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......moreA 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 Psychiatrist 2. Joe, the Shallow Adulterer 3. Angelique, the Selfless Prostitute 4. Mitch, the Unstable Analyst 5. Simon, the Insightful Kidnapper 6. Anna, the Perpetual Victim 7. Rachael, the Unlikely Epiloguer
Each 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 [Maslow, A. H. (1943). “A Theory of Human Motivation,” Psychological Review 50(4): 370–96.]
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)
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...moreI 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)
First of all, let’s get something straight. I don’t believe people should be judged too harshly for behavior they...moreTony 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)
The first reason is Lady Macbeth. Man, that girl has got it goin’ on. Have you ever found yourself in the runn...moreThere are two reasons to love this play.
The first reason is Lady Macbeth. Man, that girl has got it goin’ on. Have you ever found yourself in the running for, say, a new position that’s opened up at your company, a position for which you—along with one of your equally worthy colleagues, perhaps—might qualify? You may not have given much thought to your professional advancement before, but now that this promotion has been dangled before you, it has ignited a spark of ambitious desire. Imagine the possibilities! And it is just within your grasp...if only there were a way to edge out the competition. Maybe you could sabotage a project he’s working on. Or you could discredit him by rumoring of his incompetence. Better yet, you could off him in the parking garage. But each of these strategies requires a certain level of gumption to execute, a level not everyone possesses. This is where it pays to be married to Lady Macbeth. All she would need is a mere mention of this potential uptick in your career path and she’s off and running, drafting the schematics, telling you where to stand (just outside the stairwell, across from his car, within easy reach of the tire iron lying in the corner that can be used while he’s distractedly sifting through his keys). Why doesn’t she do it herself, you ask? Well, why should she? It’s not her job. Her job is to support you, to boost your confidence, to supply that additional gumption. You’re the one who has to do the dirty work.
Lady Macbeth is an amazing character. I’ve seen reviews on here that criticize her for being the morally reprehensible of the two protagonists, planting ideas in her husband’s head that he would not have otherwise formed, encouraging him toward evil deeds that he would not have otherwise committed. I disagree. She may have made a mistake helping to plan Duncan’s murder, but if anything Lady Macbeth is the one with her moral faculties still intact—she exhibits a profound sense of remorse at the end of the play that Macbeth recognizes as nothing short of an ailment for which to seek a cure. While Macbeth is off slaughtering anyone who might threaten his regal standing, his wife is at home rubbing the fuck out of her hands until the blisters explode and she suffocates in a pool of her own pus.
The second reason to love this play is the eloquence of the language. There are passages in this play that describe human emotion so briefly yet so profoundly it triggers goosebumps. These are some of my favorites:
On expressing one’s grief: What, man! ne’er pull your hat upon your brows; Give sorrow words: the grief that does not speak Whispers the o’er-fraught heart and bids it break.
On not having enough gumption: Yet do I fear thy nature; It is too full o’ the milk of human kindness To catch the nearest way: thou wouldst be great; Art not without ambition, but without The illness should attend it.
On contemplating ambition’s worth: Nought’s had, all’s spent, Where our desire is got without content: ’Tis safer to be that which we destroy Than by destruction dwell in doubtful joy.
On being past the point of no return: All causes shall give way: I am in blood Stepp’d in so far that, should I wade no more, Returning were as tedious as go o’er.
On the futility of life: Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player That struts and frets his hour upon the stage And then is heard no more: it is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing.
On the finality of death: There’s nothing serious in mortality: All is but toys: renown and grace is dead; The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees Is left this vault to brag of.
I said in the comments section of my Hamlet review that I was preferring Hamlet to Macbeth. While I think I prefer the character of Hamlet to that of Macbeth, I no longer stand by that statement in terms of the play itself. Macbeth really is a masterpiece.(less)
A disturbingly comedic (or comically disturbing?) satire of the inevitability of war, the age old fate vs. free will argument, and the gross desensiti...moreA disturbingly comedic (or comically disturbing?) satire of the inevitability of war, the age old fate vs. free will argument, and the gross desensitization of death, Slaughterhouse-Five analyzes the effects of the Bombing of Dresden on World War II veteran Billy Pilgrim. Told in a nonlinear narrative that is common for Vonnegut, this novel employs the rare literary device I like to call “Twilight Zone–ish extraterrestrialism,” which serves to highlight both the absurdity of free will as well as Pilgrim’s sense of temporal confusion resulting from his experiences with war. So it goes.(less)
I grew up in a very liberal part of the country. My family is comprised mostly of hard-working European immigrants who valu...moreThis 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 Season
vs. Palo Duro Dons — LOSS (Pre-Season) vs. El Paso Austin — WIN vs. Marshall Mavericks — WIN vs. Odessa High Bronchos — WIN vs. Midland High Bulldogs — WIN vs. Abilene High Eagles — WIN vs. Dallas Jesuit — WIN vs. Cooper Cougars — WIN vs. Midland Lee Rebels — LOSS vs. San Angelo Central Bobcats — WIN _________________________
vs. Amarillo Tascosa Rebels — WIN (Post-Season) vs. Andress Eagles — WIN (Post-Season) vs. Irving Nimitz Vikings — WIN (Post-Season) vs. Arlington Lamar Vikings — WIN (Quarter-Finals) vs. Carter Cowboys — LOSS (Semi-Finals)
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
...moreA 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.” —And that is probably all she really does know.
“I love to engage in repartee with people who are stupider than I am.” —But where would she find these people?
“The fact that a Republican is in the late Senator Kennedy’s old seat probably must have him rolling in his grave, probably spilling his drink.” —Okay, that one is pretty funny.
Funny, but not funny enough to convince me ever to read this.(less)
I thought this would be a great tool for self-diagnosis, but actually Ronson skitters from one case to another without really making any definitive po...moreI thought this would be a great tool for self-diagnosis, but actually Ronson skitters from one case to another without really making any definitive point. But maybe that’s the point. Psychopathy is probably not an absolute for most people, as there are many among us who exist in some sort of sociopathic gray area (myself included). Me, I scored a 10, so I’m a partial psychopath. (Surprise, surprise!) My downfall? Apparently, I don’t really care too much about other people.
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...moreI’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)
Three-star books are always difficult to review, aren’t they? They are difficult for me, mostly because I am s...moreI write this review under severe duress.
Three-star books are always difficult to review, aren’t they? They are difficult for me, mostly because I am so dispassionate about them. It’s much easier to review something you love, or something you hate, rather than something you’ve half-forgotten before you even get to your local library’s return box.
So this book is fine. Fine. It’s the story of a young German girl caught in the path of the advancing Nazi regime during World War II. For many German villagers in the late 30s and early 40s, the Third Reich was like a quiet glacier, slowly encroaching on their lives—it moved languidly enough that disaster seemed never truly imminent (there is always plenty of time to get out of the way), yet it had enough momentum to churn to pulp anything that was unfortunate enough to meet its frothing jaws.
What annoyed me about this book, however, was its distracting style of storytelling. It is told from the point-of-view of the Grim Reaper, the personification of death. I would have actually been okay with this except Death is a grating little sonofabitch. He pretends to keep a distance from the German girl whose story he’s telling, representing himself as a disinterested party whose job is simply to harvest souls from their lifeless hosts, but over time he becomes clearly vested in her story, and for this he is a failure. I mean, if death and taxes are the only two things I can count on, and the IRS is a bullshit government arm that can’t find its asshole with a flashlight, then I need to be able to depend on Death not being a loser.
Additionally, I specifically detested the
* * * Things That Irritate Me * * * 1. These interjections. 2. Interjections like these.
interjections, which occur frequently in this novel.
That said, I think this book is important for its one shining success, which is to remind us that civilian populations of even aggressor countries are innocent victims. Try to keep this in mind the next time your idiot friend says something like, “Dude, we should totally just bomb the fuck out of [insert Middle Eastern country here].”
My cousin told me I had to review this book or she would sic the Andover Ladies of Literature on me and I do not wish to scuffle with those broads.(less)
Sorry, I meant to share my review of The Savage Detectives sooner but things got sort of crazy. I was enjoying a Cuba Libre...moreI 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...
Jason Morais, West Grand Avenue, Old Orchard Beach, Maine, August 2012. I remember it like it was yesterday. Mary and Kris came to see me at my small studio apartment in Chapultepec where I often barricaded myself for days writing love letters and poetry to the waitress Jacinta Rúbin, which I never planned to send. They came to ask about the three Steves. The Steves had left México the previous year and hadn’t been seen since. We found this diary, Mary said, it belonged to one of the Steves, the one they called Hermano Penkí. I told them to sit down, offered them a drink, some Los Suicidas mezcal, a favorite of mine from a distillery that had gone out of business long before the Steves disappeared, but of which I had the sagacity to stock up on and it was only occasions like this along with my own excessive drinking when writing letters to Jacinta Rúbin that threatened to extinguish my supply. The diary was unremarkable, a simple square book with worn edges. I had never seen it before but knew what it would contain. I knew it would heighten the curiosity of its reader to the whereabouts of the three Steves, and even while it may not reveal the truth, it would surely point to me as the one most likely to know it. I read the diary slowly, trying to buy time and hoping to imbue myself with the fortitude to fend off questions from the young señoritas meant to ascertain what information I was not yet ready to give, information that would inevitably lead the conversation over the disappearance of the three Steves back to Jacinta Rúbin.
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)
Field Gray is about the experiences of a Berlin police detective, Bernie Gunther, who becomes entangled in a web of espionage and deceit after being c...moreField Gray is about the experiences of a Berlin police detective, Bernie Gunther, who becomes entangled in a web of espionage and deceit after being captured by the Red Army in 1945, serving hard time in a Russian POW camp, deflecting back to Germany, escaping to Cuba, being captured by the CIA, and finally being forced to serve for French Intelligence, which ultimately lands him back to his original starting point in Berlin in 1954. Sound interesting? Absolutely! And I felt this novel had such tremendous potential at the start, with Gunther hiding out in an exotic location (Havana) and being blackmailed into taking a mysterious woman (an undercover assassin!) on a boat to Haiti. But quite literally, the action ends there. And that is page 19. The next 300+ pages has Gunther in the hands of one set of interrogators or another, as he is captured before reaching Haiti. So the reader learns his backstory from 1931 through to the present (which is 1954) as he answers questions from whichever holding cell he happens to be in at the time. Therefore, most of the novel is a frame story in that sense. But the problem is, Gunther is just a leaf blowing in the wind. He makes no decisions regarding his own fate, and relates to his past experiences in such a way that there is very little room for the reader to feel emotionally connected to the character or his experiences. At one point, I just stopped caring what happens to him anymore. The last 50 pages finally becomes interesting again as Gunther gets himself involved in a plot to help the French capture a wanted traitor while simultaneously tricking them into helping the Americans capture their wanted criminal—a ruthless Stasi communist who regularly appears throughout Gunther’s backstory (and actually existed in real life). For the first time in the novel, Gunther finally does something. But to get there, you have to suffer through the rest, and that includes the introduction of countless names (I counted over 60 names in the first 100 pages), ninety percent of which have absolutely nothing to do with the course of the novel’s events. It just makes one feel disconnected to Gunther and his plight.
The good thing about this novel is that the author is actually an excellent writer. Lots of sharp humor, lots of wit. Gunther is a wise-cracking gem, and his retorts often evoke an internal giggle. It is also an historical novel in the sense that Gunther’s story takes place amidst events which seem to be depicted pretty accurately, from the rise of Hitler and the Nazi Party through to the end of the War and the Nuremberg Trials. That is definitely interesting. But I think this is also supposed to be a spy thriller. Only, where is the thrill?(less)
The world turns on our every action, and our every omission, whether we know it or not.
It is statistically improbable that I will read a book as good...moreThe world turns on our every action, and our every omission, whether we know it or not.
It is statistically improbable that I will read a book as good as this one anytime soon. Although I’ll admit it starts off slowly, I found that the depths of this novel are revealed as the protagonist’s life unfolds. Something of a bildungsroman, Cutting for Stone focuses on a pair of twin boys who are born and raised in an African missionary hospital. Their story combines elements of Indian and Ethiopian language and culture, third world medicine, sexual awakening, political revolution, foreign travel, and of course, and easily my favorite, emotional and complex family drama. Written in a style of prose that allows one to forget the author is even there, Verghese really captures what it means to be human—that the frailty of life isn’t distinct from the strength of the spirit, but that one complements the other. ShivaMarion’s story is about as moving as it gets, and I’ve got a few tear stains on my Kindle to prove it.(less)
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...moreLiking 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)
“It's true. There are some racists in this town,” Miss Leefolt say. Miss Hilly nod her head, “Oh, they're out there.”
Law, this book be good! I’m on tel...more“It's true. There are some racists in this town,” Miss Leefolt say. Miss Hilly nod her head, “Oh, they're out there.”
Law, this book be good! I’m on tell you how good this book be. Everthing ‘bout this book be good, you gone read this book and you gone see what I’s mean. Law!(less)
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...moreMy 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)
In the souls of the people the grapes of wrath are filling and growing heavy, growing heavy for the vintage.
This book really gets my goat. Those poor,...moreIn the souls of the people the grapes of wrath are filling and growing heavy, growing heavy for the vintage.
This book really gets my goat. Those poor, dirty Joads. So poor and so, so dirty. After being displaced from their Oklahoma farm following the Dust Bowl storms that wreck their crops and cause them to default on their loans, the Joads find themselves a family of migrants in search of work and food. They join a stream of hundreds of thousands of other migrant families across the United States to what they believe to be the prosperous valleys of California. Only once they arrive, they discover that there is nothing prosperous about it—not only is there a serious shortage of work (mostly caused by an overabundance of labor that came with the influx of so many other migrant families), but they also have to contend with growing anti-migrant sentiment among the local population and wealthy landowners who think nothing of taking advantage of them in their state of vulnerability. Without proper labor laws protecting worker’s rights and no trade unions to represent their interests, the Joads are severely underpaid for whatever work they do manage to find, and they simply fall deeper and deeper into despondency.
The reason this gets my goat is ‘cause it doesn’t have to be that way. Yes, the Joads are uneducated and wouldn’t qualify for anything more than basic manual labor. Yes, it is the Great Depression and this is not an easy time to find a job even for skilled workers. And yes, they are a family of 47 and they probably look pretty ridiculous all crammed up in the back of their makeshift pickup truck. But gosh darn it, if only they had unions! If only they had fair labor standards to guarantee them a minimum wage! If only they had the protection of government legislation to prohibit wealthy landowners from colluding to keep prices high and wages low!
Which leads me to wonder… what would Ayn Rand think of all this? After all, aren’t labor unions and economic regulation precisely what she argues against? By that account, if Atlas Shrugged is the supposed Bible of right-wing thinkers, then I’d have to say that The Grapes of Wrath might just be its antithesis. But the real difference, as far as I can tell, is that while Atlas Shrugged represents a crazy woman’s vision of a whack job world that could never actually exist, John Steinbeck tells it like it is, and how it was, for so many hard working Americans who were taken advantage of under a system that did nothing to protect them. And what’s even more remarkable is that Steinbeck’s characters (whom, by the way, Rand would refer to as “moochers”—just thought we should be clear on that) make Dagny Taggart and Henry Reardon look like a couple of pussies. What is it Ma Joad says? That if you’re in trouble or hurt or need, to “go to poor people—for they’re the only ones that’ll help.”
This is a novel about the working poor, and it should serve to remind us what can go horribly wrong in an unregulated economy.(less)
This is just a pithy review on the Harry Potter series as a whole. It is not an in-depth analysis of the work in general, nor is it a review on any on...moreThis is just a pithy review on the Harry Potter series as a whole. It is not an in-depth analysis of the work in general, nor is it a review on any one particular installment.
Harry Potter is a work of art. I got made fun of once¹ when I was out to dinner with some friends, because while we were discussing these books I made the mistake of referring to them as “literature.” I felt like I had to defend that assertion because, although the definition of literature is pretty broad, it seems like it should really only apply to works with some definable qualitative value or literary merit. In this case, my friends were wrong—Rowling explores themes and concepts in this series that I think are valuable to children and young adults who look to her characters for qualities they seek to emulate, and I believe her works will have lasting impact on this and future generations.
I’ve heard it said before that everything you need to know you’ve learned in kindergarten. Well, that might be somewhat of an oversimplification, but I do think children or young adults who grow into this series, seeing Harry and his friends mature as they themselves mature, can glean some pretty important life lessons from it. They are impressionable human beings who are learning about themselves and are starting to make the choices that reflect the kinds of people they want to be.
So what does Harry Potter teach them? Well, here is a bullet list of what it has taught me. And if you’re good, I’ll think about turning this into a PowerPoint presentation. Or maybe not.
• The quality of your character is not a reflection of where you come from or who your parents are; rather, it is a reflection of the choices you make, so make them wisely.
• The way you treat other people, especially those less fortunate than you, reveals your true colors more quickly and more completely than almost anything else you do.
• It is a good thing to have dreams and ambitions, but that alone is not enough. You cannot expect success without effort.
• It is far less important what your abilities are than what you actually do with them. Your abilities alone do not define you.
• Nobody likes to fail, but to refuse an attempt at success on the grounds that you’re afraid to fail is failure in itself.
Growing up is about figuring out who you are and coming to terms with your strengths and weaknesses, and it is about deciding how to utilize the strengths and mitigate the weaknesses in order to become a better person. It’s a lifelong struggle, but it starts early, and I think Harry Potter offers the tools to help achieve that. It can help young people find their way, and maybe that’s an oversimplification for a seven-volume series of novels, but that’s what I got out of it, and that’s why I will recommend this to my kids as they start to become ready for some life lessons of their own.
¹This is misleading; I’ve been made fun of countless, countless times.(less)
Franzen’s writing is impeccable. Not only does his understanding of complex, familial relationships fascinate me, but his ability to capture these cha...moreFranzen’s writing is impeccable. Not only does his understanding of complex, familial relationships fascinate me, but his ability to capture these characters—all five of them, I might add—with such depth...I think that is what really drew me in as a reader. I mean, these are people who are so flawed emotionally and so utterly selfish inherently, and yet each of them has this capacity for loving one another even while recognizing their inability to stand each other for more than five minutes at a time: in a sense they are more human than most humans. And Franzen knows how to write a sentence, my God. All this book did was remind me why I love to read.
Honestly, I try to give five stars sparingly, but this one I fully endorse. I think what makes it better than Freedom is that I walked away from this with a knot in my stomach (I really felt something here!). Seven year-old Chip being left alone at the dinner table until it was late enough for him to fall asleep on his placemat bothered me. Juxtapose that with the tenderness Chip shows his dad toward the end of the novel, and you start to wonder whether this man was ever really the emotionally unavailable tyrant that you thought he was. Either way, this just serves as a huge reminder for me to appreciate the way things are now while my kids are still young, because it’s probably not always going to be this simple.(less)
Horrible. Chelsea Lately is a great show, and Chelsea Handler a talented comedian. But this book is bad. A colossal disappointment. The whole crass “s...moreHorrible. Chelsea Lately is a great show, and Chelsea Handler a talented comedian. But this book is bad. A colossal disappointment. The whole crass “shock value” thing wears thin really quickly. I might have laughed a couple of times, but not enough to warrant even a second star.(less)
This book is weak. I’m not usually a fan of novels that think they can hold their own merit on nothing but shock value and really bad sexual innuendos...moreThis book is weak. I’m not usually a fan of novels that think they can hold their own merit on nothing but shock value and really bad sexual innuendos—I’m pretty sure this book may have overestimated itself. I’d even feel bad for it, but the fact that its shallow cliché-ness seems to beg for a Hollywood deal rather sucks up any pity I might have otherwise had.(less)
He was a graduate of West Point. West Point was a military academy that turned young men into homicidal maniacs for use in war.
Another brilliant ride...moreHe was a graduate of West Point. West Point was a military academy that turned young men into homicidal maniacs for use in war.
Another brilliant ride through Vonnegut-land. Part comedy, part searing social satire, this book has its fourth wall broken more than any other book I’ve read. At times, I may not have understood where it was going or what the “point” was, but it certainly left me satisfied. Also, I am now completely convinced of Mr. Vonnegut’s influence over Douglas Adams.
The Creator of the Universe had put a rattle on its tail. The Creator had also given it front teeth which were hypodermic syringes filled with deadly poison. Sometimes I wonder about the Creator of the Universe.
Set about 20 years into the future, this novel depicts a changed world, where privately funded mercenary armies take the place of national armed force...moreSet about 20 years into the future, this novel depicts a changed world, where privately funded mercenary armies take the place of national armed forces for handling certain types of conflicts. The author presents some nice imagery that reconciles the climactic ending with the novel’s introductory paragraphs. I liked that very much. And the best part is, the outcome is not what I was expecting as a reader, which leaves open the possibility of this work serving as the start of a series. I think I would enjoy continuing to read the saga of Gent, the marine-turned-mercenary protagonist, as he resumes his mission of taking down the love-him-or-hate-him man who made him who he is. If only the author allows it to happen!(less)
Have you ever see that 1997 film Life Is Beautiful? No? Well, it’s about this Italian Jew who is sent to a concentration camp with his wife and son du...moreHave you ever see that 1997 film Life Is Beautiful? No? Well, it’s about this Italian Jew who is sent to a concentration camp with his wife and son during World War II, and in order to shield his son from the horrors of war, he tells him that they are really just playing a super fun game and that everyone in the camp is a contestant. Not surprisingly, his son believes the whole thing (kids are pretty dumb, right?) and he is able to maintain this ruse right up until the Allied invasion. So, Room is kind of like that except without the Allied invasion. Here you’ve got this 5 year-old kid whose mother feeds him a pack of lies to prevent him from knowing the truth about their actual state of existence—which is that they are trapped in someone’s backyard shed and probably will never see the light of day again. My inclination is to mention what happens next, but then I think I would be doing the book a disservice. What I can say, however, is that the entire novel is narrated by the 5 year-old schmuck, and while this may sound like it could be annoying, it really isn’t. I enjoyed the unique perspective, especially since my engagement with the adult dynamics of the story was still somehow maintained. That’s a pretty impressive feat for an author.
But at least 5 year-olds can be good for something: the “red couch in the TV planet with the puffy-hair lady that’s the boss asking questions and hundreds of other persons clapping” is by far the best description of The Oprah Winfrey Show I’ve ever heard.(less)
It’s funny how my brain works. So this novel is about a strong teenage girl living in conditions of depressing destitution without a father, caring fo...moreIt’s funny how my brain works. So this novel is about a strong teenage girl living in conditions of depressing destitution without a father, caring for her sibling(s) and her invalid mother, cooking for them, bathing them, getting them ready for school, and generally assuming a responsibility that far exceeds her years—she even hunts squirrel! Any of this sound familiar? Maybe I’m not the only one who was reminded of Katniss Everdeen, but what’s interesting is that both Everdeen and Ree Dolly, the protagonist of Winter’s Bone, are portrayed by the same actress in the film adaptations. So the question is, was I reminded of Everdeen because I thought first of Jennifer Lawrence? Or did I think of Everdeen because her character is legitimately similar to that of Dolly? I might never know, but I would expect the answer to also shed light on the elusive Ron Rash—Steve Holt conundrum.
Anyway, the character and situational similarities end there. Dolly has a sharp-shooting snark that Everdeen could only dream of.
“It don’t seem like you’ve got to try none, girl, smarty-mouth shit just flies out your yap anytime your yap falls open.”
In fact, it’s that smarty-mouth yap of hers that, while nearly getting her killed on occasion, is somehow related to her stubborn persistence that ensures her and her family’s survival over the long term—survival in spite of an extended family of drug runners who value their personal safety above kinship, and survival in the face of the unforgiving landscape of the frozen Ozarks. Put another way, Dolly’s little world makes District 12 seem like peaches and bubblegum. And yes, I realize that Everdeen has to duel to the death in an arena filled with poisonous jabberjays or whatever, but there is a strong sense of reality pervading Winter’s Bone that makes it far more bone chilling.
Speaking of bones, the imagery in this book is amazing: brittle bones of dead wildlife decaying on the cold ground, the cracking bones of one’s frozen fingers after exposure to the harsh winter air, rock hard bones from imagining Jennifer Lawrence with an archery bow. Ok, not that last one. But there are other bones here, real bones pertinent to the plot, bones the significance of which I cannot reveal.
For me, this could have been a five-star book. My only complaint is that it is actually too short. Besides all the excellent imagery, even the characters are amazing—especially the female ones—and the fact that their appearances in the novel are so brief just left me wanting more, more, more.
Winter in the Ozarks
↑ ↑ ↑ ↑ ↑ ↑ ↑ ↑ ↑ (It is fucking cold.)
Oh, and by the way, this was my favorite film of 2010. What was at the time an excellent 5-star film I now see as an excellent 5-star film adaptation.(less)
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...moreHi, 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)
There don’t appear to be enough reviews of Infinite Jest on Goodreads so I thought I’d go ahead and write another one.
Anyway, I kind of hated this boo...moreThere don’t appear to be enough reviews of Infinite Jest on Goodreads so I thought I’d go ahead and write another one.
Anyway, I kind of hated this book. I hated that its characters are essentially parodies of themselves which limited my ability to connect with them on any meaningful level. I hated the lack of linguistic nuance with which most of the characters speak, particularly given that the predominant speech pattern here is rife with superfluous clauses and multiple possessives, a pattern not normally attributable to prepubescent teens, especially. I hated the long, meandering passages that go nowhere and refuse to be ostensibly related to anything or be placed in any sort of clear context, much like this review. In fact, often times reading this book was like trying to follow a conversation wherein all the participants have attention deficit disorder. Infinite Jest is a book that needs like some major dose of Ritalin® stat.
But except so in spite of all that, Infinite Jest was still able to pretty much blow me away. Set in the over-commercialized, not-too-distant future, Infinite Jest is primarily about anhedonia and the psychological pathway that leads from it to its secondary effects: loneliness, depression, social detachment, obsession with whatever’s available to fill the void, and finally to addiction and dependency. There’s a passage in IJ about a M*A*S*H addict (yeah, you heard that right) who becomes slowly but increasingly reliant on his M*A*S*H episodes to displace the anhedonia from which he suffers until the point at which the M*A*S*H episodes actually become the sole focal point of his day rather than its mere highlight, and eventually his need to see M*A*S*H supplants all his other basic needs to the extent that his entire survival practically hinges upon his capacity to sit down and watch M*A*S*H. Along with the rest of the narrative, this passage is written with an underlying sense of humor that rounds off its depressing edge and makes the whole thing almost life-affirming.
What I loved about the M*A*S*H story is twofold. First, it serves as a junction box for the theme of addiction and its relation, not just to drug and alcohol dependency in Infinite Jest, but also to the characters’ reactions to James Incandeza’s lethal Entertainment. And second, it provides some understanding into my own addictive nature, specifically with this fucking website. Goodreads is like crack for an Extrovert, and while I’m not equating that type of addiction to one with drugs or alcohol, the reason I want to hug David Foster Wallace as much as I do is that he is generous with his inclusion criteria. He doesn’t say, “No, you’re not as bad off as the rest of us because you only chug NyQuil® occasionally when you’re in a rut.” He says, instead, “Yes, you can somewhat relate to where we’re coming from because you can identify with this one minor trait of dependency, so please come and join us!” And so but in the interest of avoiding the inevitable fate to which that M*A*S*H guy ultimately succumbs, I’m going to just log off Goodreads for a couple of weeks.
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