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Picturesque Hinmouth lies on an estuary in the southwest of England, and is close to Barnstaple University. These are obvious stand-ins for Exmouth/ Exeter and the University of Exeter (where Philip Hensher teaches English), and he surveys the lay of...more
Picturesque Hinmouth lies on an estuary in the southwest of England, and is close to Barnstaple University. These are obvious stand-ins for Exmouth/ Exeter and the University of Exeter (where Philip Hensher teaches English), and he surveys the lay of the social land with an intimate, brilliantly detailed eye. What happens to the snobs, yobs, busy-bodies, have-nots and ne'er-do-wells of Hinmouth and its suburban hinterland when a little girl goes missing and her unappealing family's story doesn't add up? In setting this going, Hensher writes with a darkly comic flourish - and a wicked precision about the modern English niceties - that makes you think of Jane Austen. By page 100, though, it seems to me, two different things have started to go wrong.
Technically, what goes wrong is that Hensher introduces too many characters, makes their interconnections too vague and episodic, and in general connects scenes and themes as if he has heard of Impressionism but not seen it. To put it another way: every scene without exception is a good draft scene, but a good editor would have killed two-thirds of the darlings. Sure, this is not the sort of book in which every sentence should be a cog in the plot. But (for instance) why does the author think we should care about Mauro? (Here? In this book?)
The bigger problem is harder to articulate, and defend as a cogent criticism, but perhaps I can explain to some people what I mean when I say this: I kept being reminded of why I so strongly dislike almost everything Martin Amis has ever written, regardless of how well-written it is. It's a question of moral atmosphere, I suppose. The laughter in Austen is light, even when mordant, and always compassionate. The laughter here seems colored by a cheap, shallow, depressingly clever-schoolboyish cynicism. You can identify strongly, as I do, with Hensher's evident anger that England has been turned into a sort of open prison ruled by meekly-accepted "authorities." (The current Pry Minister, David Cameron, is as witless a fool about these aspects of national life as was his predecessor. David and Tony, may you burn in hell, naked and surrounded by security cameras.) But it is hard to avoid the sense that Hensher thinks these problems - plus the crime, the death of manners, the snobbery and shabbiness and everything else - are to be recorded only with bitter laughter, since after all we (or the characters) deserve it. (It's striking that he seems to exhibit real sympathy for one gay couple, one elderly widow, and almost no one else.)
Both problems contribute to the book's fatal slackness of rhythm - its surprising (in the end, despite all the good bits) dreariness.(less)
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Ambitious even by the standards of BIG picture pop sci (Hawking, Greene), Deutsch's "four strands" view of reality encompasses everything from how evolution might affect the universe as a whole to time travel, the very nature of a "theory," and quant...more
Ambitious even by the standards of BIG picture pop sci (Hawking, Greene), Deutsch's "four strands" view of reality encompasses everything from how evolution might affect the universe as a whole to time travel, the very nature of a "theory," and quantum computing's effects on us. And you have to love a book that begins by describing an experiment that uses a flashlight and three pieces of cardboard to demonstrate that there must be far, far more universes than there are atoms in this one.
Lots (and LOTS) to ponder - but Deutsch has a poorer feel than, say, Brian Greene, for what needs explaining more and what needs explaining less. (Examples - The part on why time doesn't flow needed to be clearer and much longer. The part on why inductivism in science is rubbish needed to be clearer and much shorter. The crucial issue of why "space-time" physics is not what Deutsch advocated gets totally lost in the shuffle.) As a result some chapters feel like a harangue, and you end them unsure whether to feel either guilty for having not quite followed the thread or annoyed for having not been given quite enough thread to follow.(less)
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The pleasure is all in the voice. This unshockable, worldly-wise Hollywood teen, with his droll perceptions about his once-successful parents and their rich, hi-gloss friends, is so well-drawn that he bears comparison with Holden Caulfield - and that...more
The pleasure is all in the voice. This unshockable, worldly-wise Hollywood teen, with his droll perceptions about his once-successful parents and their rich, hi-gloss friends, is so well-drawn that he bears comparison with Holden Caulfield - and that's the highest praise I can think of. For me, though, the performance is marred by just TOO much ennui creeping in at the middle, and a jarring note of real bitterness at the end. If Salinger is Cote D'Or Burgundy, this is a $100 bottle of Californian Pinot Noir. But hey, are you going to say no to THAT?(less)
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People who give this wonderful book a bad review on the grounds that they or their toddlers were shocked by it deserve to be chained to a rock, or turned into swine. This is NOT a children's book (though we read it to our children when they were abou...more
People who give this wonderful book a bad review on the grounds that they or their toddlers were shocked by it deserve to be chained to a rock, or turned into swine. This is NOT a children's book (though we read it to our children when they were about ten, and they have not turned into criminal misfits yet). What it is: a wonderfully irreverent / childish / violent / bawdy / absurd / funny / unexpected take on the most famous Greek myths, refreshingly cleansed of all the piety and earnest dullness that usually clings to them. One of GIFT's chief pleasures is the precision with which William Steig's fabulous illustrations match Jeanne Steig's style: just look at the cover, and you know at once exactly what the text will be like.(less)
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What do you do, if the only socially acceptable career is marriage - and no one marries you? In late nineteenth century England, millions of women were condemned to live a life of shabby-genteel desperation because there simply weren't enough men to...more
What do you do, if the only socially acceptable career is marriage - and no one marries you? In late nineteenth century England, millions of women were condemned to live a life of shabby-genteel desperation because there simply weren't enough men to have for husbands and virtually no actual employment was possible. This is the horribly narrow, lonely fate endured by one woman here - but it's far better than the fates of two of her siblings: alcoholism, and marriage to a well-meaning but unendurable ogre.
It's an alien world, with its strained proprieties and cock-eyed values - yet Gissing's treatment of it is so good (honest, fresh, angry, insightful way ahead of its time, and yet scarcely ever didactic) that many, many pages seem to describe scenes, and emotions, that are wholly modern. And on top of all this we get Rhoda Nunn, a magnificently complex, brave, fraught proto-feminist, trying almost single-handedly to reinvent her entire gender.
I expected this to be a book of some historical interest. What I got was a gripping read.
A brief note on the almost indescribably horrible Penguin edition I read (pictured here): what went wrong? I have not identified the typeface, but it looks like a form of semi-bold Palatino that someone has attacked with high-grit sandpaper before proceeding to use with twice the recommended amount of ink on poor-quality paper. Plus there is a persistent UNDER-printing near the bottom of every third or fourth page. Someone was asleep at the wheel on this one.(less)
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This is a fun, upper-end-of-middle-grade steampunk twist on the Great War, in which British "Darwinists" fight using re-engineered animals (including a sort of flying whale), and the German-speaking "Clanker" powers oppose them with the steam-driven...more
This is a fun, upper-end-of-middle-grade steampunk twist on the Great War, in which British "Darwinists" fight using re-engineered animals (including a sort of flying whale), and the German-speaking "Clanker" powers oppose them with the steam-driven equivalent of Star Wars walkers. Told through the alternating viewpoints of a brave lower-class English girl pretending to be a boy, and a diffident Austrian Prince pretending to be brave, it has a satisfying, well-crafted plot and lots of action. Some of the linguistic innovations are forced - I thought I'd scream if anyone expressed surprise by saying "Barking spiders" again - but it's nice to see a writer take a real historical period seriously and run with the implications of changing a very few very specific things.(less)
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This has been on my 'must read' shelf ever since it was published. A sort of "True History of the Brown Gang," it is told from the point of view of one of John Brown's sons, Owen. I'm guessing Russell Banks thought third person would not work because...more
This has been on my 'must read' shelf ever since it was published. A sort of "True History of the Brown Gang," it is told from the point of view of one of John Brown's sons, Owen. I'm guessing Russell Banks thought third person would not work because it would not be intense enough, and the first person pov of the great abolitionist himself would not work because (a) he was nuts, and (b) we need to be able to look back on him after his death. I'm not sure these were the right decisions: Owen's puzzled, conflicted voice is rendered well, but the decision to cast this as a series of documents - letters to a researcher - give it a plodding, ponderous feel that so long a book can't sustain. Compare Peter Carey's "True History of the Kelley Gang": the bold decision to go inside the mind of the fanatic himself paid off there with a wonderful urgency that's missing here.(less)
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Immense - but lots of fun, with a picaresque novelist's eye for the barmy character in bizarre circumstances. And, after 200 years of books about how marvelous the Empire was, the sheer monotonous incompetence, blindness and brutality recorded in the...more
Immense - but lots of fun, with a picaresque novelist's eye for the barmy character in bizarre circumstances. And, after 200 years of books about how marvelous the Empire was, the sheer monotonous incompetence, blindness and brutality recorded in these pages is salutary. On the other hand (I hate to agree with conservatives about anything, but...) the book is weakened somewhat by the earnest monotony of its revisionism: although well-researched, it will feed the kind of self-indulgent, off-the-peg anti-colonialism that likes to forget, say, just how awful India was before the British did different awful things in the process of turning it into India.(less)
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Majestic and hugely under-rated. One of the best novels I have ever read by a living author.
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A witty and well-written tour through the sub-culture of people who own six different atlases. And the sub-sub-cultures, like Geography Bee Champions, people who are clinically addicted to geocaching, and people who feel guilty about how much time th...more
A witty and well-written tour through the sub-culture of people who own six different atlases. And the sub-sub-cultures, like Geography Bee Champions, people who are clinically addicted to geocaching, and people who feel guilty about how much time they spend slack-jawed in front of their computer, grinning at the bodacious wonder that is Google Earth. Madagascar! The Tibesti Mountains! Any random spot in the middle of the Taklamakan! One of the smaller Nicobar Islands! The village of Piddletrenthide! Downtown Chelyabinsk! Sorry, sorry. Can't help it.(less)
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