I know. I know you are looking at those stars and saying "Tja. Typical." But let me plead clemency by claiming somewhere between three and four and to...moreI know. I know you are looking at those stars and saying "Tja. Typical." But let me plead clemency by claiming somewhere between three and four and to be highly recommended by such reviews as:
If even half of what is printed in the name of publishing were of the quality of Marias' prose, laments about the dearth of decent reading material would reduce exponentially. He weaves strands with an effortless dexterity and offers nuggets of wisdom about the human character as lightly as a pebble is tossed into a stream; the problem was that I expected a grander show of linguistic acrobatics. Well worth your reading time, even if this reader was left looking at the party through the window and wishing the invite had afforded entry.(less)
I cannot think - I can only respond as the string of a violin quivers under the drawing of a bow. This is prose so voluptuo...more Ah! This writer is sublime.
I cannot think - I can only respond as the string of a violin quivers under the drawing of a bow. This is prose so voluptuous that no amount of imagery, sumptuous, voluminous, sensuous or rapturous can even begin to describe the delights of this book.
Literature only reaches the utmost limit of its seductiveness when it gives occasion for jealousy - not the petty feelings that constitute envy of one writer for another, but the searing, tumultuous emotion that demands withholding its beauty and wonder from the eyes of all other readers.
Goodreads, and GRers themselves, fundamentally inspire the reading of books and the writing of reviews and the interactions that occur as a result of...more Goodreads, and GRers themselves, fundamentally inspire the reading of books and the writing of reviews and the interactions that occur as a result of the collisions of both. The variations that inspiration engenders could probably be calculated using non-linear mathematics by the author of this speculative fiction piece given his prodigious applied and theoretical background in computing science, his achievements in chess, and his other publications.
This collection of reviews is, in part, the author's attempt to demonstrate concretely the reviewing styles available to the reader, should he or she choose to depart from the orthodoxy. While it is not a how-to Emannuel per se, it does contain explicit examples of the more popular adumbrations that abound. However, the author has failed to incorporate an increasingly popular trend emerging from various regions which employs the counterbalance of adopted melodies to emphasise, or even explicate, the value of the work being appraised. This should not detract either the casual observer or the interested scholar from approaching Pooh as a useful tool in self-expression; on the contrary, it can aid in both the germination and release of new ideas, methodologies for analysis, and general pontification on the meaning of life, the universe, and everything.
In summary:
THE EURHYTHMICS: Love is a Stranger*
Reviews like a stranger in the world of books To tempt you in and lead you far away Reviews like a stranger in the world of books To tempt you in and whirl you far away
And you read them, and you read them, and you read them here's a confession And you read them, and you read them, and you read them it's an obsession
Reviews are a danger of a viral kind To seduce your senses and manipulate your mind And books, books, books are a dangerous drug You have to imbibe them and you still can't to-be-read enough
They're savage and they're cruel and they shine like destruction They're an inferno and a deluge and they create their own religion They're noble and they're brutal, they distort and derange They drench you in thought and leave you in carnage.
And you read them, and you read them, and you read them it's an obsession
Reviews guilt edged, glamorous and sleek by design Reviewers fabulous by nature, riotous and wild They dazzle and they drain you and it's totally cruel They touch you and tease as you wander through the melee.
And you read them, and you read them, and you read them here's a confession And you read them, and you read them, and you read them it's an obsession.
I am sitting here with a USB stick I have just received from Australia, compliments of my mother, on which she has painstakingly copied hundreds of fi...moreI am sitting here with a USB stick I have just received from Australia, compliments of my mother, on which she has painstakingly copied hundreds of files from the floppy disks of my youth, amongst which I am convinced lies the key to my writerly fame and fortune.
(The last said very much tongue in cheek - not that I'm not convinced, just that I'm a fool. For thinking that either the files are readable - most are not, we're talking files that pre-date even MS DOS - or that fame and fortune await if I even manage to open the blighters.)
This book...this book...I read in Mozambique, in love and in lust and completely, absurdly infatuated with my delinquent, mendicant lifestyle and utterly terrified by the sneaking suspicion that it would sooner or later end in disaster (I suppose you could say it did, or it didn't, depending on which end of the conformity-to-convention spectrum you choose to sit).
Since I can't remember tiny iota of what Huxley wrote, other than that his words left me profoundly shaken as well as stirred, here are the collected quotations I stored and today managed to resurrect....Oh yes, and you can poke fun at my out-of-date (like the files) method of quoting, as well.
"...there's only one solution...l-o-v-e. Or if you prefer, the decent obscurity of the learned languages, agape, caritas, mahakaruna.". Ibid., p. 24.
"What a gulf between impression and expression!...our ironic fate - to have shakespearean feelings...the pure lyrics of experience [transmuted] into the verbal equivalents of tripe and hogwash.". Ibid., p. 36.
"...husbands: insupportable, but worth it....[?]...". Ibid., p. 43.
"...anger translates too well to lust, and sorrow surrenders to sensuality.". Ibid., p. 91.
"...morality is simply the systematic use of bad language.". Ibid., p. 94.
"...the divine was...in the nocturnal apocalypses of love...". Ibid., p. 98.
"What's lemonade? Something you make out of lemons. And what's a crusade? Something you make out of crosses...". Ibid., p. 102.
"...neither a methodist nor a masochist be.". Ibid., p. 103
"...the inner predestination of temperament and character...[and] the predestination of events...". Ibid., p. 115.
Sometime before my tenth birthday I read this book for the first time. I hated it. And I read it again. And again. I still hate it. And the Disney ver...moreSometime before my tenth birthday I read this book for the first time. I hated it. And I read it again. And again. I still hate it. And the Disney version is even worse.(less)
No. Those three stars are because this book has not read me. This book is utterly, if adroitly, contrived. It is belletristic masturbation of astoundi...moreNo. Those three stars are because this book has not read me. This book is utterly, if adroitly, contrived. It is belletristic masturbation of astounding proportions.
The three stars are an acknowledgement of Mr Mitchell's deliberately smug composition....see remainder of review at www.abookwithaview.com and the comments for a raise-the-eyebrows and dimple-the-cheeks discussion.(less)
A small piece of background is probably useful before plunging into the review 'proper'.
Caris (I've moved from Mr O'Malley to the more familiar term a...moreA small piece of background is probably useful before plunging into the review 'proper'.
Caris (I've moved from Mr O'Malley to the more familiar term at his invitation) and I became acquainted during the manic month known as NaNoWriMo, he as the die-hard spewer of the requisite 1667 words per day, I as the innocent reviewer of said words. It wasn't really a match made in heaven, since he specialises in a level of violence which makes Tarantino seem like Peter Pan's Wendy on a bad hair day (think Pulp Fiction where Travolta blows the brains out of someone, blood spraying everywhere and messing up the car rear window multiplied by a factor of infinity), and my reading tastes tend to coincide with those of a young middle-grader. The one scene in his Clownstory where we connected was when the hand of his hero/protagonist welded itself to a knife. As a serious and critical reviewer, I asked whether he was intending that the protagonist's other hand should also weld to the knife, thus making 'our hero' a completely hands-on dispatcher of insane clowns. As it turned out, I'm given to understand the suggestion had merit, but related little to the underlying theme of violent television programs, thus the protagonist served the purpose better by having his other hand make irreversible contact with an idiot box, before proceeding to nullify said clowns.
We briefly colluded on his review thread of Mykle Hansen's Ethical Cannibals where he promised to complete a collaborative project with Mr Hansen as a Part II entitled How to Assemble the Perfect People Taco. The conception was Caris' reading this break-through author, who, in lamenting the overlap with his own work, forms the basis for beginning this review. Caris' idea was given further credibility when acclaimed activist K.I. Hope, described it as "the best idea in the history of literature."
Which left us both at an impasse. Caris' imagination clearly attracted my own. So, in a moment of supreme sensibility he crafted the The Egg Said Nothing - Puppy Version, which I will now proceed to review.
We have a number of different interpretations which can be placed upon this novel. A well-received existentialist explanation defies description. In the same vein, although somewhat more pragmatic, if a little phlegmatic, this reviewer noted many boxes had been ticked and approved the psychic aspect of The Egg Said Nothing.
At least once, a reader felt so removed from his own reality as to envision himself falling asleep at the wheel in order to remain 'at one' with the book. The lack of spelling mistakes also indicates the depth of meaning this book can inspire.
The existence of the Egg itself could be said to have sparked controversy. What is its true meaning? Is it, in fact, a metaphor for gender roles? Does it signify the potential for developing a nesting instinct? Is it an analogy for a future in which both sexes will reproduce?
In ending this review, which has attempted to explain the fundamental temporal and mannyfold premise upon which this novel is built, let us return to K.I. Hope, who provides a lucid metaphysical deconstruction repeated elsewhere, mirroring the coda of The Egg Said Nothing.
History and I have a rather sporadic relationship. Ancient Greeks (mythology as well) for a semester in high school, some WWI/WWII in another high-sch...moreHistory and I have a rather sporadic relationship. Ancient Greeks (mythology as well) for a semester in high school, some WWI/WWII in another high-school semester, Australian colonial history as part of Social Science, and that's about it. I was deprived of the joys of a literary/history option at Uni, being intent on acquiring a piece of paper which would bequeath some form of 'employable' status, and Arts didn't (at the time) fall into that category, I'm sad to acknowledge.
So I tend to be a sucker for books which (pretend to - how can I judge?) have some historical basis and morph into fantasy (that way I don't feel guilty about not knowing the dates, names and famous places). In this case, not only has the author covered much of the Plantagenet history, but also contrived to introduce English/French animal mythology. Fundamentally the book is an historical fantasy romance and a coming-of-age, but with some intriguing elements that are a departure from the norm.
The book did drag in the middle (there's only so much history one can absorb, and I started to become a little bored with the Fox - more a reflection on me than the author), so I admit to having indulged in my usual practice of skimming chunks of text until my attenion was firmly re-hooked. It is a long read, but worthwhile for those of you who like decent prose, a heroine who develops, a look at history and European mythology, and reasonably well-structured plot/characters.
Aside: and it was another one that I picked up in an aeroport somewhere.(less)
This book is a sort-of thinking person's Judith Krantz (in the sense that there is quite some well-researched history included in the plot, and my onl...moreThis book is a sort-of thinking person's Judith Krantz (in the sense that there is quite some well-researched history included in the plot, and my only experience of Krantz to date has been Lily). It has a semi-autobiograhpical feel to it (check out the author's website) and a remarkable sense of what it's like to live in both London, Johannesburg, Singapore, New York (it certainly described much of my impressions in those places). It is, I would argue, firmly within the chick-lit genre, and yes, I picked it up at the airport because I had nothing to read and it was going to be a long flight (and I liked the cover). But I was surprised at being swept along with the prose, despite the fact that the plot/characters are fairly formulaic. If you only ever read chick-lit every-so-ofen, this is a better read than others of the ilk. If you are a true chick-lit fan, this should be on your bookshelf.(less)
This novel is one of those which could come carrying a warning label: "flammatory material", or a back cover blurb including: "no liability accepted f...moreThis novel is one of those which could come carrying a warning label: "flammatory material", or a back cover blurb including: "no liability accepted for wanton acts of a prurient nature."
Kushiel's Dart is fantasy without the Elves, Dwarves etc, a pseudo mediaeval and feudal Europe in which each character claims allegiance to one of the ruling gods. It also constitutes soft/hard-core pornography of various persuasions, and is laced with scenes of brutal savagery - the heroine is delightfully relieved of her skin by a tribe of hunters.
There's mystery and murder, minus the magic, politics between the monarchy and the ruling houses, espionage as well as traditional romance - even though the triangle angle has now been rendered old geometry, this book precedes the current fashion of threesomes and a heroine besieged with choice. In the case of Kushiel's Dart, at least the premise for such a construction is better founded than other works of fiction that don't require naming.
Is it tightly paced, action packed reading? I'm not sure, but I don't think so. I found it difficult to see the trees for the...ah...purple forest. I finished (by skimming chunks) of the book, and have no interest in the series. Running the gauntlet of human experiment has never really turned me on.(less)
Recently a Very Dear GR Friend (VDF for short) asked me the following question:
VDF: By the way, I'm very very curious. What I know of your views would...moreRecently a Very Dear GR Friend (VDF for short) asked me the following question:
VDF: By the way, I'm very very curious. What I know of your views would not have made me think that you would have rated Atlas Shrugged so highly. What was it about the book that made you feel so highly about it?
This is an excerpt from my response. You'll need to understand my system of Ratings/Review as well. Which I'm now violating by writing this:
GNF: I read Ayn Rand about a decade or more ago and I remember going around in a daze for weeks afterward - it just appeals to the anarchist in me, you see, at the visceral level: DOWN WITH THE EBEL STATE! - as well as feeling totally dicked off with the love story garbage, because for me it got in the way of the REAL STUFF: ANARCHY!!!!
Ahem. I was more impressionable in those days. If you made me read her again, would I have exactly the same reaction? I love hard work. Independence. I'm the right reader for what I interpreted as being her political message, although I know that her politial message isn't necessarily what I interpreted.
......
Oh, and I just thought of Rand again. Because Atlas Shrugged is supposed to be a dystopia, right? When I read it, I never even thought about that. I just thought about the freedom to work and produce without institutional strangling. I didn't even get the dystopic stuff (ie America as the last bastion of a global economy crashing down (if that is even what it is!) - cue cultural blind spot - in fact, she pissed me off for bagging out Europe the whole time, since I think the EU is probably more compassionate at the community level than the US), because the Valley just sounded great - wow, I want to go there and work!!! And by working hard and being compassionate to others and giving people the opportunity to be productive in a way personally satisfying the Valley society will be like that. No deadwood government smothering the individual's drive to create. That's predominantly all I took away from it. Which is of course completely loopy if you take Ayn Rand's personal circumstances into account. In the interim, I've read briefly about her and I think she suffers a bit of intellectual/emotional dishonesty too. But I didn't know anything about Rand when I read her book, hence the emotional 'starred' response.
******
So there you have it. No analysis of the prose. Not even understanding of Rand's message - in fact, as you've guessed, most of it flew right over my head. I'd have to go back and read it to know whether what I took out of it reflects the prevailing view as to what her philosophy and politics were. And I would have to read the prevailing view. First.
Why was Ovid, the most popular writer of his era, banished to the remote town of Tomis in the Black Sea from the seat of the Empire's power, Rome, and...moreWhy was Ovid, the most popular writer of his era, banished to the remote town of Tomis in the Black Sea from the seat of the Empire's power, Rome, and the side of his patron, Augustus?
Why are merely two lines of Medea, widely touted as his most ardent and accomplished work, the only surviving remnant of this play?
Between the historical facts of Ovid’s life, his admission that a poem and a mistake were the pillars of his ruin, and these tantalising enigmas, Jane Alison has wrought a hauntingly romantic drama of psychological manipulation and sensual intrigue.
Holidaying in the Black Sea on the outskirts of the Roman Empire and avoiding the potential displeasure of Augustus, Ovid chances upon an almost unearthly woman who epitomises the fantastical elements of his about-to-be published Metamorphoses. A delectable, desirable, alluring combination of mystic and witch, Xenia seems myth translated into life. Ovid is enchanted, obsessed, almost as a virgin youth experiencing his first love, he is brimming with inspiration: Xenia will be the muse for his pièce de résistance. But this time, he renders his subject seductively dark and twisted.
When autumn arrives, Ovid tempts Xenia from her home on the coast of the Black Sea to Rome with the promise of immortality only an artist can bequeath. The ineluctable noose of ambition lures Ovid and he enters a Faustian contract, deceiving his muse and hurling them both towards a retribution he never imagined. As Ovid and Xenia become entangled in his art-inspiring-life conspiracy and the schemes of his patrons, so the reader is ensnared in this chilling yet enthralling re-telling of the events leading to Ovid’s banishment.
The Love Artist is an exotic, brilliant and utterly compelling meditation on love, genius, and the artist's (and his or her muse) unswerving quest for immortality. Ms Alison’s prose is as bewitching as Xenia is described, as sensual and steamy as Ovid’s The Art of Love, and as flawlessly complex and evocative of Ancient Rome as any cinematic poem scribed by the classical poets.
Ms Alison foreshadows the events that will eventually engulf Ovid by opening her story with the journey of his exile to Tomis, but the story proper commences in the light and heat and smells of summer and the joy of the first stirrings of unexpected, overwhelming, infatuation. As the seasons fade into winter, so the menace of Ovid's plotting and the machinations of shadowy puppeteers shroud the protagonists until each is propelled along a path that can only result in a terrifying, profoundly disturbing conclusion.
Readers of lusciously written character-driven prose, who enjoy fictional history of the ancient world, with breath-taking twists of plot and consequence, will not be disappointed with The Love-Artist.(less)
Lawrence Durrell is not an easy author to read. His prose is long, fabulous, filled with wandering soliloquies and journeys into the human heart, mind...moreLawrence Durrell is not an easy author to read. His prose is long, fabulous, filled with wandering soliloquies and journeys into the human heart, mind, spirit which at first can seem completely lacking in intention and purpose, and mere descriptive play and fascination with the written word.
He writes on a number of levels and performs immense spatial-temporal tricks with both setting and characters so that at times it is difficult to understand not just where one is located in one's reading of the novel (taken as a group of five) but if one actually exists within it. Durrell speaks to those who can hear, and you may find yourself wondering whether you are a character he has written into the prose, living as one of the protagonists on simply another plane of his imagination.
Being a serial book-adulterer I have fallen into and wandered out of love with an amoral number of books - but I remain forever in thrall to the Alexa...moreBeing a serial book-adulterer I have fallen into and wandered out of love with an amoral number of books - but I remain forever in thrall to the Alexandria Quartet.
Of course, I may change my mind in ten years. Let's just wait and see.(less)
This series defied the imagination to suspend disbelief. I reached the last page by dint of strenuous effort and a supply of air-sickness bags, fully...moreThis series defied the imagination to suspend disbelief. I reached the last page by dint of strenuous effort and a supply of air-sickness bags, fully utilised.(less)
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