I gave this book/short story 4.25/5 stars at InsatiableBooksluts.com. A digital review copy was provided by the publisher.
"Gunk was pretty fabulous shI gave this book/short story 4.25/5 stars at InsatiableBooksluts.com. A digital review copy was provided by the publisher.
"Gunk was pretty fabulous short fiction (super-short fiction, even), I have to tell you. I read it on my phone, and that was a first for me, but it seemed fitting with the subject matter–fashion models, “the industry,” agents, and what-have-you. It’s clearly a quick read, but it develops very well in 14 pages; Feehily did a brilliant job of including exactly what you need to know alongside exactly what he wanted you to know. I don’t know how short fiction authors are able to make characters come so alive in such short spans. It’s a magic that I do not possess.
The story centers around a rather unusual happening at a modeling agency–an unusual client-who-is-not-a-client. Gunk begins in medias res, as it would nearly have to: the unusual client has won a contest to pose with Boy George in a magazine. Despite the fact that this kid “just looked like no-one, looked like who the fuck . . . like someone whose name you might have to ask ten times because otherwise you’d get it wrong”, the narrator’s boss decided to sign him to the agency. You know that moment–when your boss has just created a massive pain in the ass for you on nothing but the barest whim, and you’re left to sort it.
Only, everything goes a bit weird. Only, it’s not your routine pain-in-the-ass to deal with. What should have been a simple “see-ya-later, kiddo” doesn’t go at all as planned and the narrator seems on the verge of a nervous breakdown when it comes to a head.
The book flirts with magical realism just a touch; to give much detail would be to give it away, but there are moments where you’re not at all certain if the narrator’s realistic view of events is the truth, or if Jude, the wannabe-model, is the truth. Moments in which they are opposed and you’re not sure who is lying to themselves, but you know one of them must be.
It’s not a cliche of the 80s, either, and that’s nice. There is mention of Boy George and a few references to cocaine, but it’s not steeped in nostalgia-trivia.
Being short, it’s a fairly inexpensive addition to your collection, and an addition that I recommend (digital is the way to go if you don’t neeed that cover art, imo). I’m definitely going to take a hard look at Feehily’s novel, Fever, in which “the town’s one gothic punk, communist and poet laureate (self elected), wants to ‘find out about love’.”
I originally posted this review at InsatiableBooksluts.com with a rating of 4.25/5 stops at the casino before the rapture.
A review copy was provided bI originally posted this review at InsatiableBooksluts.com with a rating of 4.25/5 stops at the casino before the rapture.
A review copy was provided by W.W. Norton & Co.
First things first: I would not call this book YA. I have seen it listed as YA, and that doesn't feel particularly right to me as a designation. So if you're like me and you tend to de-prioritize books in the YA category, don't be too quick to put this one aside. (But if you're looking for mature YA-esque books for your young'uns, this one would be a good candidate.)
I caught this book on Goodreads; a friend had it listed as "to-read", and that bright orange cover just screams "road book." I love road books. Shit, I worship at the altar of Kerouac. So I clicked, and I found out that The Last Days of California is so, so much more than a road book.
The Last Days of California follows the Metcalf family as they travel from Alabama to California. The reason for their road trip? They're evangelist-types and their cult clan is convinced that the rapture is imminent. Dad is the primary believer (Mom used to be a--gasp!--Catholic), and he decides to pack up the car and max out the credit cards, because The End is Near and they're on a pilgrimage to their leader. Fifteen-year-old Jess is the awkward main character; her older sister, Elise, is rebellious and a little pregs.
To recap: southern evangelists, road trip to California, teenage rebellion and awkwardness. I pretty much had to read it, you know?
And Ms. Miller didn't disappoint on any count. I was left a little breathless at times, actually, with how much I was reminded of my own teenage years, specifically the need to sneak around so I could have my own adventures. One might think that conservative, Christian parents might always have the thumb on their kids, but it isn't so; every time Jess and Elise circumvented their parents with almost pathetic ease, I practically had flashbacks.
The story is primarily Jess's story, and your heart aches for her. She's the younger, chubbier, supposedly less-pretty, expected-to-fill-the-obedience-void sister. She's the one who wants to strike out on her own, but has mixed messages about what that means. Elise sleeps with boys, swears, and questions her father's faith at every turn; she's the reigning champ of teenage rebellion in the family, and she has a push-pull relationship with Jess that makes it both inevitable and impossible for Jess to follow directly in her footsteps.
And Jess is a lovely person, though she doesn't know it yet. She's got an amazing loyal and loving side that balances out the mild teenage brat tendencies, that smooths over her conflicts with Elise. She's a character you want to know more; she and Elise both drive you through the book because you don't want to leave them.
Miller painted all of the characters beautifully, and their relationships feel real; it's like reading a memoir, almost. The father has almost the perfect mix of hardcore believer and not-really-believer; you know the type: he has a gambling addiction and wrecks his body with shitty food, but he puts on a very pious face and really thinks he believes what he says. It would be easy to go overboard on a character like that, to make him too much, or make the sister too rebellious, the mom too long-suffering, but Miller's deft touch kept her cast of characters from being caricatures. She balances them beautifully.
I don't think it's a spoiler to say that, clearly, the rapture doesn't happen. But so much happens on the way--the characters grow so much--that I don't think you'll mind. Do recommend. ...more
"This book was a tad disappointing, I have toI gave this book 3.5/5 stars on InsatiableBooksluts.com. A review copy was provided by Two Dollar Radio.
"This book was a tad disappointing, I have to admit. Nothing in this book surprised me--which, for a book that is partially built around some mysterious unanswered questions, that's not good. BUT. That having been said? Nothing is still better than probably 85% of what's being published. It's a fairly strong offering from Anne Marie Wirth Cauchon and I'll be watching for her work in the future.
The story: Ruth is a girl who finds herself having made friends with a needy pretty girl, a former Mean-Girl type who hasn't lost the meanness, just the support system. Ruth talks about how they found each other because they both have style, but it's clear that Ruth is the stereotypically less-desirable of the two girls, and she has a giant chip on her shoulder because of this.
James comes into the story early. He's running away from a rich not-really-daddy and toward answers to a shitload of questions. He fancies himself a hobo, a hard motherfucker who can take care of himself without comforts, but the real hobos can see right through him.
Two stories are unfolding during the book, and they're only tenuously connected at first. Bridget and Ruth are growing apart, and Ruth is having kittens about it (while, of course, feeling nothing); James is searching for information about his real father, and every puzzle piece he finds multiplies the missing pieces. Their paths cross a few times. The more entangled they get, the worse things get.
Also, drugs and parties.
Cauchon's writing has a strong voice, but I thought the story was a bit weak. I actually groaned out loud when she referenced American Beauty, because if you took the struggles of the parents out of that movie, the stories are extremely similar. Vain pretty girl hanging out with "ugly" girl to get validation and feel superior to someone. Mysterious new boy goes for "ugly" girl, also has problems of his own; everyone's problems converge into a massive clusterfuck.
And then, on top of that, there's the drug cliches: a neglected baby. A dead girl. PEER PRESSURE.
The characters were drawn well, if a bit cliched. Cliches exist for a reason and all that; Bridget did exactly what a Bridget would do, Ruth what a Ruth would do. Still, I would have liked to have been surprised. I would have liked to have seen more depth or growth from at least one of the three major characters.
I did figure out the "mystery" (which I assume was supposed to be a big plot twist at the end--I don't know, I'm never sure if I'm meant to figure it out in advance or if the author accidentally revealed her hand too soon) on page 83, about halfway through the book. I AM BAD AT READING BOOKS WITH MYSTERY ELEMENTS, YOU GUYS. I always figure them out too early.
Also, I felt like the author worked "nothing" into the book far too much. Ruth was always feeling "nothing" or seeing "nothing" or, just, lots of nothing. On the whole, I felt the book tended toward being thematically heavy-handed.
Sigh. I think it's a book I could have appreciated much more ten years ago. I probably would have given it five fucking enthusiastic stars in my early 20's. I don't think I'm the intended audience for this book anymore.
Overall: I don't feel angry that I spent time reading it. It definitely has an audience and the writing is good. That audience is probably not me; if you think the audience might be you, I recommend it. Will still read Anne Marie Wirth Cauchon in the future and will definitely continue to anticipate Two Dollar Radio selections."...more
It is a testament to the skill of Hervé Le Tellier that this novel can be so compelling while also featuring as its main character a man who, had he been born 25 years later, would have been a prime candidate for Nice Guys™ of OKCupid. Vincent is so much of a textbook case that I was furiously making notes about his Frustrated Beta Male Syndrome within the first chapter or so. Most authors couldn't tackle a character like Vincent and make him anything other than a whiny, absurd caricature; Le Tellier manages to do the improbable and makes Vincent a character that, while you still kind of hate him, you feel just enough sympathy for him that you can read the book fluidly and enjoy it without complications.
Le Tellier does this by cheating the perspective a tad; in paintings, artists often take liberties with "true" perspective to get more of the picture in the fame. You end up with impossible tables that couldn't hold up a bowl of fruit in real life, but you get to see everything the artist wanted to paint. I feel that, in writing Vincent, Le Tellier employed a similar technique; Vincent is self-aware enough that he is able to admit his flaws, even while being fully captive to them. I don't think most people like Vincent would be that self-aware, but it is a necessary cheat.
The book starts with Vincent, our tragically unloved hero, fleeing Paris to escape the wiles of the beautiful Irene. Irene has dragged his heart through the muck and stomped all over it by rejecting his constant mewling to be loved. He sets up house in Lisbon, picks up a few hobbies, and tries not to cry every time he thinks of her (which is all the time).
Sidenote: it is a fact that I once was friends with a man who, despite my clearly telling him over and over and over that I was not in the slightest romantically attached to him, persisted in trying to win my heart. I was approximately twenty-one years old at the time, and not smart enough to realize that this wasn't a real friendship; I let him fly across the country to meet me, against my better judgment, and I shit you not, he was already trying to make out with me within 24 hours. There were no mixed signals; my signal was a clear no. He sobbed like a child when I wouldn't kiss him; he had been fully expecting me to succumb to his charms against everything I'd ever said. So, Irene, I feel you, girl.
A serial killer is caught in Lisbon, and Vincent is assigned by the newspaper to cover the trial along with photographer Antonio Flores. Antonio is everything that Vincent wants to be, and Vincent kind of hates him for it from the get: Antonio is a man who has women approach him, who has an achingly romantic lost-love story, who has gained notoriety for his photographs. Vincent, on the other hand, drags the albatross of the feeling of failure everywhere he goes. He claims it is a necklace of quirkiness and underdoggish victory, but we can see its true feathers.
The two men form a tenuous friendship (if you can call a relationship where one person is wildly jealous a friendship), but that is largely undone when Vincent learns the identity of the French woman who pines away for Antonio: of course, it is Irene. And she is coming to Lisbon, where the men have adjacent hotel rooms. Vincent crafts quick (and terrible) lies to save face; he invents a girlfriend, Lena Palmer. Secretly, he hatches a plot to reunite Antonio with his long-lost love so that he will abandon Irene, and Irene will be as wounded as Vincent (and, he won't let himself admit, available to him).
Things go awry, as do they always. Irene does turn out to be a flaming bitch, but again, Le Tellier masters his craft in such a way that we can see her without being filtered through Vincent's lens of bitterness. She does not stand in for all women who turn down Nice Guys™; she is her own woman, and she just happens to be a bitch, even though she's totally right about not going out with Vincent (because honestly, he's kind of a creepo). There are other women who wander into the story: Aurora, who is a bit Manic Pixie Dream Girl for my tastes; and Manuela, who doesn't put up with any of Vincent's shit, much to the reader's delight. Also to my delight, there is character growth. Vincent makes a few choices differently than the old Vincent would have. He turns right a few times instead of left. They are small choices, but they are redemptive.
This is a book that made me think, and I think I like that most of all. I have little Kindle notes (and I so love being able to do Kindle notes, y'all) about literature sprinkled all through the book, ones that make me feel like kind of a smarty-pants, and I enjoy that feeling. His writing style is smooth; the translation is wonderful. The setting is lovely and the book is interesting. (And, did you see that cover art? I didn't notice it until after I finished reading, because Kindle. LOVE.) Overall, I highly recommend it. ...more
I gave this book 4/5 stars at InsatiableBooksluts.com. The following review was first posted there. A copy was provided by Whitepoint Press.
I discoverI gave this book 4/5 stars at InsatiableBooksluts.com. The following review was first posted there. A copy was provided by Whitepoint Press.
I discovered this book through Goodreads. I KNOW. I almost never actually find stuff to read through Goodreads--not that the site isn't designed so that's easily accomplished, I'm just not that kind of site user. So it was awesome when the timing aligned just right for me to stumble across this book--and more importantly, a status update that mentioned the title of the first story, "Fag Hag in Fuchsia."
I mean come on. Like I'm not going to be all over that.
Courtney McDermott was a Peace Corps volunteer in Lesotho, a landlocked country in the middle of South Africa; her collection, much like História, História by Eleanor Stanford, takes place in the area where she volunteered. Characters in the story put faces on problems that we privileged don't always see: the prevalence of AIDS, the willingness of women to put up with nearly anything--anything--to maintain a job, the familial decisions that direct young women's lives without any thought to their desires or dreams, rape and patriarchy, the miserable educational system. She does this without being preachy; the stories are polished-raw and lay bare the people in them. McDermott condenses words into powerful bursts of understanding. The writing in this book is five-star.
So why a four star review?
Partially because of the organization of the book. There are three parts to the book, and . . . idk, it seemed a little off to me. The first part is the general stories; part two is shorter, microfiction stories, more like narrative snapshots; part three has a vampire story (a good one, really--don't think Twilight), a spec-fic end-of-days type story where everyone disappears, and a retelling of Cinderella. I can see the thought behind this--really, I can--but I think it might have been better to try to integrate the book into a whole work instead of breaking it up into sections. The last two sections are quite short and don't seem as complete as part one; the third one seems almost like an afterthought, though the stories are good.
The other thing--this might just be my issue, and this would have been four-star based on the organizational thing anyway, but. But. In the back of my mind, I was aware while I was reading that, while many of the characters were African and the points of view are African and they were people of color, the writer is a white girl from Iowa. And I would think, is this part distorted through the lens of privilege, or is it true to character? It's not that I don't trust Ms. McDermott. I didn't get the sense she was whitewashing anything (but then, how would I know?).
While I write this review, I am being torn by two entities. There's the author, looking at me sadly: "I was there," she says. "I wrote a good book. Why do you doubt me?" And then, there is the rising swell of voices of women of color; I have seen them stand tall, turn to face us fully, and say: "We don't need you, don't want you, to tell our stories for us. We deserve to tell our own stories. We have the right to tell our own stories." And Ms. McDermott, again: "But this is my story now, too. I went. I was there."
And I don't know what conclusion to come to on the issue. If the book had sucked, I could tell you not to read it; it was a good book, though, and on the merit of the writing alone, I'd recommend it. But I won't ignore those women, some of whom want (and with tremendous justification) white ladies to fuck right off, out of their lives, their struggles. So, if you decide to read How They Spend Their Sundays, read it with this caveat: May or May Not Contain Cultural Insensitivity and Misconceptions Due to Privilege. Because this reviewer simply doesn't know. ...more
This review was originally posted at our blog, InsatiableBooksluts.com. A review e-copy was provided by Ooligan Press.
Recommended if you like: On theThis review was originally posted at our blog, InsatiableBooksluts.com. A review e-copy was provided by Ooligan Press.
Recommended if you like: On the Road, reading about vices, characters who are a little (or more than a little) lost, coming-of-adulthood stories.
Up Nights is a great example of how a book can grab my attention against the odds. I received a pitch for this book by accident; it was addressed to another set of bloggers, but it came to me. Normally, I would have scrolled through, slightly amused. Possibly I would send the publisher a nice note letting them know that they’d made an error so that they could get the email addressed to the right person; I wouldn’t actually making any offer to review the book, though. Up Nights, though, was a rare pitch for a book I really, really wanted to read, and it wasn’t even addressed to me.
I’m glad that I read Up Nights. While it wasn’t a perfect book–and while I have no idea if it was enhanced by my recent reading of another junkie book, Spoonful, or the opposite–it was a book I enjoyed very much. I almost felt like it was a continuation of On the Road, set in modern times and with a twist: in Kerouac’s story, the shiftless and wild Dean abandons Sal in Mexico, but in Up Nights, Arthur abandons his wild friend in Mexico. This happens just before the story starts, but everything in the book spins out from this event.
Kine’s characters are young and uncertain; pretty much anybody who’s ever been through their twenties can identify, I think. They explore regret, sexuality, friendship, love, loss, and existentialist crises. Who are we? Where are we going? Will we ever get there? Kine captures the deep doubt of youth in a way that balances it with the freedom of youth. While searching for the meaning of life, Arthur and company are getting high, getting laid, and dropping everything to drive across the country on a moment’s notice. Oh, and you know, hopping a plane to Cuba. For reasons.
The only things I didn’t love about the book: the very, very beginning was a touch awkward. If I didn’t have a 50-page rule, I could very well have put it down . . . hence, why I have the 50-page rule, because I’m very happy I finished the book. Kine found his rhythm and the awkwardness smoothed out. The other thing that pinged at me was his style of drawing out certain details in a ‘suspenseful’ way. We learn early on, for example, that Bill is still in Mexico and that Arthur is really uncomfortable about it; Kine feeds us details about this, and a few other things, as we go. I don’t have a problem with that at all; what I found disappointing was that I didn’t feel the teaser-feeding had a proportional payoff to the built-up suspense. I would have liked more revelation about those topics. Fortunately, they aren’t crucial to the enjoyment of the book.
You know what is crucial to the enjoyment of the book? Reading it. And I totally think you should. I mean, if you want to. And stuff....more
We reviewed this book discussion-style at our blog, InsatiableBooksluts.com. I gave the book 4/5 stars; Rob, my co-blogger, gave it 5/5. Here's an excWe reviewed this book discussion-style at our blog, InsatiableBooksluts.com. I gave the book 4/5 stars; Rob, my co-blogger, gave it 5/5. Here's an excerpt of our discussion:
"Rob: I liked the book quite a lot. It read more like a screenplay with all the dialogue. Rob: reminded me of that film Gridlock’d. Susie: I liked the writing a lot. Rob: I liked his writing too. The book copy I had had one too many typos/mistakes; I hope the newer copies were combed over more carefully. Other than that, I felt his writing was clean and straightforward, and he drew characters very well, etched them in your mind so they stayed with you after. Susie: The book itself I felt might have been a tad long. I noticed around 37% (reading on my Kindle) that the story seemed like it should have been waaaaaay further than 37%. But that’s one of the pitfalls of reading digitally.. you don’t get to feel the heft of the book before you pick it up. I just remember I felt like the action warranted the book being further along by that point. Rob: I read it so fast I didn’t notice.
Susie: I did love the characters. Rob: I loved the characters, too. I even loved the minor characters, with their cozy connection. The only two I could have done without were Dante and Shane. Dante was like a version of John Bonham … loud, obnoxious and always falling over his feet. Susie: Dante grated on my nerves, but …. I didn’t mind him being IN the book. Every group like that needs a Dante. Rob: True… the aggressive drunk to balance out the more affable junkies. Susie: I also didn’t like Shane, but it was an extension of my being annoyed at Lila. Lila irked me. Rob: Yeah? me too. She was always so damned defensive. You had to walk on eggshells with her. And Shane was a smug little snot. [Ed: Now we enter into the true mark of a mutually-enjoyed book: we start gossiping about the characters like they're real people.] Susie: I didn’t like Lila because she was so self-centered and playing everybody. She had Dante and Michael wrapped around her finger (or as much as someone like Dante could be wrapped around anybody’s finger); they would jump when she said “jump.” Then she brings Shane into the mix, just, you know, because she felt like it. Rob: Yeah, then she gets all bent out of shape about [redacted] and gives Michael the [redacted] bullshit… please. Susie: I wasn’t wild about the very end. :x Rob: It’s hard to know where the hell [redacted] will end up…dead? or with [redacted]? neither seems good… Susie: I hope he DOESN’T end up with [redacted]. Bitch."
Rating:4.25/5 calls to 911 to get the ambulance to take you to the store to buy 7-Up for yoI originally reviewed this book at InsatiableBooksluts.com.
Rating: 4.25/5 calls to 911 to get the ambulance to take you to the store to buy 7-Up for your son
HOLY BALLS YOU GUYS I AM WRITING A BOOK REVIEW. Yes, yes, I actually read my ass a book and now I'm reviewing the motherfucker*.
*Apologies to Scott McClanahan and Two Dollar Radio for referring to the book as "motherfucker." I have no evidence at all that the book fucked any mothers.
I didn't know anything about Crapalachia when it arrived in my mailbox. I didn't read the blurb on the back of the book. I knew two things going into it: one, that Scott McClanahan had a somewhat cheeky way of referring to Appalachia, to which I can relate, having my own roots sprawling through the same area of the world; two, as a setting, it would (or should) feature highly in the book, since the cover had "A biography of a place" as the tagline.
I have no damn idea how to sum up how I feel about this book, and that's the truth. So, I'm not going to try to sum it up. Here are some thoughts I had about this book:
I didn't get any sense of place from the book, even though Appalachia seemed to be intended to be present enough to be an additional character. I grew up in Kentucky and my mom lived in West Virginia (where the book takes place), so I admit I had some expectations; I didn't really feel Appalachia in this book. Other than some brief references to coal miners and coal mining, it could have been set in a bunch of different places.
After I readjusted my brain from expecting a story about Appalachia, I thought his stories about his family were just about perfect. So much so that I actually just deleted a bunch of stuff I wrote and bumped up the star rating a half-star. No, it wasn't the book I expected to read. But it was a book I really enjoyed reading once my brain wrapped itself around the actuality of the book.
I found McClanahan's style a little jarring at first, but it smoothed out quickly.
People who liked Running With Scissors and/or The Perks of Being a Wallflower will probably enjoy this book. Or people who generally like books featuring fucked-up families.
I'm half-saddened, half-happy that McClanahan felt the need to add an appendix to the book to talk about what was true and what he had taken liberties with. Saddened for the obvious reason--has it really become necessary to strip away the magic of a book because some people can't friggin' figure out that literature is not the same thing as journalism? (Thank you, James Frey, for putting one over so hard on Oprah that this is now a Big Fucking Deal.) McClanahan, however, handled the appendix so well that it was a great addition to the book. I've read other books where the "confession" retroactively diminished the power of the story I'd read, but this one didn't, and I was glad.
Reading this book directly after reading a book by Barbara Kingsolver is probably not the best idea and might have been what flummoxed my brain.
Overall: yes, I think this is a book to read. Once I stopped looking for Appalachia, the magic of the stories got under my skin and wouldn't let go. The characters rolled off the page and tapped me on the shoulder. I laughed and I grew somber. I felt. I related. Good job, Mr. McClanahan. ...more
História,História is a memoir in essay form, sort of like David Sedaris's books (althougI originally published this review at InsatiableBooksluts.com.
História, História is a memoir in essay form, sort of like David Sedaris's books (although not similar in writing style)--the essays are separate but also form a whole work when put together, rather than being fragmented. Eleanor Stanford tells the story of her time volunteering in the Peace Corps, during which she was stationed in Cape Verde, islands off the coast of Africa that were settled by the Portuguese. She talks about the language, which isn't Portuguese but a derivative called Creole (Kriolu); she talks about the people, curiously neither African nor Portuguese, and not fitting in with either; she talks about her marriage, trembling on ever-shakier ground.
Stanford's prose is vivid; I could feel Cape Verde around me. To me, it felt like our travels through Mexico, especially the times we drove past the tourist areas and into small towns where the roads were dusty and unpaved. I could put myself there, and I could feel her love for the people, the culture, and the language. Her prose is also lovely, but without being flowery or affected. Stanford has a knack for including details that illuminate and nixing details that would bog down the story.
I loved the way that Stanford intertwined her personal journey and the culture of the islands, but I was initially disturbed when Stanford turned her observational skills on herself; twenty-two at the time that the events were taking place, the girl in the book was . . . well, a bit whiny. Several pages after my thinking that, though, Stanford demonstrated that she has keen hindsight vision: "Later, I would want to shake that twenty-two year old girl, to tell her to get over herself, to stop being so serious". I saw then that Stanford had deliberately and perfectly encapsulated that state of being twenty-two, not quite a full adult but certainly no longer a child. If it made me uncomfortable for book-Ellie, it's because I remember all too well being in that state; I would also love to go back and shake some sense into myself.
I actually really appreciated the arc of herself as a character; she unfolded her troubles subtly, without beating the reader about the head with them. I worried that it would become a work of first-world self-indulgence, a risk that we always take when we read about Americans going to less-privileged areas of the world. Stanford wrote about herself candidly, without inviting pity but allowing us to be compassionate for the girl she was; she wrote about Cape Verde in the same way. I have a lot of respect for Stanford showing us her life from that time, at an age that many of us would love to forget ever existed.
I only wish I could have been reading this in San Quintín, where it's too windy to fish and the beach is made of dunes. I definitely understand the feeling of sodadi, a kriolu word that Stanford explains means something like an aching longing. (Can you tell I'm a little heartsick for Mexico lately?) I really enjoyed this book, even if it stirred up a lot of longing feels....more
The "artifacts" in the anthology range from an irate letter from William Carlos Williams' "roommate" ("Will, you are a dick. You're goddamn right I was saving those plums for breakfast"), to an essay from Lorrie Moore on how to become a writer ("First, try to be something, anything, else"), to reviews of Chris Bachelder's beard, to a series of police reports that unfold a more personal story. Many of the stories have elements of humor, which is to be expected, given the playfulness of the idea of a false artifact; some of the stories also deeply move the reader. My breath caught more than once."
"It struck me as I was digestI gave this book 4.15/5 stars at InsatiableBooksluts.com. Engine Books provided an electronic review copy.
"It struck me as I was digesting this book that it reminded me of The Catcher in the Rye in some ways–please, please don’t let that put you off of the book if you have no love for Catcher, as I don’t mean that in a stylistic way. I feel like this is the book Phoebe Caulfield might have written twenty years later, if and when (it’s a when, isn’t it?) she had to take Holden in. A troubled brother finally trying to put his nose down and just adjust, to finally be adjusted; the sister who is coming unraveled because she has never been able to quiet all of the echoes of her brother’s disturbance. They’ve gotten into her at a subatomic level, and his reappearance has activated them.
This novel is relentless. Mauk pulls no punches, nor does she ever slip on the rose-colored glasses to soothe us from all of the shit going down. She deals with family problems and secrets in a raw way that would make people with fucked-up families shudder in recognition. Her characters interact gorgeously; these are characters that deeply understand their own motivations.
I did find a few parts of the novel to be a bit–-mistimed, maybe? It’s hard to say which ones in a review because I don’t want to give anything away toward the end. I remember frowning at Andrea for re-asking Delphie a question on a matter that they had just extensively hashed out. Maybe I missed something subtle that made that exchange make more sense, but the re-asking of that question made the scene seem really anticlimactic. Mostly, though, I thought the execution of the story to be quite smooth."
"Tester hands out understandingI gave this book 4.6/5 stars on InsatiableBooksluts.com. My review copy was provided by Tightrope Books.
"Tester hands out understanding strictly on a need-to-know basis, and it took me by surprise, I will admit. You know those books that spell everything out for the reader? This isn’t one of them. This book isn’t one to fly through, gobbling down pages; this book needs to be chewed on, like a crusty French bread. The “what the fuck” feeling I had when I reached the end of the first story told me that I was in deeper than I expected to be. Yet, this feeling wasn’t unpleasant. I was happy to be challenged. I read each story twice before moving on to the next.
Tester’s habit of revealing just enough information to make the story hang together makes one read like a detective; only at the end do you get a round picture of characters and events–and even then, it’s not fully complete. Just complete enough. This is especially true of the stories that take place in the West; four of them focus on the same characters, each story being told from a different point of view so that we see angles of the stories that were previously invisible. Reading Fatty is a bit like watching the film Memento; like Leonard, you piece together snapshots and try to figure out the truth, but even when you’ve reached a conclusion, nagging doubts convince you that you didn’t entirely get it right. I don’t think I have fully explored everything this book has to offer yet, and I read it twice."