Jason has
564 books
(74 selected)
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| # | cover | title | author | isbn | isbn13 | asin | num pages | avg rating | num ratings | date pub | date pub (ed.) | rating | my rating | review | notes | recommender | comments | votes | read count | date started | date read |
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date purchased | owned | purchase location | condition | format | ||
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| 0679776451
| 9780679776451
| 4.31
| 51,698
| 1995
| Nov 30, 2001
|
Liking this book makes no sense. Not only are its characters subjected to like, the bleakest set of circumstances ever, but then those circumstances a...more
Liking this book makes no sense. Not only are its characters subjected to like, the bleakest set of circumstances ever, but then those circumstances are presented to the reader with such an alarming degree of authorial detachment that you almost have to wonder whether Mistry himself—fed up with the unending series of hardships his characters are required to endure—didn’t just raise his arms in the air and say, “Oh, fuck it.” And yet I could not tear myself away from this train wreck. A Fine Balance presents neither a balanced nor a very fine account of a group of four Indian residents during the late 1970s. These folks, heralding from different castes and backgrounds, are tossed together by their individually perturbing situations to forge an unlikely bond—not unlike the bond formed among the cast members of Big Brother or The Real World except that in this case, the glamorous hot tub around which the characters congregate is replaced by a broken propane stove and a rusty tap from which water can be drawn only occasionally. For those not brushed up on their political history, the late 1970s saw India under the rule of Prime Minister Indira Gandhi who, though largely considered one of India’s greatest prime ministers on account of her centralizing policies (the constitutionality of which, I suppose, could be debated), was certainly not among those in the author’s favor. Throughout the story, Mistry’s characters are continually being caught in Gandhi’s crossfire even while remaining mostly oblivious to the political climate surrounding them. We get the distinct impression that Mistry is trying really hard to keep his own opinions from interfering with the story, but it is pretty obvious dude’s got some serious bitterness issues to work out. Anyway, this book is not without its flaws. A few characters bump into each other under repeatedly, under no plausible pretext other than pure coincidence, and this coincidence occurs frequently enough, especially toward the end of the novel, that the reader has to remind himself that this is India we’re talking about here, right? The one with a population density of a thousand people per square mile? Mistry makes us feel like this might be an India under glass, where the characters are tiny steel balls and Mistry is controlling the flippers. This book is good, though. For all its doom and gloom, I still see the hope in its pages. Three of its characters are clothing tailors, and one of the repeated themes is something about how life is like the patchwork of a quilt, the good parts and the bad parts being sewn together—but if one were to try to remove the bad parts, he’d only end up with holes in his life. (I suppose you’d have to think positively when you share a crapper with 150 other villagers.)(less) | Notes are private!
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| Feb 19, 2013
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Dec 15, 2012
| Paperback
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| 1926801059
| 9781926801056
| 3.95
| 1,564
| 1926
| Jul 07, 2010
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What’s great about a Lovecraftian horror story, besides the fact that his writing is eerily similar to that of Jason Morais, is that it can afford suc...more
What’s great about a Lovecraftian horror story, besides the fact that his writing is eerily similar to that of Jason Morais, is that it can afford such a welcome reprieve from a weekend otherwise consumed by madness and violence, the kind of violence that disturbs the soul to its core. “The Call of Cthulhu” is the story of a man who uncovers evidence of otherworldly beings residing in a state of hibernation deep beneath the surface of the Earth’s oceans. Though the image of Cthulhu¹ is by no means original, as it is heavily borrowed from Scandinavian lore among other sources, Lovecraft’s descriptions—in this case of a bas-relief carved in its likeness—are still nothing short of chilling: It represented a monster of vaguely anthropoid outline, but with an octopus-like head whose face was a mass of feelers, a scaly, rubbery-looking body, prodigious claws on hind and fore feet, and long, narrow wings behind. This thing, which seemed instinct with a fearsome and unnatural malignancy, was of a somewhat bloated corpulence, and squatted evilly on a rectangular block or pedestal covered with undecipherable characters.And it is always a testament to good writing when a Google Image Search of that which is being described cannot turn up anything nearly as hair-raising as the text itself. On the other hand, this one is not half bad:  Cthulhu emerging from his ancient portal. The only thing that detracts from the story in my opinion is the fact that the narrator is too far removed from it. Assembling manuscripts left by his late uncle with pieces of testimony from those who had purportedly fallen under the spell of Cthulhu during his attempts to resurface, the narrator slowly pieces together an understanding of who or what Cthulhu is, a revelation that induces a profound sense of fear and anxiety in those who discover it, but which leaves the reader feeling a bit miffed at not having been taken on a more intimate journey. Even eyewitness accounts of those who had encountered Cthulhu personally are learned through diary readings rather than by interview. Nonetheless, it is a story worth reading, especially for those who are intrigued by the concept of the Island in Lost as something that protects the world from a source of evil. In many ways, the Smoke Monster is like Cthulhu in that both entities are responsible for baseline levels of dread in people everywhere, driving some of them to madness occasionally. I’d like to think the madness of the events of this weekend could be attributed to a resurfacing of the monster Cthulhu, but unfortunately for us we do not live in an H. P. Lovecraft story. I don’t know. I might read another Lovecraft, I might not. You people know I’m not crazy about the short story and short stories are pretty much all he has written. But he is from Rhode Island, the tiny state with the gargantuan ego, and that is pretty cool. He is like their Poe. And since Seth MacFarlane is one of their only other claims to fame (in the authorial/screenwriting context), maybe I should read more of him. ¹Cthulhu is pronounced Khlûl’·hloo, gutturally, in a way that calls attention to the otherworldliness of the being, as even its name is beyond the ability of human linguistics to phonologize.(less) | Notes are private!
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Dec 11, 2012
| Paperback
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| 0061928127
| 9780061928123
| 3.78
| 23,461
| 2012
| Jun 12, 2012
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Preconcetti sventato ancora una volta! Whoever designed the cover of this novel and came up with its title (because I refuse to believe either of these...more Preconcetti sventato ancora una volta! Whoever designed the cover of this novel and came up with its title (because I refuse to believe either of these disasters were Jess Walter’s doing) must have had one thing in mind: make this book appear to be as much of a chick-lit beach read as possible. And yes, while there are certainly elements of the chick-lit beach read here—some tender relationships, a sprinkle of sentimentality, a romance or twelve—it would be highly unfair to categorize it as so, because this book smashes that label to pieces and even transcends whichever other label one might try to apply to it. Beat that, labels! Walter is a skilled writer. For such a short book with its surprisingly large cast of characters, including (believe it or not) Richard Burton, Walter manages to do draw out each of them fully and beautifully, flaws and all. Traversing from post-war Italy to modern-day Hollywood and back again, the plot is expertly constructed. Though it does, at times, meander into predictable territory, it never stays there long, and the care with which Walter crafts the relationships among his characters—whether it be between a mother and her son, a young man and his comrade, or a widow and her never-forgotten flame—is a care reminiscent of that shown by Krauss in The History of Love. In fact, I think both novels succeed on a similar level (besides shattering my preconceptions), which is to address the often competing themes of desire and responsibility, imagining the possibilities of a life-that-could-have-been while ultimately reconciling it with the life-that-is. But also, yes. It is a love story: And the robot loves his master, alien loves his saucer, Superman loves Lois, Lex, and Lana, Luke loves Leia (till he finds out she’s his sister), and the exorcist loves the demon even as he leaps out the window with it, in full soulful embrace, as Leo loves Kate and they both love the sinking ship, and the shark—God, the shark loves to eat, which is what the mafioso loves, too—eating and money and Paulie and omertà—the way the cowboy loves his horse, loves the corseted girl behind the piano bar, and sometimes loves the other cowboy, as the vampire loves night and neck, and the zombie—don’t even start with the zombie, sentimental fool; has anyone ever been more lovesick than a zombie, that pale, dull metaphor for love, all animal craving and lurching, outstretched arms, his very existence a sonnet about how much he wants those brains? This, too, is a love story.And also, yes. Parts of it do take place on the Italian Riviera.  Get over it.(less) | Notes are private!
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| May 17, 2013
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Oct 30, 2012
| Hardcover
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| 0143039989
| 9780143039983
| 3.91
| 22,362
| 1959
| Nov 28, 2006
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My mom has always said that an involuntary shudder—a shiver going up your spine, if you will—indicates someone having just walked over your grave. Tha...more
My mom has always said that an involuntary shudder—a shiver going up your spine, if you will—indicates someone having just walked over your grave. That cold spot you pass through when walking from the living room into the foyer? That’s not a draft of unheated air coming from upstairs (cold air sinks, you’ll recall)—no, that’s a ghost. And the message written in blood on your bathroom mirror this morning? Well, er, let’s just ignore that for the time being. But really, what is our obsession with the paranormal or the supernatural? What makes it so fascinating even to those of us who don’t believe in it? Eleanor Vance isn’t sure she believes in it, and yet she agrees to spend a summer at an unoccupied house purported to be haunted. Eleanor reminds me of the unnamed narrator from Rebecca. She is insecure, introverted, and often finds herself fantasizing about her current and future situations. Dreams keep us sane, though, right? Or is the descent toward instability a more slippery path than we’d like to think? Eleanor is both intrigued by and simultaneously frightened by the concept of solitude. Being an introvert, some of her favorite fantasies involve being on her own, secluded from the unwelcome intrusion of others. But after a few nights in Hill House, maybe being alone isn’t such a grand idea. What induces fear in Eleanor and the other guests of Hill House is their inability to reconcile observed phenomena with fact-based logic at the moment it occurs. They encounter something for which an explanation cannot be immediately provided and their minds are unable to cope. So what happens when these unexplainable occurrences no longer induce fear? Has the fear been somehow conquered? Or is there something more sinister in the fact that the need to formulate logical explanation for the otherwise unexplainable is no longer pressing? Unlike this guy, I do not believe in spooks. But when the fight-or-flight response associated with fear is triggered in a secure setting—you are home with your significant other and the doors are locked, or you are at a Spooky World funhouse where you know the scares are manufactured—the adrenaline jolt can be a pretty fun thing to experience. And this book is a pretty fun thing to experience because Jackson’s choice to limit the perspective of the protagonist is effective at heightening the senses. Eleanor doesn’t always know what’s going on around her, so neither does the reader. Not only is the line between the living and the dead somewhat blurred, but so is the line separating Eleanor’s internal ventures from that which she perceives externally. It is suffocatingly frightful, I say. So for those who don’t believe in ghosts, how many of you would be willing to spend a few nights in a house considered haunted by restless spirits? After all, you don’t even believe in restless spirits, so what is there to be afraid of? Except, how would you feel if people refused to believe in you?(less) | Notes are private!
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| Oct 20, 2012
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Sep 19, 2012
| Paperback
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| B006NKL8BQ
| 4.34
| 3,481
| 1913
| Feb 06, 2012
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Initially published in French between 1913 and 1927, Marcel Proust’s seven-part work In Search of Lost Time (also called Remembrance of Things Past) h...more
Initially published in French between 1913 and 1927, Marcel Proust’s seven-part work In Search of Lost Time (also called Remembrance of Things Past) has undergone a befuddling series of translations. The “Moncrieff–Kilmartin–Enright” version, made available for this Modern Library publication, is essentially the original C. K. Scott Moncrieff translation with further revisions by Terence Kilmartin in 1984 (based on the 1954 definitive French text) and D. J. Enright in 1992. As I finish each volume, I will rate and review it individually. All seven volumes of In Search of Lost Time can be found on my À-la-recherche-du-temps-perdu shelf. They are also listed here: ________________________________________ In Search of Lost Time 1. Swann’s Way – my review (★★★★★) 2. Within a Budding Grove – my review (currently reading) 3. The Guermantes Way – my review (☆☆☆☆☆) 4. Sodom and Gomorrah – my review (☆☆☆☆☆) 5. The Captive¹ – my review (☆☆☆☆☆) 6. The Fugitive¹ – my review (☆☆☆☆☆) 7. Time Regained² – my review (☆☆☆☆☆) ________________________________________ ¹In the Modern Library edition, The Captive and The Fugitive are combined into a single volume, but I will rate/review them separately. ²The Kilmartin–Enright revision of Time Regained is based on an English translation by Andreas Mayor, as Scott Moncrieff died in 1930.(less) | Notes are private!
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Aug 16, 2012
| Kindle Edition
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| 0375751548
| 9780375751547
| 4.13
| 13,088
| 1913
| Jun 23, 1998
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Memory is a slippery little sucker. It constitutes an elusive, transient cache of data, the reliability of which decreases in reverse proportion to th...more
Memory is a slippery little sucker. It constitutes an elusive, transient cache of data, the reliability of which decreases in reverse proportion to the length of time it has been stored. It can even be a blatant liar! How often have we found ourselves convinced of the details a particular memory only to have those details called into question by some testimony or other of which we have been made newly aware? It is almost frightening how quickly and naturally the bytes of our mind can be removed and supplanted by ones more convenient, ones designed to soothe our psyche, thereby allowing us to live at peace with ourselves. Marcel Proust was not a psychologist, but he may as well have been, what with his ridiculous understanding (the kids are using the word “ridiculous” to mean like, way amazing, these days) of the fluidity of memory, and more specifically, of involuntary memory, which may or may not be any more reliable than that which is conjured consciously. Though we believe a person or a place from our past remains stationary in our idea of them while its true-life counterpart adapts and progresses, Proust shows us how memory can have a life of its own, as well. And yet when his narrator bites into that famous piece of sponge cake and transports us back to the days of his French childhood, we go willingly, not hesitating to question the accuracy or the validity of his musings. Because it doesn’t matter. When in Proust’s world, it is the remarks on human nature and memory and social customs and relationships and whatever else comes with that trip that makes it so worthwhile. The best part of Swann’s Way, by far, is the intricate portrayal, from beginning to end ((view spoiler)[but evidently not really the end (hide spoiler)]), of the relationship between Swann and Odette. Their relationship is doomed from the start, being based on superficialities at its onset and becoming increasingly toxic as it progresses, yet by no means does its toxicity ever invalidate the love Swann has for Odette. That part of it is wholeheartedly genuine. For anyone who has ever been in such a relationship, it is kind of wild how realistically it is depicted. For anyone who has ever witnessed objectively a friend in such a relationship, it is kind of wild how recognizable the signs are of its toxicity, and how it seems to tap us on the shoulder, reminding us of the ease with which we must at the time have said, “I wonder why he doesn’t just leave her and move on with his life?” This book really blew me away. For all the difficulties I anticipated reading Marcel Proust, I have to admit how pleased I was by its readability. I think what I enjoyed most, besides its perfectly constructed sentences, was that if I had been able to track the number of times I would encounter a passage that so exquisitely peels away the complicated layers of the human condition, exposing its unadulterated innards, I...well, I suppose I’d have reached a pretty high number. Having embarked on In Search of Lost Time in full ignorance, I have no idea what to expect next, but part of me wonders if “Swann in Love” isn’t meant to foreshadow the budding of a similar relationship between the narrator and Gilberte. I suppose we’ll find out. Main Review Page for In Search of Lost Time(less) | Notes are private!
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| Feb 16, 2013
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Aug 10, 2012
| Paperback
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| 0679760806
| 9780679760801
| 4.32
| 60,526
| 1966
| Mar 19, 1996
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The Chicago Tribune wrote: “The book is by turns hilarious, mysterious, contemplative and poignant, and everywhere full of rich descriptive passages.”...more
The Chicago Tribune wrote: “The book is by turns hilarious, mysterious, contemplative and poignant, and everywhere full of rich descriptive passages.” Hilarious and contemplative my ass, CT. This book is an interminable slog. Look, here’s the deal. I get that this book satirizes 1930s Stalinist Russia, and I get that—for some—this earns The Master and Margarita a place on their “works-of-historical-importance” shelves. But for me, it earns nothing. I mean, let’s just call a spade a spade, shall we? There are articles in the Journal of Biological Chemistry that have more successfully held my attention than this Bulgakovian bore. (Exhibit A) To start, the characterization in this book is near zero. Although there is a point where some barely discernable personality traits become apparent in one or two of the characters, by the time the reader makes it this far the show is nearly over. And if by curtain call the reader discovers Woland and his retinue to be even remotely interesting, it is not because of careful character construction. It’s more like the end of a really stuffy dinner party when you begin making your parting rounds. The thrill is in the palpability of finally being free of these people. Toodle-oo! And what is the author’s intent here, to single out the literary bureaucrats and the nouveaux riche? If so, the demographic is not effectively targeted. The Faustian demon who comes to wreak havoc across Moscow does so seemingly at random, with little adherence to agenda. Bartenders, ticket sellers, poets, little old ladies—they are all ambushed. It is clear someone needs to take a lesson from Omar Little, who “ain’t never put no gun on no citizen.” Whatever. I’m tired of even writing about this book. Before we part, though, I’ll leave you with several examples of yet another unworthy aspect of this novel: its ridiculous sentences. Here are some of my favorites. To tell the truth, it took Arkady Apollonovich not a second, not a minute, but a quarter of a minute to get to the phone.I ask this question in complete earnestness: is this supposed to be funny? I have absolutely no idea. Quite naturally there was speculation that he had escaped abroad, but he never showed up there either.Huh? The bartender drew his head into his shoulders, so that it would become obvious that he was a poor man.Yeah, I give. I don’t even pretend to understand what this means. Anyhoo, hey—it’s been a pleasure meeting you all; we should do this again soon. Toodle-oo!(less) | Notes are private!
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| Sep 24, 2012
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Jul 26, 2012
| Paperback
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| 0307353451
| 9780307353450
| 3.40
| 1,111
| Oct 02, 2007
| Oct 02, 2007
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A book of Coulter quotes? This book is probably not for me. Although with gems like these, perhaps I should reconsider... “I know Jesus Christ died for...more A book of Coulter quotes? This book is probably not for me. Although with gems like these, perhaps I should reconsider... “I know Jesus Christ died for my sins and that’s all I really need to know.”Funny, but not funny enough to convince me ever to read this.(less) | Notes are private!
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Jul 22, 2012
| Hardcover
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| 0786803614
| 9780786803613
| 3.98
| 5,246
| Jan 01, 2000
| Aug 01, 2000
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Aww, I wish my kids liked this more than they did. I mean they did like it, definitely, but they didn’t like like it, you know? And this review is goi...more
Aww, I wish my kids liked this more than they did. I mean they did like it, definitely, but they didn’t like like it, you know? And this review is going to have to reflect their reaction to it, not mine, because personally I think this book is cute. But evidently they have different tastes than I do, and who am I to judge? (Just for the record, though, those little jerks wouldn’t know a good book if it bit ’em in the ass.) The Doll People is the story of a bunch of anthropomorphic dolls who’ve lived with the same real-people family for several generations. The premise of this is adorable—for freaking real, if it were my house those dolls would have been put to curbside the minute my kids had outgrown them. Who the hell keeps dolls around that long?? So the dolls have taken a sort of oath to keep secret the fact that they are alive, and if they fail in that endeavor then they enter a frozen state of lifelessness called, appropriately, Doll State. The main doll character Annabelle has to solve the mystery of her aunt’s disappearance without getting caught in Doll State, or without being discovered and carried off by the household cat. I think what ruined it for my kids, though, was my boring monotonous voice. If I could have put a little life into the reading it might have been improved for them, but I don’t enjoy reading aloud and I couldn’t always muster the vocal enthusiasm. I’m sorry kids but it’s all about me. This has been a miserably hot summer and Daddy is a little bitch when he overheats. Anyway, they can read it again when they get older if they want to. They are 5 and 7 now, and this book is probably targeted at a 7 to 9 year-old reading level. It is 250 pages intermittently dispersed with small black-and-white sketches, so most of the page is text, but it is of a large enough font that it should not be too intimidating for this age group. Personally, I wouldn’t take the advice of my kids. See what yours think.(less) | Notes are private!
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Jul 08, 2012
| Hardcover
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| 0312427484
| 9780312427481
| 4.00
| 11,314
| 1998
| Mar 04, 2008
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I am so late to this party! Sorry, I meant to share my review of The Savage Detectives sooner but things got sort of crazy. I was enjoying a Cuba Libre...more I am so late to this party! Sorry, I meant to share my review of The Savage Detectives sooner but things got sort of crazy. I was enjoying a Cuba Libre at El Loto de Quintana on Avenida Guerrero near the Glorieta de Insurgentes with Ian Graye’s visceral reviewers, the self-proclaimed readers of the Goodreads avant-garde. We were discussing the poetry of Alberto Bonifaz Nuño and López Velarde and even the butch queer Manuel José de la Cruz from San Luis Potosí when I noticed the waitress Jacinta Rúbin eyeing me from behind the bar. It was clear what she wanted. Her English may not have been the best, but the meaning of her language required no translation. I quickly ordered a shot of tequila, downed it, and followed Señorita Rúbin to the back storage closet. The wet, sloppy blow job she gave me was amazing and I wanted to tell her I loved her but instead I cleaned myself up and left the bar through the back alleyway, wandering over toward the Encrucijada Veracruzana on Calle Bucareli in Colonia Lindavista. It was there that I indulged in a few more Cuba Libres, which undoubtedly caused me to receive looks of disgust from some of the other patrons, but it nonetheless strengthened my resolve to return to El Loto de Quintana. When I entered the bar, I noticed that the visceral reviewers had left, but Señorita Rúbin was still there, and when she finished her shift she asked me to accompany her back to the first-story flat she rented in the seedy part of Coyoacán reserved mostly for the city’s prostitutes and drug dealers, and I went. She asked me if I was a virgin and I told her no, which was a lie and I’m not sure why I said it except that it felt like the right answer at the time. We fucked six times between midnight and 4 a.m. which must be some kind of record. In the morning I returned to Calle Bucareli where the visceral reviewers were eating their breakfast, already having discussed their reviews of The Savage Detectives, but even though I am late to this party (DAMN YOU, JACINTA RÚBIN!), my entry into their collected works has been graciously accepted. It is therefore time to present my review. But first, let us order an El Diablo and talk a bit about some poetry...
This review is as much about Roberto Bolaño’s novel as the novel itself is about visceral realism. In tribute to Jenn(ifer) and her style of song inclusion, here is the appropriate accompaniment to this Goodreads “review”: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=soHq5-...(less) | Notes are private!
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| Aug 02, 2012
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Jul 07, 2012
| Paperback
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| 9781476083063
| unknown
| 4.12
| 33
| May 28, 2012
| May 28, 2012
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Stephen is such a vapid tool. How can someone with this much space between his ears even function? It is no wonder that Stephen can’t satisfy his girl...more
Stephen is such a vapid tool. How can someone with this much space between his ears even function? It is no wonder that Stephen can’t satisfy his girlfriend because Stephen has nothing going for him other than his oversized penis. He’s like one of those beefed up gym monkeys, but if you knock, there doesn’t appear to be anybody home. So what’s a girl to do? Well in this chilly twist of the erotic comedy genre, Stephen’s girlfriend needs to take matters into her own hands. When the vapid tool leaves her high and dry yet again one frigid evening, Stephen’s girlfriend finds herself becoming the subject of some icy stares from a frozen gentleman in her yard. What happens next is some seriously fucked up shit that I cannot divulge on this G-rated site that is Goodreads, but I’m sure a few cool snippets wouldn’t hurt. Check it: I decided to just start with what came naturally, with—I guess you would call it—a “snow job”??Or, even better: “Oh god, give me that South Pole!” I cried in abandonment.Writing like this has set a new standard of quality for short fiction that has authors across the globe cursing Auralie Vierge under their breaths for her remarkable prose. Here’s one more: The Eskimos may have a hundred words for snow, but at that moment, I only had two: Fuck. Yeah.You’ve heard it here first, folks. This book is a delicious treat and if there’s any part of this review I can type with a straight face, it is this: of all the snowman porn I’ve ever read, Snowballin’ is easily the best. Get it here: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/166401(less) | Notes are private!
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Jun 08, 2012
| ebook
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| 0571207227
| 9780571207220
| 3.98
| 2,368
| 2003
| 2005
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A book about screwed up people and their screwed up lives! It’s like it was written specifically for me. The thing is, this book has got some flaws......more
A book about screwed up people and their screwed up lives! It’s like it was written specifically for me. The thing is, this book has got some flaws...big ones. But for the most part, the flaws are mitigated by good writing and by ambitious insight into human motivation—the factors that influence our behavior and interpersonal relationships. It’s like a Franzen novel, but with a psychological twist. The Flaws First of all, the connections in this novel are way too convenient. I could get past the fact that Anna, who used to screw Simon, is now tired of screwing Joe, and that Joe, who misses screwing Anna, has been enjoying screwing Angelique, and that Angelique, who has been screwing both Joe and Simon, is going to end up getting screwed by everybody. But then Perlman introduces even more coincidental connections that reduce his world to bizarrely small proportions, making the whole thing seem mildly claustrophobic. Also, the characters are unlikeable. This is not necessarily a flaw in itself, as there are plenty of novels I love which contain characters that I do not; the flaw stems from the fact that I suspect I’m meant to like these characters, especially the protagonist Simon. Does the fact that I don’t like him mean the author has failed? Have I failed? When there is ambiguity between my emotional response to a character and what I suspect is the author’s intent, I feel uneasy. To me, these characters are self-centered, short-sighted, and their behavior, even after understanding the motivations behind it, makes it difficult for me to empathize with them. My last gripe is that the final chapter of the book contributes very little to the story. There are seven chapters in all, each presenting a first-person account of a character mixed up in this tangled web of betrayals. They are: 1. Alex, the Compromised PsychiatristEach of the characters is in some way involved in the plot and provides insight into his character and the characters with whom he interacts. The exception to this is Rachael, who has nothing to do with the story at all. Rachael’s chapter seems only to exist to push forth Perlman’s views on moral ambiguity and on what constitutes mental health. Rachael’s account feels out of place, and it is written from a future perspective which gives the characters a form of closure that does not suit them. Their futures, along with their moral certitude, should remain as ambiguous as it was in the rest of the book. The Insight This part is pretty awesome. One of the first things this novel analyzes is the concept of human behavior and the motivations that drive it. These motivations could be something palpable such as hunger or sexual desire, or they could be more tenuous like jealousy or the need for social acceptance. Psychology professor Abraham Maslow categorizes these motivating factors into a hierarchical structure that provides a basic understanding of which needs take precedence over others and how they come to dominate human behavior. Like this!
Maslow’s hierarchy of needs separates “deficiency needs” from “betterment needs.” The deficiency needs are lower level needs that must be met before moving on to the betterment, or higher level, needs. Without having fulfilled one’s deficiency needs, he will not have the capacity for betterment. Of course, this is all an attempt at generalization—humans are much more complicated than this, and there are often multiple motivators occurring simultaneously that influence a person’s behavior. But overall, if someone has the emotional maturity to seek constant betterment, then it can be deduced that the person’s lower level needs have been met, and he’s probably in a state of sufficient mental health. This title of this book takes its name from the the work of a poetry critic, William Empson, who talked about the elements of a poem that give it its greatness—specifically, a sense of ambiguity in word meanings. But Perlman refers here actually to the moral ambiguity of his characters, which is another topic of interest this novel addresses. In many ways, the protagonist Simon reminds me of Tony from The Sense of an Ending. He acts primarily out of self-interest but is too full of himself to see it that way, convincing himself instead that his actions are altruistic, and even goes so far as to throw his moral superiority into the faces of those he has clearly wronged. Tony may not have been, but Simon is by most definitions mentally unstable. In fact, Simon’s mental health issues form the basis of this novel. Simon is described as having two particular traits that affect his mental health. First, he is acutely aware of the world around him—too acutely aware. “The illumination is not worth the candle.” Second, his self-appointed sense of empathy prevents him from attaining happiness because he is constantly concerned, so he says, with the welfare of others. He sees altruism on the decline in society and it depresses him. But, you say, there are plenty of those who have an acute awareness of other people’s pain and the strong tendency to empathize with them, and not all of those people are mentally unstable, right? So true! And this is explained by a trait of last resorts called “learned helplessness.” If we convince ourselves that we are unable to change a situation for the better, even our acute awareness and our overwhelming sense of empathy will not be enough to make us batshit nuts. Perlman essentially describes the state of mental health as being one in which there is not an acute awareness or there is not an over-concern for others; or if these traits both exist, that they are kept at bay by learned helplessness. The fact that most people see the world through a lens of ambiguity, or the fact that we are driven by our desire to fulfill our own needs helps protect us from mental breakdown. Throughout his life, Simon has acted mostly out of a motivation to satisfy higher level needs, which explains his ability to empathize (as his basic needs have already been met). But after losing his job he falls down the rungs a bit, and within a short time his behavior becomes dominated again by deficiency needs. This causes him to temporarily lose the ability to empathize and the danger for Simon lies in the fact that he is unable to acknowledge this. Combined with his grandiose sense of self-worth which disallows any learned helplessness on his part, Simon becomes delusional and these delusions are what end up driving his behavior. I’m really glad to have read this book. Novels that pick apart the nuances of human motivation greatly interest me and Seven Types of Ambiguity is no exception, especially considering that the insight it provides far transcends its shortcomings.(less) | Notes are private!
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Jun 05, 2012
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| 0306809907
| 9780306809903
| 4.05
| 14,000
| 1988
| Aug 11, 2000
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This book is heartbreaking. I grew up in a very liberal part of the country. My family is comprised mostly of hard-working European immigrants who valu...more This book is heartbreaking. I grew up in a very liberal part of the country. My family is comprised mostly of hard-working European immigrants who value education above all else. In many ways, I should be the last person able to appreciate or understand life in small-town Texas with its conservative values and its unhealthy obsession with high school sports. Yet, I actually did attend a private junior/senior high school with a hockey program that is probably the best in the country. We won the state championship every single year of my six years there, which was in fact part of a twenty-six year streak of consecutive titles. Dozens upon dozens of students from my school have been drafted by the NHL. So perhaps the whole concept of “high school sports are the most important thing you’ll ever do in your life and enjoy it because it is all downhill from there” shouldn’t be so foreign to me after all. But nope, it is still foreign to me. Very foreign. This book reminds me of about a handful of John Mellencamp songs that praise the glory days of youth and that try to recall a feeling of nostalgia for a simpler time and place. Mostly I feel sorry for anyone who actually identifies with any of that, as it just perpetuates the nonsense that one will spend the majority of his life with his best days behind him. To me that’s a bit pathetic. This book, though, is a complete embodiment of the Mellencamp philosophy. It is the story of the 1988 football season of Permian High School in Odessa, Texas. It is the story of the town itself, insular and deeply rooted in social conservatism, unabashedly ignorant of the larger national political scene, and seriously, seriously racist. Oh my God, how racist. But above it all, town pride for its high school football team shines through—pride that is fundamental to its nature, to its identity. No connection in all of sports was more intimate than this one, the one between town and high school.On the surface, the intensity with which the townspeople of Odessa embrace their high school football team is rather endearing. It gives the kids something to do on a Friday night; it gives them something to work for and to be proud of. But as the author delves further, the intensity starts to seem a little grotesque. These people depend on high school football to survive. More than just an escape from the financial ruin that has set in since the Texas oil bust, high school football is the only thing that matters. They live vicariously through these teenagers, these children, as if they are somehow their only connection to anything good or right in the world. That’s a pretty heavy burden for a 17 year-old to bear. And more than that, these 17 year-olds start to believe it themselves—that there’s nothing else for them beyond high school football. They are hit in the head with this concept over and over again as very little concern is shown for their academic progress. To their peers, their teachers, their counselors, their parents, town officials, and to basically everyone else in their sheltered world, high school football is the most important thing they will ever have. And yet as sad as this is, I found myself getting caught up in it: the excitement, the rush, the adrenaline of the game. It’s dangerous. It’s dangerous to glamorize something that should really only represent a small part of someone’s life, but it was easy to understand how one could get wrapped up in it. I think this book is worth reading. I think it’s important. And I don’t think you need to be a high school football fan, or even a sports fan in general, to appreciate it. Permian High School Panthers: 1988 Football SeasonDon’t mess with Texas.(less)vs. Palo Duro Dons — LOSS (Pre-Season) | Notes are private!
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| Jun 25, 2012
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Jun 04, 2012
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| 0385344228
| 9780385344227
| 3.94
| 52,437
| Jan 01, 2012
| Jan 31, 2012
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I’ve always had a weakness for these mystery/crime thrillers—you know, the dragon tattoos and angels & demons of the world? I suppose I should be...more
I’ve always had a weakness for these mystery/crime thrillers—you know, the dragon tattoos and angels & demons of the world? I suppose I should be a little embarrassed by this but I’m not. They are my peanut butter and fluff. Defending Jacob is some of the best fluff I’ve ever tasted. It is written by a former assistant district attorney from Massachusetts with a real knack for this type of storytelling—Jacob is perfectly paced with a tugging suspense that doesn’t abate until the final sentence. And it’s rife with all this legal mumbo jumbo so sometimes you forget it’s just fluff (don’t worry, though, it will remind you). By the end, my adrenaline levels were so high I needed to borrow my Mom’s blood pressure pills. If you don’t want spoilers, you should probably stop reading now because I can only avoid them for so long. The thing I love about this book is its delve into the personal. The assistant DA’s teenage son is implicated in the murder of his classmate and so even though this is at some level a legal drama, it is also a family drama. To switch roles from lead prosecutor to paternal protectorate is obviously necessary for the ADA, but it does nothing to curb the tide of repercussions for him, his family, and the case. I was also riveted by my own fluctuation between empathy for a boy unjustly dealing with a murder rap and revulsion for him as doubts of his innocence grew. Also, this book has wicked cool courtroom scenes. Although the novel’s “present” occurs mostly during the aftermath of the murder and the murder trial itself, the story is interwoven with witness testimony from a grand jury trial that occurs six months later…which must clearly be unrelated to the events of the current murder trial, right? This seemingly unrelated testimony adds to the suspense of the book and its relevance is not revealed until the final chapter. And if you want to know what that relevance is, it turns out to be this: (view spoiler)[ (hide spoiler)].(less) | Notes are private!
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| Apr 15, 2012
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Mar 04, 2012
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| 0393328627
| 9780393328622
| 3.87
| 60,472
| Apr 01, 2005
| May 17, 2006
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I need to cut the crap with my preconceptions. Although I almost unfailingly launch into a new novel with great enthusiasm like a kid on Christmas mor...more
I need to cut the crap with my preconceptions. Although I almost unfailingly launch into a new novel with great enthusiasm like a kid on Christmas morning, anxious to discover what hidden treasure awaits, for some reason I held out little hope for Mrs. Foer’s book about a book about love. Maybe it’s because books about books about love aren’t usually my thing? Maybe it’s because I read her husband’s bestseller last year and was less than impressed? Maybe it’s because I had heard somewhere that they wrote their books together (oh, how adorable!), bouncing ideas off one another and giving each other high fives, so naturally I assumed that if Mr. Foer’s book was gimmicky (which it is), then The History of Love would surely be a major eye-roller as well, right? Wrong. Whatever the reason, I was clearly out of line, and for that I owe Nicole a huge apology. In this book she weaves three intersecting storylines all under a cloud of intriguing ambiguity, so even though it is understood that the stories are related, it isn’t exactly clear how until about two-thirds of the way through. And as the stories of Leopold Gursky, Alma Singer, and Zvi Litvinoff are told to us, they leave an imprint on us even before we learn for sure who they are. The History of Love is a gorgeous novel with gorgeous characters who do what characters do best: they love and they lose, they struggle and they fail, and if lucky they learn how to pick up the pieces and survive. For them, survival is not a destination but a journey. There’s no magic cure and there’s no end-all. But taken one day at a time, it is possible to live a life worth living. Krauss reminds us that all we really want is to remain visible—to be known, to be loved, and to be remembered by those who knew and loved us. I won a copy of this book through World Book Night, a program begun in the UK last year to spread the love of reading. That program has now arrived in the US, and even though I technically shouldn’t have qualified for receiving a copy of this—WBN books are supposed to have been given only to “light” readers in the hopes that they become “moderate” readers—I will make sure that it will have been worth their while by spreading my love for this book about a book about love.(less) | Notes are private!
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| May 28, 2012
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Feb 28, 2012
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| 0062041266
| 9780062041265
| 3.82
| 26,563
| Apr 26, 2011
| Apr 26, 2011
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This book has the coolest cover ever. What’s great, though, is that the coolness doesn’t end there. Charlie and Eli sisters are Gold Rush–era contract...more This book has the coolest cover ever. What’s great, though, is that the coolness doesn’t end there. Charlie and Eli sisters are Gold Rush–era contract killers. They’re hired for what Eli hopes to be their last job, as he’d much prefer to hang his holster and settle down with a nice girl—or failing that, the first trollop that crosses his path. It makes no difference to him, really (dude is such a sweetheart). Charlie, on the other hand, is the less sensitive one. It’d be tougher to convince him to make sound retirement plans, what with the allure of all that cash and booze that accompanies “the job.” Sounds like the makings of some brilliant Coen brothers film, doesn’t it? In fact, this book is brilliant. It is light and humorous without being superficial, it is touching and poignant without being sappy, and with dialogue redolent of Deadwood, I have to wonder if David Milch didn’t have a consulting role here. Although maybe that’s really the way people spoke in the latter half of the 19th century, in which case, never you mind. But truly, this book deserves any praise it receives. It’s a pleasurable read with vividly entertaining characters, and the only thing disappointing about it is that it ends far too quickly.  P.S. Don’t pretend this book doesn’t remind you of Seth Bullock.(less) | Notes are private!
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| Apr 12, 2012
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Jan 25, 2012
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| 0743457900
| 9780743457903
| 3.99
| 20,383
| 1974
| Oct 01, 2002
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A few months ago a stylish looking British adaptation of Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy was released in theaters and I was intrigued. But I knew better....more
A few months ago a stylish looking British adaptation of Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy was released in theaters and I was intrigued. But I knew better. Movies are for smart people. If I had to constantly nudge my wife during Superbad to ask questions like, “so who is that guy again?” and “wait, is she the same one from before?” then I had to admit that seeing this movie would only serve to make me feel very confused and intellectually inadequate. I do better with books. Books explain things. Books are for people who need a little, uh, help in the hand-holding department. So like any other self-respecting moron, I decided to read the book instead (or at least, before seeing the movie)—that way I could have everything explained to me nice, nice. But I was duped. When my friend asked me to go with him to see Tinker Tailor, I told him it was not possible. I explained my reasoning while he nodded agreeably, accepting my oddities without judgment. But then he said, “I think you’ll find this to be an exception to your rule. In this particular case, you’re going to want to have seen this movie before reading the book. Trust me.” What. A Freaking. Liar. As soon as those last two words were uttered, warning bells should have gone off in my head. But I took him at his word and went to see a movie with the most convoluted plot I’d ever tried to absorb. 120 minutes later I had a raging migraine. I now understood the lengths to which someone would go in order to have a companion at the movies. I suppose I can’t begrudge a man that small favor, and I was not entirely the worse for wear—800 mg of ibuprofen and a good night’s sleep restored my faculties wonderfully. And that’s when I decided to read the book. John le Carré’s novel retains all the plot complexity of the movie and then some, but it is delivered in such a way that is digestible. Even though I knew the fate of Colin Firth’s character, my pulse still raced at the novel’s climax. The author opens up a world of secrets, lies, espionage, and scandal that are somewhat missing from my everyday life, but seem to be more or less commonplace in a Europe engulfed in the Cold War. Mistrust and paranoia run as naturally as snowfall in New England. I am generally very glad to have read this book despite having done so after seeing the movie.(less) | Notes are private!
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| Jan 31, 2012
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Jan 25, 2012
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| 1451627289
| 9781451627282
| 4.23
| 100,999
| Jan 01, 2011
| Nov 08, 2011
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Hi, my name is Jake Epping and I’m a dull high school English teacher who has decided to go back in time to prevent JFK from being assassinated. I’ve...more
Hi, my name is Jake Epping and I’m a dull high school English teacher who has decided to go back in time to prevent JFK from being assassinated. I’ve decided to do this primarily because a fat man who serves me 53 year-old cheeseburgers (with whom I share only a vague casual acquaintance) has told me that I should. There is no other real reason for me to being doing this. There really isn’t. Once I’m there, I will also risk my life to save a bunch of other people that I barely know because I want to demonstrate how amazingly selfless I am. It is important to me that I am well-liked. I will fuck up several times, but that is no problem because I have no life and therefore I will simply go back in time again and repeat the experience until I get things right. At some point along the way, I will fall in love with an 80 year-old woman. But don’t worry!—when I go back in time, she’s 27. So that’s no problem, either. Anyway, once I (view spoiler)[save JFK and am thanked with a lifetime supply of beer, I will finally return to the present. But oh no!—saving JFK has caused massive earthquakes (WHAAA???) and now the entire country is a complete nuclear wasteland!! And yet even though there is no plausible reason whatsoever for this to be the case (hide spoiler)], I will nonetheless accept it as true and simply go back a-fucking-GAIN just to undo what I spent 800 pages doing. And that is my story. Except actually it isn’t. Now that I’ve returned more or less permanently to the back-to-normal present, I have decided to hunt down my former lover like the psychopath that I am and dance with her one last time. In my head, it’s oh-so-sweet and will bring a tear to your eye. But in your sane reality, it will probably have the effect of making you want to vomit—cuz she’s EIGHTY. It’s like that scene in Ghost where Sam uses Oda Mae’s body to put the moves on Molly. We get that it’s Patrick Swayze in spirit, but somehow we can’t let go of the knowledge that it’s actually Whoopi Goldberg who’s feeling up Demi Moore.(less) | Notes are private!
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| Jan 09, 2012
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Dec 21, 2011
| Hardcover
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| 0375726403
| 9780375726408
| 3.85
| 52,696
| Jan 01, 2001
| Apr 12, 2002
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I’ve really fallen in love with the characters in this one. To me, the most difficult thing to do in literature is develop a character. Character-drive...more I’ve really fallen in love with the characters in this one. To me, the most difficult thing to do in literature is develop a character. Character-driven novels are a gamble because if they are not handled correctly, they can crash and burn before they’ve taken off. Plot-driven novels are a safer bet, but then you’d miss out on an opportunity to really provoke your reader. I liked Empire Falls primarily because of how real Miles and Max and Mrs. Whiting, etc. felt to me. This book encompasses what it must have been like (although I’m only imagining here) to live in a small New England town suffering through a period of economic decay. It is depressing, and yet it isn’t—because of the characters. Somehow Miles inspires hope in the reader, and Max’s frustrating personality actually serves to make a point (in addition to providing comic relief), which is that you don’t actually have to take life so seriously. I mean, you can if you want. But you don’t have to. And even Mrs. Whiting speaks volumes. She may be vicious and manipulative on the surface, but the more the reader discovers about her, the more he is able to empathize with her. She has struggled more than any other character in the novel and yet she presents herself stoically. How very “New England” of her. And so do we find out for sure whether there’s a heart of gold underneath all that armor? Nope! Because really, not much happens in this story plot-wise. But it almost doesn’t matter because it is the great set of characters in this book that, for me, made it most enjoyable.(less) | Notes are private!
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| Dec 22, 2011
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Dec 10, 2011
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| 0439023513
| 9780439023511
| 4.03
| 840,999
| Aug 24, 2010
| Aug 24, 2010
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For YA fiction, this is pretty intense. Quite a few bloodstains to clean up. Overall, though, I was somewhat exasperated at the recycled use of the pr...more
For YA fiction, this is pretty intense. Quite a few bloodstains to clean up. Overall, though, I was somewhat exasperated at the recycled use of the premise from the first two novels. I felt like whole “extreme makeover: warrior edition” thing might have worked really well in the Games arena, but when the Mockingjay takes on the Capitol itself, it seems to come off a bit thin and worn out. To buy that a 17 year-old kid with bad skin is the pivotal player in a war between the Galactic Empire and the Rebel Alliance (ooh, see what I did there?) is perhaps a little too YA for my taste. But in the end, this book does pull through for me—it offers up a surprising climax and a dark and stormy conclusion that leaves plenty to ponder.(less)
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| Dec 02, 2011
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Nov 21, 2011
| Hardcover
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| 0439023483
| 9780439023481
| 4.44
| 1,580,781
| Sep 14, 2008
| Sep 14, 2008
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This book is an interesting cross between The Truman Show and The Most Dangerous Game. A fun read, definitely better than expected. My review of the se...more This book is an interesting cross between The Truman Show and The Most Dangerous Game. A fun read, definitely better than expected. My review of the series is here: http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/...(less) | Notes are private!
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| Nov 25, 2011
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Nov 21, 2011
| Hardcover
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| 0061231673
| 9780061231674
| 3.40
| 3,305
| Mar 13, 2007
| Mar 13, 2007
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This is the worst book I’ve ever read. I mean abysmally bad. In fact, it may be the only book I’ve ever actually had to stop reading because it was so...more
This is the worst book I’ve ever read. I mean abysmally bad. In fact, it may be the only book I’ve ever actually had to stop reading because it was so horrible. I skipped to the end and that, too, was really bad. Basically, this book is a piece of crap.(less)
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Nov 14, 2011
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| 1451648537
| 9781451648539
| 4.13
| 105,945
| Jan 01, 2011
| Oct 24, 2011
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Apparently Steve Jobs was a bit of a crazy person. An undiagnosed sufferer of at least three different personality disorders (that I could count), he...more
Apparently Steve Jobs was a bit of a crazy person. An undiagnosed sufferer of at least three different personality disorders (that I could count), he could be strangely oversensitive in one moment and fiercely intimidating the next. I suppose this shouldn’t have come as a surprise, as he was not the first creative genius in history who struggled with interpersonal relationships. But still… (less) | Notes are private!
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| Mar 06, 2012
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Nov 12, 2011
| Hardcover
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| 0307947726
| 9780307947727
| 3.69
| 49,822
| Aug 04, 2011
| May 29, 2012
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Tony Webster is a shallow douchebag. First of all, let’s get something straight. I don’t believe people should be judged too harshly for behavior they...more Tony Webster is a shallow douchebag. First of all, let’s get something straight. I don’t believe people should be judged too harshly for behavior they exhibited in adolescence. That’s not to say that people are not responsible for actions they committed in their youth; it just means that their actions as teenagers do not necessarily reflect the kind of people they will become as adults. So my problem with Tony Webster isn’t that he was an asshole in high school. In fact, I’d probably be a bit hypocritical to judge him in that context because I might have been a asshole myself at that age. Maybe. But I can assure you I am not an asshole now and if I’m to be judged on the kind of person I am, I’d like for that judgment to consider me only in my current adult state, please. No, the problem with Tony Webster has nothing to do with his high school self—it’s the fact that over the course of forty years, he has not changed one single bit. As Tony divulges the circumstances surrounding a pivotal juncture in his youth, he would have you believe that his best friend was a disloyal SOB, his girlfriend a Cutthroat Bitch, and he perfectly justified in telling them both to fuck off. And perhaps he was. Again, that is not the problem I have with Tony Webster. Even that he holds on so tightly to warped memories as reasons for his past behavior (which are really justifications) is something I do not hold against him—we all do that to a certain extent. It’s called self-preservation. But where I start having issues with Tony is where he begins to dwell on these events and obsess over these people he hasn’t seen in decades in a way that is not normal or healthy. If his reasons were sincere, if he actually felt like he needed to atone for something, then I might understand. But that is not what he’s doing. No, he wants to ingratiate himself into these people’s lives, forty years later, just so they can be left with a positive impression of him! See, Tony might think he has you convinced he’s grown and matured into a considerate human person, but the only one he’s convinced is himself, because Tony is in fact the same self-serving bastard he was when he was fifteen. It does make you reconsider his life details in a new light, though: his failed marriage, the distant relationship he has with his daughter, his pathetic lack of friends. I mean it’s one thing to be an unreliable narrator, but here we have one who’s delusional, too. History is not just the lies of the victors; it is also the self-delusions of the defeated.The final straw for me was when he (view spoiler)[writes Veronica a “yo, my bad but call me if you need me” email. Yes, email. Because he’s a class guy now, right? And he considers this an appropriate form of closure? Seriously, Tony, go fuck yourself (hide spoiler)]. This book does present an interesting supposition, though—that past events are easier to understand from the historical perspective, the fact that one can see an event in its entirety, more objectively, and from various angles with the passage of time, which allows for a more accurate account of that event. In other words, it’s hard to maintain a clear perspective on something while in the thick of things. Although the narrator uses this to justify his own shallow behavior, I thought it was a pretty enlightening concept nonetheless.(less) | Notes are private!
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| May 28, 2012
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Nov 10, 2011
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| 0393324818
| 9780393324815
| 4.21
| 31,138
| 2003
| Mar 17, 2004
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This is a good book, but not as good as I thought it was going to be. Sometimes I find technical writing to be a bit repetitive and this definitely le...more
This is a good book, but not as good as I thought it was going to be. Sometimes I find technical writing to be a bit repetitive and this definitely leans more toward technical non-fiction than biography (I was hoping for more of a human interest story here)—because even though Billy Beane takes up a large chunk of the story, it isn’t really a story about Billy Bean per se. Moneyball was published in 2003, only a year after John Henry bought the Boston Red Sox. Before that time, very few people in baseball had ever heard the term sabermetrics, never mind tried to implement it into a strategy for drafting and trading players—very few people, that is, besides Billy Beane. What’s fascinating about Beane is how much he had to struggle against the tide in order to apply the statistical approach of sabermetrics to his managing of the Oakland Athletics. Of course, given the payroll of the A’s in the early 2000s one might argue that he had no choice. But still, he was the first general manager in baseball to attempt it, so his story is unique. But why the struggle? Any baseball fan could tell you how important it is to get on base, that patience at the plate is in fact doubly rewarding as it wears down opposing pitching and draws walks. And walks are huge! They extend an inning by avoiding an out, and they put a man on base which statistically leads to a greater probability of runs scored. The reverse is also true: base stealing attempts and sacrifice bunts are no-no’s in the world of sabermetrics precisely because they have the effect of potentially shortening an inning, leading to a lower probability of runs scored. It is simply not worth the calculated risk to try to advance a base runner. So why were these concepts so difficult for baseball operations managers (besides Beane) to understand? This is essentially what the author investigates here, and the easy answer lies somewhere in the fact that baseball managers are curmudgeons who are used to doing things a certain way and don’t want any smart alec college boy with his pocket protector changin’ the way things ‘er done. Also, Joe Morgan is a buffoon. I think this is basically old news, but I was still pleased to have my suspicions confirmed. So the story here is definitely interesting, but like I said, the argument in favor of a more objective approach to baseball decision-making is something that I already subscribe to (Yeah, Science!), so the argument itself does become rather repetitive. Being a baseball fan, though, there are a few things I did enjoy, specifically Billy Beane trying to steal Kevin Youkilis out from under the noses of the Red Sox brass. At first, even though I obviously knew how things would turn out, I was almost rooting for Beane (who, by the way, was John Henry’s initial choice for managing his new organization), but I quickly checked myself and did a Jersey Shore–style fist pump when Theo Epstein refuses to let himself be outsmarted by that West Coast punk! And now that I’ve read this book, I think I’ll see the movie.(less) | Notes are private!
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| Feb 05, 2012
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Nov 03, 2011
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| 024114213X
| 9780241142134
| 3.99
| 159,614
| Apr 04, 2005
| Jun 02, 2005
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This book gives me heavy boots. On the one hand, Foer writes an interesting story. An eight year-old boy Oskar, two years after his father’s death in t...more This book gives me heavy boots. On the one hand, Foer writes an interesting story. An eight year-old boy Oskar, two years after his father’s death in the terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center, embarks on a scavenger hunt, searching for clues to a key his father left behind, a key that he believes opens a mysterious lock somewhere in New York City. Oskar is precocious to say the least. I thought several times that he reminds me a bit of Holden Caulfield, albeit younger and somewhat less pessimistic. Intertwined with Oskar’s account are the stories of his grandparents who are survivors of the bombings of Dresden, Germany during World War II. The grandparents relate their own experiences of loss and grief through letters and journal entries that shed light on the national tragedy they lived through two generations earlier. One of the problems I have with this book (i.e. the other hand) is that Foer’s heavy use of typographical gimmicks is distracting and unnecessary. Some of Oskar’s discoveries during his scavenger hunt occur somewhat too conveniently. And are we really supposed to feel badly for Oskar’s grandfather for being so “broken” over losing the love of his life? Because I don’t. It’s been 58 years, guy—get over it. You’re not tragic and pitiable, you’re a fucking loser for leaving your family. And if there’s one thing I can’t wrap my head around, it’s the timing surrounding the disappearance of Oskar’s friend Mr. Black. Although it doesn’t weigh heavily on the plot of the novel, small details like this bother me. On p. 285, the first sentence reads, “The day after the renter and I dug up Dad’s grave, I went to Mr. Black’s apartment.” We know that when Oskar does go to Mr. Black’s apartment, he retrieves a biograph card from Mr. Black’s index. We also know that he is wearing this biograph card on his person during his meeting with William Black (a different Black) later that day (p. 295). How, then, is it possible that directly before the grave digging operation, Oskar is able to relate to his grandfather (the “renter”) the details of what he learned in his meeting with William Black (p. 302) if the grave digging operation itself is supposed to have happened the day before retrieving the biograph card?? If someone could explain that last part for me, I’d greatly appreciate it. In the meantime, here’s an overall timeline I made to help myself better understand the interweaving plot lines: 1921 – letter written by prisoner of Turkish labor camp 1936 – prisoner’s letter received by Oskar’s grandmother (who must have been about 6 years old and therefore born around 1930) 1943 – after spending 7 years collecting letters for handwriting samples, Oskar’s grandmother collects a letter from Thomas Schell who is seeing her sister 1945 – Dresden firebombings (indisputable), Anna dies 1950 – Oskar’s grandmother (~20 years old) moves to USA and meets a mute Thomas Schell; this date is based on the grandmother’s declaration that “7 years had passed” which I took to assume since obtaining Thomas’s handwriting sample in 1943, as it’s the only thing that makes sense to me. 1963 – Thomas Schell leaves Oskar’s grandmother 1964 – Oskar’s father is born 1995 – Oskar is born 2001 – Oskar’s father dies (indisputable), Thomas Schell returns 2003 – present day (Oskar discovers key, learns mystery of its origin, digs up his father’s grave, and Oskar’s grandparents move to the airport).(less) | Notes are private!
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| Nov 20, 2011
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Nov 03, 2011
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| 0375724834
| 9780375724831
| 3.91
| 16,284
| Jan 01, 1999
| Oct 24, 2000
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I used to have a customer with Tourette’s. Back when I was a teenage supermarket teller, a million and a half years ago, she used to come through my l...more
I used to have a customer with Tourette’s. Back when I was a teenage supermarket teller, a million and a half years ago, she used to come through my line routinely. At the time, I didn’t reflect much on her condition other than that I assumed it must be tough for her occasionally, but how tough it really was I considered only in the vaguest sense, to the extent that I considered it at all. (Sorry, lady, but I was 17 and had a whole slew of 17 year-old thoughts to preoccupy myself with.) She seemed to handle it in stride, though, or least this was my impression of our brief bi-weekly interactions—I certainly don’t remember there being any social awkwardness. It probably helped, too, that she never made any apologies for her outbursts. So it was interesting for me, with Motherless Brooklyn, to experience life through the first-person perspective of Lionel Essrog, a man with, not only Tourette’s, but also its oft-accompanying sidekick, obsessive-compulsive disorder. With the little foreknowledge I have of these syndromes, I’m not able to say whether the novel faithfully represents them, but I’d like to think it does. Aside from the neuropsychiatric issues, Essrog also has a fascinating character history. Inexplicably orphaned at a young age, he grows up in a tough Brooklyn neighborhood and is recruited by a low-level Italian mobster whose eventual murder serves as the basis for the book’s detective-story plot. Essrog’s physical and verbal tics—which are conspicuously present throughout the investigation—do not impede the reader’s enjoyment of the novel, as his internal dialogue remains unhindered by the disorder (other than expressing an oncoming urge to shout or tap or straighten or poke), all of which I believe is consistent with the way Tourette’s presents in its sufferers. What’s more, Essrog’s tics almost endear the reader to him. I felt a kinship with the misunderstood, relatively lonely man who is driven by a misguided sense of loyalty in the search for his mentor’s killer. Being at its core a mystery/crime thriller, Motherless Brooklyn at times falls prey to some of the clichés of the genre, but Lethem succeeds in transcending this label by writing with, I don’t know, heart or something. Essorg’s world, touched as it is by inner-city dealings and by mob activity, is still somewhat insular and claustrophobic. It’s his relationship to the elements of this tiny world, however, that drive his motivations and make this book among the more interesting crime novels I’ve read in a while.(less) | Notes are private!
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| Nov 21, 2012
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Oct 27, 2011
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| 9780316035903
| 3.96
| 55,638
| Oct 01, 1997
| Oct 08, 2008
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I feel weird reviewing this book right now because the honest truth is: I really genuinely did not like it. And yet I’ve been called out recently by a...more
I feel weird reviewing this book right now because the honest truth is: I really genuinely did not like it. And yet I’ve been called out recently by a bunch of helpful strangers on Goodreads for not liking their favorite books—this asshole telling me I should avoid all literary fiction, this one here saying that my problem is with fiction in general—and I fear I’m going to develop a reputation for hating books, and then Otis will kick me off Goodreads and all the mean girls in the Feedback Group will cheer and the only people who will care are the one hundred sixty-four people in my friends list, but then a huge chunk of those people are real-life friends who have only ever logged into Goodreads once, so in the end there are about five people who will care. Maybe six. And that’s not to mention some of these other pressing fears a reviewer has to deal with: what if I rate too many books lowly (will people think I’m just trying to stir the pot and call negative attention to myself?), or what if I rate too many books highly (will people think I’m indiscriminate about which books are my favorites and therefore consider me unreliable?). I suppose there’s also the potential for too many mediocre reviews, and I guess that’s the guy whom everybody thinks can’t make up his freaking mind. In the end, I’m going to just opt for honesty. I disliked this David Sedaris book. I have never read a David Sedaris book before but I understand him to be a very popular comedian and I usually enjoy very popular comedians. Except this book isn’t funny. The initial story around which the entire collection is based, “SantaLand Diaries,” is about Sedaris’s stint as a Christmas elf at a Macy’s department store. The observations of his boss, of the other elves, of parents and children waiting to see Santa, and of the other shoppers are pretty standard fare—there is nothing particularly noteworthy about his comments that made me laugh or even raise an eyebrow in amusement. Of his other stories, there is really only one that is mildly memorable; the rest rely heavily on shock value which is not something that can successfully stand on its own in my opinion. Having said that, I don’t know that I will give up on Sedaris altogether. This book seems sort of thrown together, most of the stories not relating to anything in particular, whether to each other or to any unified theme, but I would expect some of his other collections to have better focus, and I will retain his other books in my “to read” list based on that expectation.(less) | Notes are private!
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| Jan 03, 2013
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Sep 28, 2011
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| 0375713344
| 9780375713347
| 4.00
| 26,194
| 1989
| Jun 11, 2002
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WTF?! On the surface, Geek Love has it all: jealousy, betrayal, sexual objectification, and murderous revenge. It’s got a whole shitload of family dram...more WTF?! On the surface, Geek Love has it all: jealousy, betrayal, sexual objectification, and murderous revenge. It’s got a whole shitload of family drama topped off with a generous helping of physical deformities and possibly, possibly, a side of incest. (That part’s not too clear, though.) The problem is, once you get past the shock value of wanting to fuck your brother who also happens to look like a giant fish, there really isn’t much going on here. Right before starting this book, I read Middlesex. The similarities in theme (except for the bit about the giant fish) are uncanny: there’s incest, sexual objectification, and also a shitload of family drama. The difference is, Middlesex is an engaging novel while Geek Love, on the other hand, falls sadly flat. Besides the fact that I’m not usually keen on weakling protagonists—Oly is a patsy who gets pushed around her entire life by her older brother whom, for some reason, she never stands up to—I was actually more disturbed by the whole Miss Lick situation. I believe she’s supposed to be like a second coming of Dr. Phyllis, disfiguring her clients as a means of helping them achieve enlightenment, yet for some strange reason she wants to remove Miranda’s tail? I don’t get it. You’d think she’d want to make it bigger or help her grow a second one or something. The premise of this just doesn’t seem very well thought out to me. Chick is the one thing I did love about this book, though, and Geek Love could have used a lot of more of him. But as for the rest of the Binewski’s, I could take ’em or leave ’em. I mean they might be marginally interesting, but not enough for me to care what ends up happening to them. So by the time whatever happens to them, um, happens, I had pretty much lost interest.  The Binewski Family.(less) | Notes are private!
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| Oct 02, 2011
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Aug 09, 2011
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| 074347712X
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| 3.99
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| Jun 24, 2003
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“Madness in great ones must not unwatch’d go.” I don’t know what to say about Hamlet. I could go on about how it is a story of madness and revenge. I c...more “Madness in great ones must not unwatch’d go.” I don’t know what to say about Hamlet. I could go on about how it is a story of madness and revenge. I could talk about the bonds of family loyalty, the sacrifices of love, the breaches of trust and their deleterious effects on the psyche. But this is old news—Hamlet has been around for over four hundred years. What could I possibly say that hasn’t already been said? When my wife saw I was reading Shakespeare, her snippy comment went something like, “What are you reading that for? Don’t you you have enough drama in your life?” Which, thanks Cristina, and yes I suppose I do, but what of it? Drama can be so much freaking fun. There is a reason it sells, a reason there are countless dramatic television shows on the air, countless box office films released each year rehashing the same old dramatic plotlines (some to great effect; others, not so much). And there is a reason people are still reading Shakespeare centuries upon centuries after his death: they are fun, they are witty, they are ever so dramatic. Hamlet is no exception. With plot elements involving fratricide, lethal potions, mistaken identity, forgery of correspondence, espionage and treachery, along with a solid dose of hanging out with the ghosts of dead relatives, one could imagine I’m reviewing an episode of General Hospital. But what is Hamlet if not a soap opera for the Elizabethans? It is an epically tragic train wreck crammed into five tiny acts. What makes this piece of drama so timeless, though, is that its action is served in such perfect complement by its depiction of character. We all know what Prince Hamlet is going to do before he does it. Hamlet himself, even while doubting his abilities and struggling with his resolve, knows how it’s going to all play out. Why else would he be so cruel to Ophelia? And yet it is this internal turmoil that fuels our interest in the action. It might seem like an ordinary train wreck at its surface, but upon deeper inspection it is a train wreck in whose conductors and engineers we have a vested interest. So, witty discourse meets fast-paced drama meets penetrating character introspection? It almost makes me wonder what would have become of Luke and Laura had William Shakespeare been in charge of the script.(less) | Notes are private!
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| Nov 25, 2012
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Aug 07, 2011
| Paperback
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