I am a weirdo who watches the films first if there’s a film of a book. Because I’m either going to want to watch it anyway if I like the book, or someI am a weirdo who watches the films first if there’s a film of a book. Because I’m either going to want to watch it anyway if I like the book, or someone is going to “make me” watch it. By make me, I of course mean enthusiastically encourage me enough that I feel guilty if I don’t and/or adds it to the our Netflix queue so that I watch out of desire for snuggles. Also, if I read the book first, there’s little chance I’ll enjoy the movie. That’s been my experience like 99.2% of the time.
So I watched Insurgent and then started in on the book. Except I needn’t have bothered, because I’m not even entirely sure Insurgent: The Book was the source for Insurgent: The Movie. I think they may have just made Divergent and then went, “welp, this is what we think would happen next.” Even the Serenity-inspiried hologram bit was ridiculously lame when compared to the book version.
This leaves me at a point where it becomes difficult to decide if I really like the book or if I just like it a whole lot in relation to the nonsense that was the film. (Maybe I should re-think my “watch the film first,” stance, though it’s never failed me so spectacularly before.)
I tend to like the middle book that everyone else hates because I’m a fan of exposition and I have a shitty memory. Still, I would guess I liked Insurgent slightly less than Divergent since it took me so much longer to plod through all the extended-cut bits that really should’ve been shorter or clipped. There are surely more concise ways to show grief and lust.
Speaking of, one of the things main I noticed was that I was wrong. I am forever complaining that teenagers never act like teenagers in media. They act like young 20-somethings at best. Teenagers in this book totally acted like teenagers. The entire time. I would call this brilliant except for two things: nearly all the adults also act like teenagers (I'm looking at you Evelyn & Jeanine) and teenagers can be fucking annoying. So, I’ll stop asking for realistic teenagers now if they're just going to be like Tris & Four and full of all the most annoying parts of teenagerdom.
I wish I could give this book a clear thumbs up or thumbs down, but it’s really just right there in the middle at interesting-yet-annoying.
I still think it’s my reverence of Chicago from a tourist perspective that keeps me going. I’m enjoying the warped-travel-book aspect. Can that be a genre? Dystopian Travel Guides? Please? It’s apparently my thing. ...more
The main theme to Divergent is that there are two sides to every coin. Or, in this case, every faction.
Humanity has been divided into five factions:The main theme to Divergent is that there are two sides to every coin. Or, in this case, every faction.
Humanity has been divided into five factions: Abnegation (selflessness), Amnity (kindness), Candor (honesty), Dauntless (bravery), and Erudite (knowledge). Each believed, on inception, that theirs was the way to prevent future war, and at age 16 the children of this world must choose which they believe. Each faction has their own headquarters and initiation, and if you choose a faction that is not the one you grew up in, your family ties are cut to some degree. If you fail initiation, you become factionless, which is a fancy word for poverty-stricken working class. The factionless are the producers, but live in deep poverty and without a cohesive grouping.
The main character, Tris, is a 16 year old girl who is "Divergent." Before choosing a faction, the kids are given an aptitude test, which should clearly pick one or another faction, but Tris' results are "inconclusive," showing results that might put her in any one of three different factions. The story begins as focusing on her struggles to survive initiation, particularly without revealing her divergence, which is feared by leaders who value their citizens' lack of ability to think outside of boxes.
And, yes, however nobly they were formed, the factions have their dark side. Where does bravery end and brutality begin? Or, for that matter, don't the values require all the other values? Can you be selfless without being brave? Kind without some selflessness? Could you pick a single value to define yourself for the rest of your life?
So why split up what seems a limited population in this very divisive manner? To prevent divergent thought is the obvious answer, a bit of a salute to various real-world governmental parties.
As is typical in stories with planned sequels, there is a bigger pile of questions than answers by the end of the book. Why age 16? What is beyond the fence? We see a lot of Dauntless, some of Abnegation and Erudite, but who are the people of Amnity and Candor? Why can the "geniuses" of Erudite not fix the effing train?
Unfortunately, there is a gaping plot hole that bugged me in the movie that is also present in the book. As part of initiation into her chosen faction, Tris must face her fears in a simulation. Yet, what should logically be her biggest fear: being "found out" as Divergent, is not among them. Another flaw is the villains are sadly very one-note thus far in the story.
But Divergent is a quick read, so the faults are easily overlooked by letting your curiosity take over. The best part of dystopian fiction is how it pings the imagination. The tenuous connection between our now and that future sparks so many questions. The detail in the descriptions of Divergent!Chicago really help with fueling those connections. What happened to turn Lake Michigan to marshland? How did the beloved Bean rust?
So, predictably, I ordered book two. I'm too curious for my own good.
Notice there's not really a faction for that. ...more
How do you review books that are basically someone else’s life narrative? Fat Girl Walking is Brittany Gibbon’s story, and her owning her story. I resHow do you review books that are basically someone else’s life narrative? Fat Girl Walking is Brittany Gibbon’s story, and her owning her story. I respect that, and feel no desire to take it to task. In fact, the writing is crisp and the humor sarcastic. There is little I can point to as flawed other than a few instances of casual ableism.
I just didn’t like it. And since I rate by the Goodreads system, that means this book gets a single star.
Perhaps my problem is Fat Girl Walking often reads as the “blog book” that it is. I don't mean that disparagingly. I have toyed with the notion of putting my blog posts together and publishing a narrative collection of them, even though none of my blogs have been particularly popular. Only I wasn't expecting a blog book. My extreme paranoia of spoilers keeps me from reading reviews or publisher's notes before I read a book, and I really know almost nothing anymore about what is “hot” in the blogosphere (is that even still a word?). Instead I was expecting more along the lines of Hanne Blank’s Big Big Love or Marilyn Wann’s Fat! So?
Fat Girl Walking, on the other hand, is 35% disjointed short entries about childhood that move back and forth in time, 45% narrative about being a young adult and new mom in America, and 20% body positive guidance. It’s not unapologetic Fat Acceptance Movement stuff, but hopefully helpful to people who relate to Gibbons’ experiences.
The thing is, I should have related to Gibbons’ narrative. I had an unconventional childhood, I failed college the first time around by way of mental illness, I write and blog, I’m fat, and I’m married. But I didn’t relate to it. Partly because (obviously) not all fat people are the same. I suspect the crux is where Gibbons’ experience is that where “people treat [her] like a sexy and confident curvy woman because [she acts] like a sexy and confident curvy woman” my experience of being confident led to people only being louder in their cruelty.
If books are like people, there are some you just don’t like. This book is that person. I don't regret having read it, I'm just glad it's over. I do hope it goes on to make many others feel more comfortable in their bodies: the world needs much more of that....more
Jeanette Winterson's work is known for postmodernist lyrical prose. She has never flinched away from darkness and gore, exploring various aspects of bJeanette Winterson's work is known for postmodernist lyrical prose. She has never flinched away from darkness and gore, exploring various aspects of being human, and the human past. However, this novella is not lyrical; there is no beauty in the writing to alleviate the heaviness in the lives of the characters. It's not that the writing is poor, only that it is straightforward.
In this piece historical fiction, Winterson weaves the aftermath of the 1605 Gunpowder Plot into the 1612 Pendle witch trials, with brief cameo by Shakespeare, setting the stage for exploring how man can become inhuman in hunting fellow men. A bit of an irony, really, as it's the hunted that are frequently portrayed as beastial or fiendish.
The curiosity in Winterson's story is that, in this fiction, as opposed to reality, some of the accused are actually witches. This is a bit of a moral dilemma to read, as these women were maligned to death with such accusations. And, other than, perhaps, our protagonist Alice Nutter, they were not "good witches," either. This book, like much of historical fiction that is heavier on the fiction than the historical, is a romp through the "what ifs" - what if they were witches, what if the two historical events were connected, what if Alice had been killed more for her connection to the Gunpowder Plot than witchcraft, what if Alice and Elizabeth Southerns had been lovers, and on from there.
The Daylight Gate is not a fun read, nor a pleasant one. There is both rape and torture in copious amounts. It was, however, a reminder to myself that as horrible as things seem in the present, as awful as I sometimes feel about humanity's ability to be kind to one another and the creatures we share Earth with -- things just a few centuries before were worse, so much worse. Which gives me hope there can yet be improvement....more
I normally paint myself as someone who will trade a decent plot for beautiful prose, but perhaps I have found my limit for that as being somewhere aro I normally paint myself as someone who will trade a decent plot for beautiful prose, but perhaps I have found my limit for that as being somewhere around 300 pages.
I don’t think I’m treading new ground to say I thought The Goldfinch would never end. There is such a thing as too much perfection. Tartt has a magic about her writing - without any obvious brush strokes, you are in a scene - you can see and smell and feel everything. She is a master at “show, not tell,” without being a diva about it and insisting on hitting high notes just for the sake of showing she can. But when the plot can be summarized in just over 1600 words on Wikipedia, and the book is nearly 750 pages long, you have to wonder if there couldn’t have been an in-between? I liked the first part of the book, my introduction to Tartt’s writing - but there were unbelievable moments even then. After a terrorist bomb takes out a museum, the narrator - a 13 year old boy, is not only the only survivor from his area of the museum, but he gets out without running into any responders and is shooed away from the site without anyone noticing he was obviously a victim. I’m not sure if we’re to think Theo is an unreliable narrator from the very beginning, or if it only requires the suspension of disbelief to proceed. While I realize social services is rarely perfect, dealing as they do, with the most imperfect of situations - there are enough adults and enough money involved that being sent off with an obviously unstable parent is implausible at best.
From there the story declines into just about every drama you can think of: child abuse, gambling, alcoholism, drug use and distribution, adultery, racism, art theft, international intrigue, unrequited love, wealth, terrorism, and gangs, to name a dozen. Almost no characters are likable by the end of the story, save Hobie.
All the same, I’m still interested in trying out Tartt’s other works, including The Secret History. But I might just double speed the audiobook through any lengthy narration....more