couldn't put it down -- for whatever reason it was the exact right book for this time in my life. I love Lori Lansens, not for arrestingly beautiful look-at-me-be-brilliant prose (not that there's anything wrong with that, at times), but because she tells great stories, with heartbreakingly flawed and wounded characters, and sometimes you just need a really great story to take you out of yourself.
Enchanted Glass by Diana Wynne Jones - It's Diana Wynne Jones, DUH.
36 Arguments for the Existence of God by Rebecca Goldstein - I loved her non fiction book about Spinoza, and then felt quite tepid about the novel I read, so I wasn't sure, but this was highly enjoyable -- maybe because it combined a lot of the concepts from philosophy with the fiction. The language play and the exuberance of the writing reminded me (somewhat inexplicably) of The Ground Beneath her Feet by Salman Rushdie.
Pathfinder by Orson Scott Card - I always find living in an OSC universe so comforting and comfortable. Something about how he writes people and dialogue, how he think so deeply and carefully about how people think, draws me in so that I always feel sort of sad and bereft when it's over. Even with the slightly overly-belaboured dwelling on the intricacies of time travel.
Bedtime Story by Robert J. Wiersema - Thoughtful and moving, and also outstandingly plotted and wholly entertaining. A deeply satisfying reading experience.
All Saints by Liam Callanan - I hated the ending, but not because it was wrong or out of tone with the rest of the book. Otherwise, it was a rapturous reading experience and I was utterly charmed by the foul-mouthed, profane, irreverent, sarcastic Catholic school teacher with poor impulse control. If there were more people like this in it, I'd still be Catholic. I plucked this one at random off the library shelf for my Mom and then cracked it cautiously when she was done and my Tuesday night was totally hijacked.
The Whisperers by John Connolly - The same mix of shivery melancholy and great characters as all his other books. He's the only one I've come across so far who can work the supernatural subtly into a mainstream mystery and not have it come off hokey or unbelievable.
The Island Beneath the Sea by Isabel Allende - Five stars. Blew my mind. Haiti before it was Haiti. The purest expression of history coming alive.
The Namesake by Jhumpa Lahiri - It's such a pleasure sometimes to just read a great story. No narrative tricks, no flashy post-modern tactics (not that I don't enjoy those sometimes), just a great story about an age-old theme, with wonderful characters. I'm a little annoyed by how stupidly beautiful the author is, but I can get past it.Let's Take the Long Way Home: a Memoir of Friendship by Gail Caldwell - Hard to objectively evaluate. The circumstances of their lives and personalities made for an extraordinary friendship, and Caldwell has the writing ability to articulate it well. Beyond that, either it will resonate with you or it won't. It did with me.
Moonlight Mile by Dennis Lehane - I love this author. I love this series. I love these characters. I'm not sure I can evaluate this book with anything approaching objectivity. If there were fifty more of these, I'd be a happy woman.
What I Didn't See: Stories by Karen Joy Fowler - urban fantasy-ish, feminist perspective, mind-bending.
Room by Emma Donoghue - Five stars. (Yes, yes, fine, you were all right and I was wrong, let's move on shall we? Hmph.)
The Knife of Never Letting Go, The Ask and the Answer, Monsters of Men, (Chaos Walking Trilogy), by Patrick Ness - quite a good trilogy. Set apart from all the other dystopic YA trilogies by a higher degree or originality, more flawed and less predictable characters, genuine moral conflicts with no certainty that 'the right thing' will be chosen in the end, and some vivid illustrations of how easy it is to be co-opted into corrupt power structures. The last book dragged on a bit, but overall I would recommend this trilogy.100 Cupboards, Dandelion Fire, The Chestnut King, by N.D. Wilson - utterly, utterly charming. Particularly because when I gave the first book to Angus last year he kept walking around saying "where's my hundred cup boards book?"
Monday, February 13, 2012
Mondays on the Margins: Books 2011 part two
Okay - the three star entries. I'm not going to lie, as I was typing out this list, there were several that made me think "that should have been two" or "why didn't I give that four again?" One of the essays in the book I read last week, articulated very well how I feel about reading a book. Unless the book has very obvious problems or flaws, I never assume that it's the book's fault if I don't like it. Sometimes it's just the wrong time for me to meet that book. I started The Shipping News three times and couldn't get past the first chapter - when I finally read it, I adored it. Last March I began reading The Elegance of the Hedgehog, which I bought at the same time as Come, Thou Tortoise. Maybe it was that I loved Tortoise so much I just wasn't ready to engage with a Hedgehog. In any case, I started it again from the beginning yesterday and will probably finish it tonight, and it is SUBLIME.
So I'm not going to change the ratings, but I'll mention the ones that I seem to have subconsciously rethought in the intervening months.
Divergent by Veronica Roth - reviewed on Goodreads. 3 1/2 stars. A good example of why I try never to read the first book in a trilogy until all of the trilogy is published.
No Trace by Barry Maitland - Meh. Didn't live up to the jacket copy. 2 1/2 stars.
15 Miles by Rob Scott - a little disappointing, but only because I somehow got the impression that there would be zombies. As a study of a policeman in the process of self-destructing and how he faces the crisis, it's solid. Would have been better with zombies.
The Most Dangerous Thing by Laura Lippman - one of my favourite authors, not my favourite book of hers. She deftly explores difficult family relationships with excruciating precision and skill.
I'd Know you Anywhere, by Laura Lippman - same. In my opinion, her Tess Monaghan books or To The Power of Three or Every Secret Thing are far superior.
Ultraviolet by, R.J. Anderson - Her name is ALISON (not enough Ls) and it takes place in SUDBURY, where I grew up (okay, I grew up in a small town outside Sudbury called Lively, feel free to mock). Still - first book ever. It mentions Paris Street - I've DRIVEN on Paris Street! It's also a great story. I offer up as proof that it stands out in my memory from all the other young adult science fiction books I've read in which the female protagonist thinks she's going crazy but there's actually a logical (but also mysterious) explanation.
Easy to Like by Edward Riche - reviewed on blog.
The Best Laid Plans by Terry Fallis - read this for book club. 2011 CBC Canada Reads winner. Also won a Stephen Leacock award, which is appropriate, because I found some of Stephen Leacock's humour was the same as this - sometimes trying just a little too hard - sort of like the jokes that fathers make that make their children groan and go 'Daaaaad'...
You Could Live a Long Time, Are you Ready? by Lindsay Green - read for book club. The author interviewed several older people and put together some advice for making plans and preparations for growing older happily and well. Great advice, VERY dry writing style.
Ready Player One by Ernest Cline - reviewed on Goodreads. 3 1/2 stars, maybe 4.
House of the Lost by Sarah Rayne - more like 2 1/2. I've read other books of hers that have a great eerie atmosphere. This one wasn't as good.
The Identity Man by Andrew Klavan - I've loved this author for years - simple mysteries have a holy rhythm in his hands. Recently I discovered that he's ultra-right-wing and holds some opinions that I find quite objectionable. I really wish I hadn't discovered that. This was more cynical and pessimistic than some of his previous work, but was still well done.
The Bone Cage by Angie Abdou - about the tribulations of Canadian Olympic hopefuls. It was a good story, but read more like a magazine article than a novel.
Strange Affair by Peter Robinson - honestly can't remember much
The Returners by Gemma Malley - need to reread. I remember thinking the premise was great but there were significant weaknesses, but now can't remember what they are.
Songs in Ordinary Time by Mary McGarry Morris - 'very skillfully rendered, if not enjoyable in the least' is what I wrote on Goodreads. The story, the characterization, the setting, all are brilliant, but OH MY GOD, depressing.
Already Dead by Charlie Huston - really cool (well, vampire P.I., duh). I would have given it four stars if I hadn't read his other book Sleepless, which was amazing.
Await Your Reply by Dan Chaon - for some reason this sort of pissed me off while I was reading it and I almost gave it two stars, but now that I'm thinking back on it I can't really figure out why it pissed me off. People were looking for people and turning out to be other people, and it's actually kind of cool in my memory.
Warped by Marissa Guibord - a modern girl, an ancient tapestry, a 16th-century nobleman (young and handsome, naturally).... it was fun. Even though the most recent review on Goodreads recommends it for 'weaver douchebags'. I might have called this a 'romp' if I ever used that word. Which I don't.
Freedom by Jonathan Franzen - I've had some interesting discussions with people about this. It's a great story, I couldn't stop reading it, but (and I am NOT someone who goes overboard on notions of 'author intention') I could not stop thinking, "we all know how he feels about e-readers, but does Jonathan Franzen also really not like women very much?". I've discovered I'm not along in wondering this. The parts in which he has his character Patty Berglund write out her own writhingly bad and embarrassing behavious seems especially sadistic and woman-hating. When I think back to The Corrections it all gets quite disturbing.
Ashes of the Earth by Eliot Pattison - 'a Mystery of Post-Apocalyptic America' is the subtitle, and we all know the word Apocalyptic is like crack to me. But this turned out to be a mystery that could have taken place in any old America. I like the apocalypse to be integral to the plot.
Don't Breathe a Word by Jennifer McMahon
The Island of Lost Girls by Jennifer McMahon - I read one. It was kind of good. I got another one from the library. I wondered if it was the same book re-issued under an alternative title. It wasn't. Look, honey, if you're going to reuse a device, don't make it one as obvious as "I found out my father was first married to my best friend's mother by finding a picture of them together". People notice stuff like that.
The Calling of the Grave by Simon Becket - I don't know why the title is in English but the synopsis is in Dutch (on Goodreads). I read it in English. Again, a medium entry in a series I generally really admire.
Ysabel by Guy Gavriel Kay - Didn't realize this was a ya book when I took it out of the library. This author's Wandering Fire trilogy is one of the best fantasy trilogies I've ever read and I highly recommend it. This was interesting and sweet.
The Lock Artist by Steve Hamilton - not sure now why I didn't give it four stars. Very interesting hook, good characters, nice suspense, a sense of melancholy fatefulness with a chance of redemption.
Stones by William Bell - reviewed on Goodreads
Fadeaway Girl by Martha Grimes - reviewed on Goodreads. I would probably more readily recommend her Richard Jury mysteries.
Thirteen Days to Midnight by Patrick Carman - 'Amazing that it's so much less cheesy than it sounds' is what I wrote after reading it.
Foundling by D.M. Cornish - I wanted to like this more than I did and might give it another crack. It's quite original, and some of the images from it have stayed with me, I just kept losing the urge to keep reading for some reason.
Hex Hall by Rachel Hawkins - the guiltiest of guilty pleasures.
Such is My Beloved by Morley Callaghan - Reviewed on Goodreads. This kind of book always makes me wonder if the author is imposing more modern sensibilities on a character than is fair or realistic. But then some people are always ahead of their time, right? Still, it bugs me that I can't know for sure.
A Cold Night for Alligators by Nick Crowe - reviewed on Goodreads. It seems I liked it more than I remember liking it. My Mom gets me to request books from the library for her, and then sometimes by the time the request is filled I forget who it's for. Then I'm reading this book thinking "wow, this is great, I wonder who recommended it to me" or "why the hell did I think it would be a good idea to read this?"
Nikolski by Nicholas Dickner - I just could not get a handle on this. My friend Mary Lynn loved it and said it seemed like a great Canadian novel, but it left me out in the cold, cold streets of Montreal with a wonky compass. Maybe I should try it again.
The Vanishing of Katharina Linden by Helen Grant - Reviewed briefly on Goodreads.
Old Devil Moon by Christopher Fowler - Reviewed briefly on Goodreads. Short stories.
The Water Rat of Wanchai by Ian Christopher - reviewed on blog.
Monsters of Men by Patrick Ness- will include with the trilogy in next post
Teenagers, a Natural History by David Bainbridge - reviewed briefly on Goodreads. Read for book club.
Haunted Legends by Ellen Datlow - a little surprised I only gave it three stars because I generally love anthologies edited by Ellen Datlow. Can't remember many of the stories, though.
So I'm not going to change the ratings, but I'll mention the ones that I seem to have subconsciously rethought in the intervening months.
Divergent by Veronica Roth - reviewed on Goodreads. 3 1/2 stars. A good example of why I try never to read the first book in a trilogy until all of the trilogy is published.
No Trace by Barry Maitland - Meh. Didn't live up to the jacket copy. 2 1/2 stars.
15 Miles by Rob Scott - a little disappointing, but only because I somehow got the impression that there would be zombies. As a study of a policeman in the process of self-destructing and how he faces the crisis, it's solid. Would have been better with zombies.
The Most Dangerous Thing by Laura Lippman - one of my favourite authors, not my favourite book of hers. She deftly explores difficult family relationships with excruciating precision and skill.
I'd Know you Anywhere, by Laura Lippman - same. In my opinion, her Tess Monaghan books or To The Power of Three or Every Secret Thing are far superior.
Ultraviolet by, R.J. Anderson - Her name is ALISON (not enough Ls) and it takes place in SUDBURY, where I grew up (okay, I grew up in a small town outside Sudbury called Lively, feel free to mock). Still - first book ever. It mentions Paris Street - I've DRIVEN on Paris Street! It's also a great story. I offer up as proof that it stands out in my memory from all the other young adult science fiction books I've read in which the female protagonist thinks she's going crazy but there's actually a logical (but also mysterious) explanation.Easy to Like by Edward Riche - reviewed on blog.
The Best Laid Plans by Terry Fallis - read this for book club. 2011 CBC Canada Reads winner. Also won a Stephen Leacock award, which is appropriate, because I found some of Stephen Leacock's humour was the same as this - sometimes trying just a little too hard - sort of like the jokes that fathers make that make their children groan and go 'Daaaaad'...
You Could Live a Long Time, Are you Ready? by Lindsay Green - read for book club. The author interviewed several older people and put together some advice for making plans and preparations for growing older happily and well. Great advice, VERY dry writing style.
Ready Player One by Ernest Cline - reviewed on Goodreads. 3 1/2 stars, maybe 4.
House of the Lost by Sarah Rayne - more like 2 1/2. I've read other books of hers that have a great eerie atmosphere. This one wasn't as good.The Identity Man by Andrew Klavan - I've loved this author for years - simple mysteries have a holy rhythm in his hands. Recently I discovered that he's ultra-right-wing and holds some opinions that I find quite objectionable. I really wish I hadn't discovered that. This was more cynical and pessimistic than some of his previous work, but was still well done.
The Bone Cage by Angie Abdou - about the tribulations of Canadian Olympic hopefuls. It was a good story, but read more like a magazine article than a novel.
Strange Affair by Peter Robinson - honestly can't remember much
The Returners by Gemma Malley - need to reread. I remember thinking the premise was great but there were significant weaknesses, but now can't remember what they are.
Songs in Ordinary Time by Mary McGarry Morris - 'very skillfully rendered, if not enjoyable in the least' is what I wrote on Goodreads. The story, the characterization, the setting, all are brilliant, but OH MY GOD, depressing.
Await Your Reply by Dan Chaon - for some reason this sort of pissed me off while I was reading it and I almost gave it two stars, but now that I'm thinking back on it I can't really figure out why it pissed me off. People were looking for people and turning out to be other people, and it's actually kind of cool in my memory.
Warped by Marissa Guibord - a modern girl, an ancient tapestry, a 16th-century nobleman (young and handsome, naturally).... it was fun. Even though the most recent review on Goodreads recommends it for 'weaver douchebags'. I might have called this a 'romp' if I ever used that word. Which I don't.
Freedom by Jonathan Franzen - I've had some interesting discussions with people about this. It's a great story, I couldn't stop reading it, but (and I am NOT someone who goes overboard on notions of 'author intention') I could not stop thinking, "we all know how he feels about e-readers, but does Jonathan Franzen also really not like women very much?". I've discovered I'm not along in wondering this. The parts in which he has his character Patty Berglund write out her own writhingly bad and embarrassing behavious seems especially sadistic and woman-hating. When I think back to The Corrections it all gets quite disturbing.
Ashes of the Earth by Eliot Pattison - 'a Mystery of Post-Apocalyptic America' is the subtitle, and we all know the word Apocalyptic is like crack to me. But this turned out to be a mystery that could have taken place in any old America. I like the apocalypse to be integral to the plot.
Don't Breathe a Word by Jennifer McMahon
The Island of Lost Girls by Jennifer McMahon - I read one. It was kind of good. I got another one from the library. I wondered if it was the same book re-issued under an alternative title. It wasn't. Look, honey, if you're going to reuse a device, don't make it one as obvious as "I found out my father was first married to my best friend's mother by finding a picture of them together". People notice stuff like that.
The Calling of the Grave by Simon Becket - I don't know why the title is in English but the synopsis is in Dutch (on Goodreads). I read it in English. Again, a medium entry in a series I generally really admire.
Ysabel by Guy Gavriel Kay - Didn't realize this was a ya book when I took it out of the library. This author's Wandering Fire trilogy is one of the best fantasy trilogies I've ever read and I highly recommend it. This was interesting and sweet.
Stones by William Bell - reviewed on Goodreads
Fadeaway Girl by Martha Grimes - reviewed on Goodreads. I would probably more readily recommend her Richard Jury mysteries.
Thirteen Days to Midnight by Patrick Carman - 'Amazing that it's so much less cheesy than it sounds' is what I wrote after reading it.
Foundling by D.M. Cornish - I wanted to like this more than I did and might give it another crack. It's quite original, and some of the images from it have stayed with me, I just kept losing the urge to keep reading for some reason.
Hex Hall by Rachel Hawkins - the guiltiest of guilty pleasures.
Such is My Beloved by Morley Callaghan - Reviewed on Goodreads. This kind of book always makes me wonder if the author is imposing more modern sensibilities on a character than is fair or realistic. But then some people are always ahead of their time, right? Still, it bugs me that I can't know for sure.
A Cold Night for Alligators by Nick Crowe - reviewed on Goodreads. It seems I liked it more than I remember liking it. My Mom gets me to request books from the library for her, and then sometimes by the time the request is filled I forget who it's for. Then I'm reading this book thinking "wow, this is great, I wonder who recommended it to me" or "why the hell did I think it would be a good idea to read this?"Nikolski by Nicholas Dickner - I just could not get a handle on this. My friend Mary Lynn loved it and said it seemed like a great Canadian novel, but it left me out in the cold, cold streets of Montreal with a wonky compass. Maybe I should try it again.
The Vanishing of Katharina Linden by Helen Grant - Reviewed briefly on Goodreads.
Old Devil Moon by Christopher Fowler - Reviewed briefly on Goodreads. Short stories.
The Water Rat of Wanchai by Ian Christopher - reviewed on blog.
Monsters of Men by Patrick Ness- will include with the trilogy in next post
Teenagers, a Natural History by David Bainbridge - reviewed briefly on Goodreads. Read for book club.
Haunted Legends by Ellen Datlow - a little surprised I only gave it three stars because I generally love anthologies edited by Ellen Datlow. Can't remember many of the stories, though.
Monday, February 6, 2012
Mondays on the Margins: Books 2011 part one
Yes, it's 2012, and by the way I don't like my World's Fair poster calendar nearly as much as my weird-ass Alice in Wonderland one from 2011 that periodically freaked the kids out. Yes, I just made the sweet potato soup with red curry paste and coconut milk from the latest Food & Drink magazine and I'd much rather just talk about how transported I am by this soup which I think might be some kind of superior being in food form - wait, that's kind of gross, isn't it? Who cares, this soup is like CRACK, people, it's like CRACK, you must ALL come over and have some, it has a BANANA in it!
Still, the book review post Must Be Done, must it not? Well, no, nobody really gives a crap, but I have a Free Book book review coming up tomorrow so today seems like a good day for a Books I Read Just Because post. (Aaaaaand that's when I realized it was already ten p.m. and the post would be up for all of two hours before the next post clicked in at midnight. So here we are, on a yet-to-be-numbered even later day in February).
There are 111 books that I either remembered to record or was willing to admit to on Goodreads in 2011. I gave four or five stars ("I really liked it" or "it was amazing") to 57 of them. That's pretty good - it either means I read a pretty good proportion of worthwhile books, or I was too lenient with my ratings. What exactly is the difference between "I really liked it" and "it was amazing" anyway? Oh, now all I can think of is dirty stuff.
There were only 12 that I gave two stars or less to. Two stars means 'it was okay', one star is 'I didn't like it', and one book I actually didn't finish - I think that brings my lifetime total of books I didn't finish to..... two.
That means I gave three stars ("I liked it"), to.... the rest (you're all smart enough to do the math - Pam, you can use your iPad).
Let's start with the turkeys.
The Hypnotist, by Lars Kepler. Written by a Swedish couple (remember how this type of pseudonym crap makes me cranky?) There are a lot of really good mystery writers out of the Netherlands. This is not one of them. Two of them? Whatever - it wasn't horrible, it was just kind of -- clunk. There was a present-day mystery that was connected very clumsily to a past mystery, a lot of people doing things with no obvious motivation, and a couple of people get their noses cut off. Which has nothing to do with why the book isn't good, just, ew.
Ragnarok by A.S. Byatt. I usually love A.S. Byatt. This, I did not love. The framing device of the 'thin child', evacuated to the British countryside during the war and taking refuge in an old book of Norse legends was, well, thin. The legends themselves seemed to be an excuse for extravagant lists of adjectives -- yes, I get that Jormundgandr the worm god thingy is immense, colossal, behemothic, elephantine, immeasurable, massive, mighty and monumental. Are we on the same page? Yeah - the thing is REALLY EFFING BIG. Also, Loki is a pain in the ass douchebag, and whenever some unassuming little dude sidles up to you and says something like "wanna do something really fun?" or "have I got a deal for you!" it's PROBABLY HIM, so steer clear.
The Maze Runner trilogy by James Dashner. So close and yet...no. I saw the first one in the book store and thought it was even odds whether it was interesting or just a rip-off of the Hunger Games. The first two books aren't horrible; the premise is interesting and there's some hope of an exciting conclusion. The last one is a mess - the characters are so wooden that even having to kill one of his close friends doesn't elicit any kind of believable reaction on the part of the main character. All the supposed 'witty banter' is really unfunny too, which is one of the hardest things for me to forgive.
Skin River by Steven Sidor - I actually picked this up and flipped through it again before I took it back to the library because all I could remember was that it was profoundly disappointing. It was stupidly obvious who the killer was, and the sections from his point of view were superfluous and icky.
Beatrice & Virgil by Yann Martel - I still can't figure out where I come down on this one. I freely admit that I have trouble not being influenced by the fact that, having heard a few interviews with Yann Martel, I can't stop thinking of him as a pompous git. This was not the case when I read and loved Self and The Life of Pi, before ever reading or hearing anything about Martel himself. Again, the framing device of the author being screwed over by the publishers - hey, you know what? I think I just don't like framing devices of any kind. Also, there are lists again. Paragraphs-long lists of things. That's not fiction, people -- that a handbook or manual (I'm studying subject classification right now - I know these things). Still, some of the actual play (Beatrice & Virgil) was affecting.
Killer Heat by Linda Fairstein - Meh. This is one of those 'fool me twice, shame on me' things. I've read this series before, and I always tell myself I'm not going to read any more, then I see a description and think it looks interesting. I hereby vow to all of you that I will NOT read any more books about plucky red-haired district attorneys who wear four-inch heels and fight inexhaustibly for the downtrodden unless Publisher's Weekly gives one a starred review or it has zombies in it.
The Dead of Winter by Christ Priestey - On rare occasions, I get a book in the mail that I ordered from Abebooks.com, an online used bookstore, and once I start reading it I have no earthly idea why I thought I would like it. This was over-the-top gothic and old-fashioned - fine for what it was, but not my thing at all. Filed under 'WTF was I thinking?'
All the Colours of Darkness by Peter Robinson and The Sunday Philosophy Club by Alexander McCall Smith - I had read a couple of the Inspector Banks series years ago and liked them (and also met Peter Robinson when I worked at Chapters, when I was caught offguard and said something both inane and pretentious and possibly sexually suggestive, like "Hi - I really like your stuff" AGH CRINGE CRINGE CRINGE) and I have heard great things about McCall Smith's Precious Ramotswe series; I should have been more mindful of the fact that I had heard NOT A THING about this series. These were meh at best. And why is it that, while in theory it seems kind of cool to me that Robinson always talks about the kind of music his Inspector is listening to at home or in the car and what kind of mood it evokes, on paper it leaves me cold as a dead fish? It's a mystery.
Ring of Fire (Century Quartet) by Pierdomenico Baccalario - read my review on Goodreads if you so desire. This sounded so great and was so....not great.
The Affinity Bridge by George Mann - my friend's husband used to say he didn't like theatre, until she took him to a play that he loved, and he realized that it was just that he had only ever seen bad plays. So with this book: is it that I don't actually like Steampunk as a genre that much, or is it just that this is not very good Steampunk?
The Awakening by Kate Chopin - I had been meaning to read this for years, and I admit that I was disappointed - not entirely certain whether it was more in the book or in myself. I may have been expecting a more modern tone (and a less whiny, bitchslappable heroine) than was realistic for the time in which it was written.
The Finkler Question by Howard Jacobson - "do nothing, loll about, arty-farty rich people" (I ripped that off from another Goodreads reviewer, for obvious reasons) musing on what it means to be Jewish. Some of them hate themselves. Some of them provoke hatred in others - readers, for example. Not because they're Jewish, but because they're hugely pompous self-involved gits.
(Dis)Honourable Mentions go to two non-fiction books, Don't Kill the Birthday Girl: Tales from an Allergic Life by Sandra Beasley, and My Imaginary Illness: A Journey into Uncertainty and Prejudice in Medical Diagnosis by Chloe G.K. Atkins. I actually gave both of these three stars, and I had the utmost sympathy for the plights of both of these women. However, I found myself thinking in the midst of reading both books, "Couldn't she have made her protagonist a little more likable? Oh, wait.... it's not fiction." Certainly it was difficult, if not downright miserable, for Sandra Beasley growing up allergic to almost everything (dairy, egg, soy, beef, shellfish, nuts and mango just to name a few) before the world was as food-allergy-friendly as it is today (and I am aware that even today it's not ideal). But surely at some point she would have learned that it was best to ask her boyfriend if he'd been scarfing down Hershey's kisses before sticking her tongue down his throat and then spending the rest of the evening wheezing resentfully? It's not like she was new at this! And Atkins's mistreatment by high-handed and closed-minded doctors is truly horrifying. But I wanted to hear a little more about how she "somehow" had ended up estranged from most of her family, and yet whenever she needed expensive tests or treatments or a wheelchair-friendly apartment, some well-heeled friend would step forward, wallet extended. But we all know I tend to be extra-bitchy and unforgiving when reading autobiographical books - it's like a tic, I can't turn it off.
Okay. So much for the dreck. Stay tuned for the mediocre!
Still, the book review post Must Be Done, must it not? Well, no, nobody really gives a crap, but I have a Free Book book review coming up tomorrow so today seems like a good day for a Books I Read Just Because post. (Aaaaaand that's when I realized it was already ten p.m. and the post would be up for all of two hours before the next post clicked in at midnight. So here we are, on a yet-to-be-numbered even later day in February).
There are 111 books that I either remembered to record or was willing to admit to on Goodreads in 2011. I gave four or five stars ("I really liked it" or "it was amazing") to 57 of them. That's pretty good - it either means I read a pretty good proportion of worthwhile books, or I was too lenient with my ratings. What exactly is the difference between "I really liked it" and "it was amazing" anyway? Oh, now all I can think of is dirty stuff.
There were only 12 that I gave two stars or less to. Two stars means 'it was okay', one star is 'I didn't like it', and one book I actually didn't finish - I think that brings my lifetime total of books I didn't finish to..... two.
That means I gave three stars ("I liked it"), to.... the rest (you're all smart enough to do the math - Pam, you can use your iPad).
Let's start with the turkeys.
The Hypnotist, by Lars Kepler. Written by a Swedish couple (remember how this type of pseudonym crap makes me cranky?) There are a lot of really good mystery writers out of the Netherlands. This is not one of them. Two of them? Whatever - it wasn't horrible, it was just kind of -- clunk. There was a present-day mystery that was connected very clumsily to a past mystery, a lot of people doing things with no obvious motivation, and a couple of people get their noses cut off. Which has nothing to do with why the book isn't good, just, ew.
Ragnarok by A.S. Byatt. I usually love A.S. Byatt. This, I did not love. The framing device of the 'thin child', evacuated to the British countryside during the war and taking refuge in an old book of Norse legends was, well, thin. The legends themselves seemed to be an excuse for extravagant lists of adjectives -- yes, I get that Jormundgandr the worm god thingy is immense, colossal, behemothic, elephantine, immeasurable, massive, mighty and monumental. Are we on the same page? Yeah - the thing is REALLY EFFING BIG. Also, Loki is a pain in the ass douchebag, and whenever some unassuming little dude sidles up to you and says something like "wanna do something really fun?" or "have I got a deal for you!" it's PROBABLY HIM, so steer clear.The Maze Runner trilogy by James Dashner. So close and yet...no. I saw the first one in the book store and thought it was even odds whether it was interesting or just a rip-off of the Hunger Games. The first two books aren't horrible; the premise is interesting and there's some hope of an exciting conclusion. The last one is a mess - the characters are so wooden that even having to kill one of his close friends doesn't elicit any kind of believable reaction on the part of the main character. All the supposed 'witty banter' is really unfunny too, which is one of the hardest things for me to forgive.
Skin River by Steven Sidor - I actually picked this up and flipped through it again before I took it back to the library because all I could remember was that it was profoundly disappointing. It was stupidly obvious who the killer was, and the sections from his point of view were superfluous and icky.
Beatrice & Virgil by Yann Martel - I still can't figure out where I come down on this one. I freely admit that I have trouble not being influenced by the fact that, having heard a few interviews with Yann Martel, I can't stop thinking of him as a pompous git. This was not the case when I read and loved Self and The Life of Pi, before ever reading or hearing anything about Martel himself. Again, the framing device of the author being screwed over by the publishers - hey, you know what? I think I just don't like framing devices of any kind. Also, there are lists again. Paragraphs-long lists of things. That's not fiction, people -- that a handbook or manual (I'm studying subject classification right now - I know these things). Still, some of the actual play (Beatrice & Virgil) was affecting.
Killer Heat by Linda Fairstein - Meh. This is one of those 'fool me twice, shame on me' things. I've read this series before, and I always tell myself I'm not going to read any more, then I see a description and think it looks interesting. I hereby vow to all of you that I will NOT read any more books about plucky red-haired district attorneys who wear four-inch heels and fight inexhaustibly for the downtrodden unless Publisher's Weekly gives one a starred review or it has zombies in it.
The Dead of Winter by Christ Priestey - On rare occasions, I get a book in the mail that I ordered from Abebooks.com, an online used bookstore, and once I start reading it I have no earthly idea why I thought I would like it. This was over-the-top gothic and old-fashioned - fine for what it was, but not my thing at all. Filed under 'WTF was I thinking?'
All the Colours of Darkness by Peter Robinson and The Sunday Philosophy Club by Alexander McCall Smith - I had read a couple of the Inspector Banks series years ago and liked them (and also met Peter Robinson when I worked at Chapters, when I was caught offguard and said something both inane and pretentious and possibly sexually suggestive, like "Hi - I really like your stuff" AGH CRINGE CRINGE CRINGE) and I have heard great things about McCall Smith's Precious Ramotswe series; I should have been more mindful of the fact that I had heard NOT A THING about this series. These were meh at best. And why is it that, while in theory it seems kind of cool to me that Robinson always talks about the kind of music his Inspector is listening to at home or in the car and what kind of mood it evokes, on paper it leaves me cold as a dead fish? It's a mystery.
Ring of Fire (Century Quartet) by Pierdomenico Baccalario - read my review on Goodreads if you so desire. This sounded so great and was so....not great.
The Affinity Bridge by George Mann - my friend's husband used to say he didn't like theatre, until she took him to a play that he loved, and he realized that it was just that he had only ever seen bad plays. So with this book: is it that I don't actually like Steampunk as a genre that much, or is it just that this is not very good Steampunk?
The Awakening by Kate Chopin - I had been meaning to read this for years, and I admit that I was disappointed - not entirely certain whether it was more in the book or in myself. I may have been expecting a more modern tone (and a less whiny, bitchslappable heroine) than was realistic for the time in which it was written.
The Finkler Question by Howard Jacobson - "do nothing, loll about, arty-farty rich people" (I ripped that off from another Goodreads reviewer, for obvious reasons) musing on what it means to be Jewish. Some of them hate themselves. Some of them provoke hatred in others - readers, for example. Not because they're Jewish, but because they're hugely pompous self-involved gits.
(Dis)Honourable Mentions go to two non-fiction books, Don't Kill the Birthday Girl: Tales from an Allergic Life by Sandra Beasley, and My Imaginary Illness: A Journey into Uncertainty and Prejudice in Medical Diagnosis by Chloe G.K. Atkins. I actually gave both of these three stars, and I had the utmost sympathy for the plights of both of these women. However, I found myself thinking in the midst of reading both books, "Couldn't she have made her protagonist a little more likable? Oh, wait.... it's not fiction." Certainly it was difficult, if not downright miserable, for Sandra Beasley growing up allergic to almost everything (dairy, egg, soy, beef, shellfish, nuts and mango just to name a few) before the world was as food-allergy-friendly as it is today (and I am aware that even today it's not ideal). But surely at some point she would have learned that it was best to ask her boyfriend if he'd been scarfing down Hershey's kisses before sticking her tongue down his throat and then spending the rest of the evening wheezing resentfully? It's not like she was new at this! And Atkins's mistreatment by high-handed and closed-minded doctors is truly horrifying. But I wanted to hear a little more about how she "somehow" had ended up estranged from most of her family, and yet whenever she needed expensive tests or treatments or a wheelchair-friendly apartment, some well-heeled friend would step forward, wallet extended. But we all know I tend to be extra-bitchy and unforgiving when reading autobiographical books - it's like a tic, I can't turn it off.Okay. So much for the dreck. Stay tuned for the mediocre!
Monday, November 28, 2011
Mondays on the Margins: Book Review - Easy to Like by Edward Riche
The synopsis from House of Anansi:
"A bitingly hilarious satire of the making of wine, television, and taste from one of Canada's most accomplished comic writers.
From award-winning author Edward Riche comes an immensely readable and sharp novel about "C"-list screenwriter and wannabe vintner Elliot Johnson. With his life growing more ruinous by the day -- his writing career is on the rocks, his struggling vineyard is being investigated by the feds, and his son, a former child star, is in prison -- Elliot decides to do what any self-respecting wine lover would do: escape to France.
Alas, fate has other things in store. Stranded in Canada by an expired passport, he is strongly encouraged to remain there due to his bit part in a growing Hollywood scandal. Deciding that Toronto may just be the perfectly engineered city in which to lay low, Elliot kills time by bluffing his way to the top of the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation.
A brilliant work of searing satire, Easy to Like showcases one of our most original authors at his comic best."
I'll be honest: this isn't my favourite kind of book. I tend to think satire works best in shorter pieces (think Jonathan Swift's A Modest Proposal), and can be hard to sustain - and sustain interest in - over an entire novel. But this book was saved by the fact that Riche writes real characters, not merely types on which to hang his biting social commentary.
Elliot Jonson is a snob. He doesn't want to make wine or write scripts that are "easy to like". Unfortunately, this means his winery is bankrupt and he can't sell any scripts. He's not obnoxious about any of it - I was actually quite touched by his quixotic yearning after the unattainable grape needed to recreate the ideal Châteauneuf-du-Pape. The rhapsodic musings on wine are almost incomprehensible to the uninitiated, but they read like a kind of poetry that is nonetheless pleasing.
Elliot's assistant at the CBC, Hazel Osler, is also a solid character - intelligent, perceptive and passionate. This is necessary to keep the whirl of buffoons, ridiculous programming and policy talk from degenerating into an indistinguishable morass. The send-up of the inner workings of the CBC will be entertaining to any Canadian, with Elliot and Hazel's relationship as a nice real-world counterpoint.
I enjoyed this book, although not quite as much as I enjoy following Edward Riche on Twitter:
EdwardLRiche Edward L. Riche
Unfortunate earworms hazard of having a 14 year daughter. I keep telling myself "I've got the moves like Jagger". This is not true.
21 Nov.
In unrelated news, anyone know how to do Twitter screenshots?
Memorable Quotes:
-"'We smell some dried cherry or cranberries, violets, and leather in the best examples, but it is hard to nail it down.' It was a maddening aspect of wine tasting, this search for taste and smell equivalencies. There wasn't a risk of sounding pretentious; there was a certainty."
-"'The Italians, to their great credit' - Elliot thought how much he would like to be, at that moment, in Italy - 'appreciate bitterness in food and wine.'"
-"'Not even going to take a meeting?' 'No, they are not.' 'Did they give a reason?' 'They don't think Brokeback meets Passion of the Christ has an audience. They don't buy the whole gay Jesus thing.' 'come off it, it's so obvious. In the new draft Judas betrays him because he's insanely jealous of this thing Jesus has with Mary Magdelene-'"
-"Châteauneuf du Pape began with Grenache - to which could be added Syrah, for a shiny pepper pelt and the durability of reinforced concrete; Mourvèdre for the funk of blood; and Cinsault, for volatility and polish. Counoise gave a fermented essence that Elliot called 'raspberry kimchi' and it brought to the wine what Mick Taylor had to the Stones. Vaccarèse was a spice: a pinch did the trick. Terret Noir added crisp acidity. Muscardin's role was an utter and essential mytery."
-"Some bald guy hosted the newscast. (You would never see that in the States.)"
-"With his years in the screen trade, Elliot now believed that the best film actors did nothing other than be utterly convinced by their own lies. The best performances came from actors who merely thought they were, at the moment, the character they were playing. They were dissociative psychopaths. They weren't method actors; rather, they were method humans."
-"Connie missed a critical factor in her analysis of his problem. Sure, Elliot wasn't being truthful with himself; sure, he wasn't facing the facts. But he was also self-aware. His was self-conscious self-deception. It was how one coped."
-"It appeared his predecessor was a tyrant; Elliot's comparative disengagement would be welcome. Probably, over time and in spite of himself, Elliot would become a better exemplar of the dickhead they expected. By their nature, most bosses were bullies and assholes."
-"'There is something unsuprising about California wine,' Marshall said. 'Do you think it's because it's grown by graduates of agricucltural colleges rather than by farmers?' Was there anything more humbling, more poisonously and profoundly humbling, than hearing oneself in an idiot?"
I received a copy of this book from House of Anansi for review purposes. Opinions are my own.
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Slow and Steady
It's been a good week. I got my passport renewed with much less drama than I anticipated, went for a great walk, worked in the library, made a kick-ass butternut squash soup, left dinner for my Cuba-returning parents and hosted a fabulous book club meeting. So naturally I woke up this morning feeling like a heavy, worthless sack of expired potential. So then I got up and ate a bunch of chocolate cookies instead of going to the gym because I'm a giant self-defeating stupidhead.
So let's talk about the book, because the book is not a giant self-defeating stupidhead. The book makes me happy, even though some of it is sad, and even though I'm a giant self-defeating stupidhead. Should I stop using the phrase giant self-defeating stupidhead? I'll think about it.
The book is called Come, Thou Tortoise. The author is Jessica Grant, who was apparently a New Face of Fiction. That doesn't make me bitter, even though I've never been a New Face of Anything, except maybe Giant Self-Defeating Stupidheadedness (sorry). I bought this book last winter, started reading it when I got to Algonquin early for my exam on an icy day, and almost missed my exam because I was so entranced with the book.
Audrey Flowers, aka Oddly, is one of the most charming characters I have ever encountered. She is the most unreliable of narrators, and certainly she is lacking a certain something, or maybe she has an extra certain something, or something. She doesn't put question marks at the end of her questions, which you might think would be annoying, but it isn't - it is enchanting. She also isn't averse to dropping the odd f-bomb, which as you all know is quite important to me, and if it takes this book out of the running for a few delicate flowers, well so be it.
Oddly has to fly back to Newfoundland from Oregon, where she lives with her tortoise Winnifred (who is a winning presence in her own right) because her father is in a coma (comma). She ends up, in short order, locked in a bathroom with a stolen gun negotiating with an air marshall through the door crack - and this is just in the first five pages. She goes home and is sad, wobbly, energetically misguided and very, very odd while navigating the grieving process and visiting her Uncle Thoby who lived with her and her father for many years. There is a white mouse, there are quirky and entertaining neighbourhood characters, there is a very persistent Christmas light vendor (who happens to be Jewish) who is intent on recalling some potentially dangerous defective Christmas lights. It all hangs together with the same wonderful, slightly skewed, no-question-marks rhythm, the Newfondland scenes interspersed with commentary from Winnifred's point of view as she languishes back in Oregon in the apartment of Oddly's friend Linda and her boyfriend, the very minor Shakespearean actor Chuck.
"Wordplay and hijinks" - I just got that from the back of the book. That says it pretty well. There are also some shenanigans - some are ever-so-slightly madcap.
I put this on the book club list even though I am usually hesitant to put books I love on, because I know it's not certain that everyone will love them and I don't want to have their flaws pointed out because SHUT UP, I just LOVE IT, okay? In this case it turned out to be a good thing because apart from a few minor quibbles everyone else loved it too, and also I had a few things cleared up for me that, despite reading the book twice, I totally didn't get.
Get this book. And don't be slow about it. Ha. Get it? Slow? Because it has a tortoise in it?
So let's talk about the book, because the book is not a giant self-defeating stupidhead. The book makes me happy, even though some of it is sad, and even though I'm a giant self-defeating stupidhead. Should I stop using the phrase giant self-defeating stupidhead? I'll think about it.The book is called Come, Thou Tortoise. The author is Jessica Grant, who was apparently a New Face of Fiction. That doesn't make me bitter, even though I've never been a New Face of Anything, except maybe Giant Self-Defeating Stupidheadedness (sorry). I bought this book last winter, started reading it when I got to Algonquin early for my exam on an icy day, and almost missed my exam because I was so entranced with the book.
Audrey Flowers, aka Oddly, is one of the most charming characters I have ever encountered. She is the most unreliable of narrators, and certainly she is lacking a certain something, or maybe she has an extra certain something, or something. She doesn't put question marks at the end of her questions, which you might think would be annoying, but it isn't - it is enchanting. She also isn't averse to dropping the odd f-bomb, which as you all know is quite important to me, and if it takes this book out of the running for a few delicate flowers, well so be it.
Oddly has to fly back to Newfoundland from Oregon, where she lives with her tortoise Winnifred (who is a winning presence in her own right) because her father is in a coma (comma). She ends up, in short order, locked in a bathroom with a stolen gun negotiating with an air marshall through the door crack - and this is just in the first five pages. She goes home and is sad, wobbly, energetically misguided and very, very odd while navigating the grieving process and visiting her Uncle Thoby who lived with her and her father for many years. There is a white mouse, there are quirky and entertaining neighbourhood characters, there is a very persistent Christmas light vendor (who happens to be Jewish) who is intent on recalling some potentially dangerous defective Christmas lights. It all hangs together with the same wonderful, slightly skewed, no-question-marks rhythm, the Newfondland scenes interspersed with commentary from Winnifred's point of view as she languishes back in Oregon in the apartment of Oddly's friend Linda and her boyfriend, the very minor Shakespearean actor Chuck.
"Wordplay and hijinks" - I just got that from the back of the book. That says it pretty well. There are also some shenanigans - some are ever-so-slightly madcap.
I put this on the book club list even though I am usually hesitant to put books I love on, because I know it's not certain that everyone will love them and I don't want to have their flaws pointed out because SHUT UP, I just LOVE IT, okay? In this case it turned out to be a good thing because apart from a few minor quibbles everyone else loved it too, and also I had a few things cleared up for me that, despite reading the book twice, I totally didn't get.
Get this book. And don't be slow about it. Ha. Get it? Slow? Because it has a tortoise in it?
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Random shit
Eve's home from school again, barfy-but-not-quite-barfing. It's okay - obviously I wasn't going to be allowed to step foot out of the house today, because my hair is AWESOME. And the number of people I see in a day is inversely proportional to how bad my hair will be, and my hair mysteriously knows AHEAD OF TIME. My hair is an asshole.
I spent hours in an Etsy wormhole last night favouriting hand-made ecologically-sound non-toxic wooden toys between which to choose for my nephew, while at the same time wondering exactly to what degree my brother-in-law and his wife would shun me if I sent him a gigantic Nerf machine gun.
I just finished reading this book, which should be easily dismissable as the foul product of a horrifyingly diseased mind, but somehow isn't. Somehow there's enough compassion, melancholy, intelligence and social commentary shaded into the loving descriptions of bodily disease and decay to rescue it - although I have a few qualms about it being labeled teen fiction, and I have no idea who I'd recommend it to.
That commercial about banana-scented shaving lotion for carrots? It's fucking weird.
I don't like artichokes.
I spent hours in an Etsy wormhole last night favouriting hand-made ecologically-sound non-toxic wooden toys between which to choose for my nephew, while at the same time wondering exactly to what degree my brother-in-law and his wife would shun me if I sent him a gigantic Nerf machine gun.
I just finished reading this book, which should be easily dismissable as the foul product of a horrifyingly diseased mind, but somehow isn't. Somehow there's enough compassion, melancholy, intelligence and social commentary shaded into the loving descriptions of bodily disease and decay to rescue it - although I have a few qualms about it being labeled teen fiction, and I have no idea who I'd recommend it to.
That commercial about banana-scented shaving lotion for carrots? It's fucking weird.
I don't like artichokes.
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Sound and Fury Signifying DUMBNESS: Dominance by Will Lavender
I recently came across a member on Goodreads who is kind of pissing me off. She writes these sprawling, grandiloquent, scathing reviews in which she assumes and attributes wildly speculative motives and qualities to authors, indicates that anyone who likes a book she doesn't is a brainless sheep-like patsy, and generally tries to be as unpleasant as possible. And god help anyone who has the temerity to disagree with her. I haven't engaged her, because I'm pretty sure it's what she wants, and I try to stop going back, but the sweet rotting lure of such flagrant bitchiness is strong.
I try to be balanced in my reviews. I tend to review books that I like, while just giving low ratings to books I don't and then moving along. I know what it takes for me to put my writing out there, and how fragile a writer's self-esteem can be.
But sometimes I feel like I've been duped by a book. Like it reeled me in on a false promise of depth and wonder and played me for a fool ON PURPOSE. And that, friends, pisses. me. off.
I don't usually reprint the synopsis, but in this case I need to be really sure you see it:
THE PROCEDURE HAS BEGUN . . .
Fifteen years earlier. Jasper College is buzzing with the news that famed literature professor Richard Aldiss will be teaching a special night class called Unraveling a Literary Mystery—from a video feed in his prison cell. In 1982, Aldiss was convicted of the murders of two female grad students; the women were killed with axe blows and their bodies decorated with the novels of notoriously reclusive author Paul Fallows. Even the most obsessive Fallows scholars have never seen him. He is like a ghost. Aldiss entreats the students of his night class to solve the Fallows riddle once and for all. The author’s two published novels, The Coil and The Golden Silence, are considered maps to finding Fallows’s true identity. And the only way in is to master them through a game called the Procedure. You may not know when the game has begun, but when you receive an invitation to play, it is an invitation to join the elite ranks of Fallows scholars. Failure, in these circles, is a fate worse than death. Soon, members of the night class will be invited to play along . . .
Present day. Harvard professor Alex Shipley made her name as a member of Aldiss’s night class. She not only exposed the truth of Paul Fallows’s identity, but in the process uncovered information that acquitted Aldiss of the heinous 1982 crimes. But when one of her fellow night class alums is murdered— the body chopped up with an axe and surrounded by Fallows novels—can she use what she knows about Fallows and the Procedure to stop a killer before each of her former classmates is picked off, one by one?
Elite scholars. A mysterious, J.D. Salinger-like author. A literary game played by geniuses. Hell yeah, sign me up.
When you read a book and start realizing it's so much less than it was promised to be, do you find that small, unremarkable details start to drive you batshit? Or is it just me? Because once I figured out that this book was a whole lot of telling rather than showing, every second description and adjective choice seemed monumentally mediocre and grating. Even the heroine's name - Alexandra Shipley, but everyone calls her Alex. Alex Shipley - try saying it aloud or even just in your mind. You either have to pronounce both names distinctly - Alex. Shipley - which trips you up every time you read it, or you read/say it as Alec Shipley. I would never have named a child this, and I would never use it for a literary character either. At one point, Alex Shipley (agh) visits Richard Aldiss, the tortured genius, so we're told but never really shown:
"He had wine ready, an immaculate dinner of stewed hare and exotic vegetables on china that spread across a stark white tablecloth." An immaculate dinner? Immaculate? Immaculate is clean white linen or a room with nothing out of place. A dinner involves sauce and juice and piles of things. A dinner can be extravagant or luscious or meticulously-prepared, but not immaculate. And stewed hare? Am I wrong, or is 'stewed' just not a glamorous image? I would have gone with braised veal shanks or maybe a crown roast of something. Stewed hare just makes me think of a wet rabbit.
At another point, Alex is questioning one of the other characters: "The man tumbled away again, followed the air with his eyes." WTF?????? Presumably we're meant to understand that the person's attention was wandering - instead I have an image of someone suddenly performing a somersault in the middle of a conversation. Don't even get me started on "followed the air with his eyes." Followed.... the AIR? The air is EVERYWHERE!!!!! This is pure slapstick, folks.
Yes, this is nitpicking. I wouldn't have started doing it if everything else wasn't so lamentably lacking. The 'Procedure', which is supposed to be some grand, eloquent game, merely consists of students acting out scenes from a book, and in THIS book they only do it once or twice, and most of them seem to suck at it. The night class consists of Aldiss uttering a couple of inscrutable sentences, having a few neurological fits which cut the sessions short or cancel them entirely, and then suddenly Alex and another student from the class are in Iowa following a lead found in the margin of some library book and we're told the class is about to end after the next session.
It's hollow. It's a hollow chocolate bunny. No, it's worse than a hollow chocolate bunny -- at least then the thin shell is made of CHOCOLATE.
Then there's the problem that I sometimes encounter that results from the fact that I read books quite quickly. I'm willing to make certain allowances based on the fact that not everyone reads this quickly, but a lot of people do, and if you're an editor I kind of think you should catch this sort of thing:
page 11 - "His mouth was frozen in a cruel smile."
page 19 - "Alex froze."
page 43 - "She froze."
page 66 - "no other students walked across the frozen quads." (dispensation here for the fact that it's winter, so the literal use of the word applies)
page 75 - "Alex froze."
page 262 - "Alex tried to scream. Tried to stand up, to do something -- but her body was frozen."
page 297 - "Alex froze."
page 303 - "Everything froze."
page 346 - "He froze."
page 353 - "Her blood ran cold." Well it would have to, wouldn't it?
At the risk of assuming too much about the author (because you know I hate when people do that), I'm going to venture a guess that, while writing this book, he should have worn thicker socks.
I try to be balanced in my reviews. I tend to review books that I like, while just giving low ratings to books I don't and then moving along. I know what it takes for me to put my writing out there, and how fragile a writer's self-esteem can be.
But sometimes I feel like I've been duped by a book. Like it reeled me in on a false promise of depth and wonder and played me for a fool ON PURPOSE. And that, friends, pisses. me. off.
I don't usually reprint the synopsis, but in this case I need to be really sure you see it:
THE PROCEDURE HAS BEGUN . . .
Fifteen years earlier. Jasper College is buzzing with the news that famed literature professor Richard Aldiss will be teaching a special night class called Unraveling a Literary Mystery—from a video feed in his prison cell. In 1982, Aldiss was convicted of the murders of two female grad students; the women were killed with axe blows and their bodies decorated with the novels of notoriously reclusive author Paul Fallows. Even the most obsessive Fallows scholars have never seen him. He is like a ghost. Aldiss entreats the students of his night class to solve the Fallows riddle once and for all. The author’s two published novels, The Coil and The Golden Silence, are considered maps to finding Fallows’s true identity. And the only way in is to master them through a game called the Procedure. You may not know when the game has begun, but when you receive an invitation to play, it is an invitation to join the elite ranks of Fallows scholars. Failure, in these circles, is a fate worse than death. Soon, members of the night class will be invited to play along . . .
Present day. Harvard professor Alex Shipley made her name as a member of Aldiss’s night class. She not only exposed the truth of Paul Fallows’s identity, but in the process uncovered information that acquitted Aldiss of the heinous 1982 crimes. But when one of her fellow night class alums is murdered— the body chopped up with an axe and surrounded by Fallows novels—can she use what she knows about Fallows and the Procedure to stop a killer before each of her former classmates is picked off, one by one?
Elite scholars. A mysterious, J.D. Salinger-like author. A literary game played by geniuses. Hell yeah, sign me up.
When you read a book and start realizing it's so much less than it was promised to be, do you find that small, unremarkable details start to drive you batshit? Or is it just me? Because once I figured out that this book was a whole lot of telling rather than showing, every second description and adjective choice seemed monumentally mediocre and grating. Even the heroine's name - Alexandra Shipley, but everyone calls her Alex. Alex Shipley - try saying it aloud or even just in your mind. You either have to pronounce both names distinctly - Alex. Shipley - which trips you up every time you read it, or you read/say it as Alec Shipley. I would never have named a child this, and I would never use it for a literary character either. At one point, Alex Shipley (agh) visits Richard Aldiss, the tortured genius, so we're told but never really shown:
"He had wine ready, an immaculate dinner of stewed hare and exotic vegetables on china that spread across a stark white tablecloth." An immaculate dinner? Immaculate? Immaculate is clean white linen or a room with nothing out of place. A dinner involves sauce and juice and piles of things. A dinner can be extravagant or luscious or meticulously-prepared, but not immaculate. And stewed hare? Am I wrong, or is 'stewed' just not a glamorous image? I would have gone with braised veal shanks or maybe a crown roast of something. Stewed hare just makes me think of a wet rabbit.
At another point, Alex is questioning one of the other characters: "The man tumbled away again, followed the air with his eyes." WTF?????? Presumably we're meant to understand that the person's attention was wandering - instead I have an image of someone suddenly performing a somersault in the middle of a conversation. Don't even get me started on "followed the air with his eyes." Followed.... the AIR? The air is EVERYWHERE!!!!! This is pure slapstick, folks.
Yes, this is nitpicking. I wouldn't have started doing it if everything else wasn't so lamentably lacking. The 'Procedure', which is supposed to be some grand, eloquent game, merely consists of students acting out scenes from a book, and in THIS book they only do it once or twice, and most of them seem to suck at it. The night class consists of Aldiss uttering a couple of inscrutable sentences, having a few neurological fits which cut the sessions short or cancel them entirely, and then suddenly Alex and another student from the class are in Iowa following a lead found in the margin of some library book and we're told the class is about to end after the next session.
It's hollow. It's a hollow chocolate bunny. No, it's worse than a hollow chocolate bunny -- at least then the thin shell is made of CHOCOLATE.
Then there's the problem that I sometimes encounter that results from the fact that I read books quite quickly. I'm willing to make certain allowances based on the fact that not everyone reads this quickly, but a lot of people do, and if you're an editor I kind of think you should catch this sort of thing:
page 11 - "His mouth was frozen in a cruel smile."
page 19 - "Alex froze."
page 43 - "She froze."
page 66 - "no other students walked across the frozen quads." (dispensation here for the fact that it's winter, so the literal use of the word applies)
page 75 - "Alex froze."
page 262 - "Alex tried to scream. Tried to stand up, to do something -- but her body was frozen."
page 297 - "Alex froze."
page 303 - "Everything froze."
page 346 - "He froze."
page 353 - "Her blood ran cold." Well it would have to, wouldn't it?
At the risk of assuming too much about the author (because you know I hate when people do that), I'm going to venture a guess that, while writing this book, he should have worn thicker socks.
Monday, October 17, 2011
Mondays on the Margins: Book Review - Island of Wings by Karin Altenberg
A few weeks ago I found a package of books in the mail from Trish at House of Anansi Press. The note said that the two fall releases were a little off the beaten path, so she thought they might be right up my alley. I sent her an email that read "Dear Trish: how is it we've never met and yet you totally get me?" Then she emailed back and said she reads my blog even when it's NOT about books she's sent me, which might have made me squeal in a most unbecoming fashion.
The quote from Anne Enright on the cover of my ARC of Island of Wings says that this book is written "With scrupulous attention to place, history and the natural world," and "tells a story washed by a clean and lovely kind of sorrow". I both love and hate it when someone else has articulated my own opinion so well BEFORE I'VE EVEN READ the damned book. I also automatically struck it from the list of books I will recommend to Patti and Susan, who often walk around Indigo on dance night picking up books and chucking them aside saying things like "haunting sense of melancholy? I don't THINK so!" and "heart-piercing beauty? Screw that, who wants a pierced heart?"
I found a lot of similarities between Neil McKenzie and Nathan Price from The Poisonwood Bible, which I also loved; both are intelligent, well-meaning, tormented men who I simultaneously wanted to throttle and comfort. The sense of place is vivid, evoking the harsh, spare beauty and the unforgiving nature of the land, from which the native St. Kildans wrest a hand-to-mouth living. Lizzie McKenzie is a more sympathetic character (I'm pretty sure this isn't because I'm a woman, and not in love with organized religion); she is insightful and compassionate, even though her opportunities are extremely limited by her gender and situation.
One of the most frustrating things about McKenzie is that he's NOT an evil man. He's not trying to be an asshole (most of the time) - he really thinks he's right; he's TRYING TO SAVE THEIR SOULS. This blinds him to the fact that in many ways the St. Kildans are already moral and principled people: they look out for each other; they accept no gifts unless they are given to the community as a whole; when Lizzie's twins die and she insists they must be buried in coffins, they muster together enough wood, although it is an extremely scarce commodity and they have all been equally devastated by the death of many infants. All McKenzie can see, however, is their godless paganism, and this makes them inferior in his eyes.
This isn't a book that reaches any grand conclusions. It is a fictionalized treatment of the lives of actual people, based on some documentary sources. It draws brief, vivid sketches of people trying to accomodate themselves to an austere landscape and an unfamiliar people, with varying results. It captures a moment in place and time -- exceedingly well, in my opinion.
Memorable Quotes:
-"The archipelago grew out of the low clouds like bad teeth in a weak mouth, the rugged sea cliffs bleakly lit from behind by the sun, which was setting somewhere far out in the west."
-"'You must not ennoble them with more excellent virtues than they deserve, for they are quite crude in many ways... for example, however much effort I put into teaching them the Scriptures, it is as if they will not take them to their hearts. They can repeat the catechism like a child repeats a nursery rhyme, but they do not seem to feel the weight of its truth on their souls. Nor do they let it influence their life and conversation. Indeed' -- the minister was heated now by that missionary zeal -- 'I have heard them swear in the most medieval manner!'"
-"As he continued to look out to sea he was aware that her gentle devotion threatened to embrace him. Despising himself, he felt a need to deflect his sense of failure and shield himself from her love. At that moment he resented her decency as much as his own weakness. 'Our guests did not seem to enjoy their meal very much; perhaps you will be able to improve on the fare tomorrow?' he said, hoping that the cruelty would relieve his frustration and knowing that the hurt it caused could not be repaired."
-"It was no wonder then that the puffins' calls which filled the air sounded so melancholy. 'Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!' they called mournfully to anyone who was prepared to listen. They looked pitiful and sometimes rather comical, thought Dick, like a great assembly of drunken churchmen swaying back and forth on their webbed red feet, unable to decide where to put their weight. He mentioned this analogy to the minister, who laughed and said that in the current climate within the Church of Scotland the birds may well pass unnoticed."
Monday, October 3, 2011
Mondays on the Margins: Book Review - John Dies at the End by David Wong
First a word about pseudonyms. I guess I can kind of understand why some people use pseudonyms - for privacy, or safety, or fun. In some countries it might be a serious risk to one's life to publish under a real name. What I DON'T understand is why someone makes up a pseudonym, and then volunteers their real name IN THE SAME PLACE.
?????
One summer, my best friend and I were camping at the provincial park where we went every summer and she decided that this summer we should make up cooler names for ourselves - she would be Renée and I would be Angela. I'm not sure why I went along with this, except that she was hot and the only way I had a hope in hell of attracting male attention was to stick by her side and hope for some overlap, and the park was pretty boring. So at one point, she leads us up to some guys and asks if they want to go for a walk and they say sure, and as we start walking she says "So I'm Renée and she's Angela. HA HA, no, never mind, actually, I'm Danielle and she's Allison."
Guy: "Uh, are you insane? Not that it really matters, since you're incredibly hot."
Me: "You are henceforth dead to me."
So why does a book have one author's name on the cover and then on the back jacket say "xxx is the pseudonym of xxx"? WHY? If you want to be daring and mysterious and pretend to be someone else, just DO IT. If your real name is too embarrassing to be on the front of the book, why put it on the back? Or what about when it's two authors, and it seems like the first thing they do before even writing the book is sit down and make up some cutesy mish-mash of their two names -- P.J. Tracy is a mother and daughter team. P.J. Parrish is two sisters (26 letters to work with, why do they all have to be P.J.?) Will it really throw the average book-buyer into such a bewildered tizzy if there are TWO authors' names on the front?
Anyway. The book. John Dies at the End. It's weird. And funny. And a little sad. And weird.
This is the dedication: "For my wife, who had been so tolerant and wonderful through all of this that I think she might be a product of my imagination. also, my best friend, Mack Leighty, who gave birth to the 'John' mentioned in the title, and who years ago convinced me to get into writing as a hobby instead of alcoholism.
Mack, I'll never forget that when things got really tough in my life, you stepped up and killed those dudes for me."
This typefies the tone of the book pretty well - humorous, a little touching, outrageous, sneaking up to the very border of being too cute. David Wong is the protagonist as well as being the fake name of the author (I hate when authors do that, too). John is his friend - the kind of friend who call display was invented in order to enable you to avoid. There is a new and reality-bending drug called Soy Sauce, there are various assorted demons and monsters, there's a dog named Molly who keeps dying and coming back to life, there are a couple of road trips (naturally) and a lot of dick jokes.
My reading curve went something like "who recommended this again? Huh? Well this is....ew. Ohmygod, that's hilarious! Oh, so when they.... hey, there might actually be a story here. Okay, this is dragging.....oh, here we are back here again. Oh, that's kind of nice."
David Wong is the (TOTALLY POINTLESS AND UNNECESSARY) pseudonym of Jason Pargin, online humorist, National Lampoon contributor, and editor in chief of Cracked.com (why yes, I DID get that from the back blurb, thanks for asking). This information fits very well with what I thought of the book. It's not terribly deep, but it's not all facile joke-of-the-day fluff either. There are moments of genuine loss, fear and connection in among the Ghostbusting and bad puns. Also, it made me giggle my sleeping husband awake, which doesn't happen that often.
Memorable quotes:
-"Sixteen different objections rose up in my mind at once and somehow they all cancelled each other out. Maybe if there had been an odd number..."
-"I reached for the knob. At the same moment it began to melt and transform, turning pink and finally taking the shape of a flaccid penis. It flopped softly against the door, like a man was cramming it through the knob hole from the other side. I turned back to John and said, 'That door cannot be opened.'"
-"This is Marconi. My secretary says you have some kind of a meat monster there?"
-(song lyrics) -"'My hat smells like/ lubricant, I don't wanna touch it/ Wait, this isn't mine! And it's not a hat!/ Camel Holocaust! Camel Holocaust!"
-"John said, 'Yeah, it's not a big deal for me to lift heavy objects. I'm sort of used to it, if you know what I mean.' I held up a hand to silence him. 'John --' 'Of course I'm talking about my penis.'"
?????
One summer, my best friend and I were camping at the provincial park where we went every summer and she decided that this summer we should make up cooler names for ourselves - she would be Renée and I would be Angela. I'm not sure why I went along with this, except that she was hot and the only way I had a hope in hell of attracting male attention was to stick by her side and hope for some overlap, and the park was pretty boring. So at one point, she leads us up to some guys and asks if they want to go for a walk and they say sure, and as we start walking she says "So I'm Renée and she's Angela. HA HA, no, never mind, actually, I'm Danielle and she's Allison."
Guy: "Uh, are you insane? Not that it really matters, since you're incredibly hot."
Me: "You are henceforth dead to me."
So why does a book have one author's name on the cover and then on the back jacket say "xxx is the pseudonym of xxx"? WHY? If you want to be daring and mysterious and pretend to be someone else, just DO IT. If your real name is too embarrassing to be on the front of the book, why put it on the back? Or what about when it's two authors, and it seems like the first thing they do before even writing the book is sit down and make up some cutesy mish-mash of their two names -- P.J. Tracy is a mother and daughter team. P.J. Parrish is two sisters (26 letters to work with, why do they all have to be P.J.?) Will it really throw the average book-buyer into such a bewildered tizzy if there are TWO authors' names on the front?
Anyway. The book. John Dies at the End. It's weird. And funny. And a little sad. And weird.
This is the dedication: "For my wife, who had been so tolerant and wonderful through all of this that I think she might be a product of my imagination. also, my best friend, Mack Leighty, who gave birth to the 'John' mentioned in the title, and who years ago convinced me to get into writing as a hobby instead of alcoholism.
Mack, I'll never forget that when things got really tough in my life, you stepped up and killed those dudes for me."
This typefies the tone of the book pretty well - humorous, a little touching, outrageous, sneaking up to the very border of being too cute. David Wong is the protagonist as well as being the fake name of the author (I hate when authors do that, too). John is his friend - the kind of friend who call display was invented in order to enable you to avoid. There is a new and reality-bending drug called Soy Sauce, there are various assorted demons and monsters, there's a dog named Molly who keeps dying and coming back to life, there are a couple of road trips (naturally) and a lot of dick jokes.
My reading curve went something like "who recommended this again? Huh? Well this is....ew. Ohmygod, that's hilarious! Oh, so when they.... hey, there might actually be a story here. Okay, this is dragging.....oh, here we are back here again. Oh, that's kind of nice."
David Wong is the (TOTALLY POINTLESS AND UNNECESSARY) pseudonym of Jason Pargin, online humorist, National Lampoon contributor, and editor in chief of Cracked.com (why yes, I DID get that from the back blurb, thanks for asking). This information fits very well with what I thought of the book. It's not terribly deep, but it's not all facile joke-of-the-day fluff either. There are moments of genuine loss, fear and connection in among the Ghostbusting and bad puns. Also, it made me giggle my sleeping husband awake, which doesn't happen that often.
Memorable quotes:
-"Sixteen different objections rose up in my mind at once and somehow they all cancelled each other out. Maybe if there had been an odd number..."
-"I reached for the knob. At the same moment it began to melt and transform, turning pink and finally taking the shape of a flaccid penis. It flopped softly against the door, like a man was cramming it through the knob hole from the other side. I turned back to John and said, 'That door cannot be opened.'"
-"This is Marconi. My secretary says you have some kind of a meat monster there?"
-(song lyrics) -"'My hat smells like/ lubricant, I don't wanna touch it/ Wait, this isn't mine! And it's not a hat!/ Camel Holocaust! Camel Holocaust!"
-"John said, 'Yeah, it's not a big deal for me to lift heavy objects. I'm sort of used to it, if you know what I mean.' I held up a hand to silence him. 'John --' 'Of course I'm talking about my penis.'"
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