ODS is by and large a compendium of online-dating advice columns Gavin wrote for a San Francisco Bay Area newspaper, interspersed with introductory ex...moreODS is by and large a compendium of online-dating advice columns Gavin wrote for a San Francisco Bay Area newspaper, interspersed with introductory explanations of what was going on in his life at the time. The book begins with Gavin’s wife leaving him — a darkly comic scene you might expect to open a quirky romantic comedy starring Steve Carell — and ends with (spoiler alert?) love.
The book has some nice moments, and a few crucial no-nonsense observations. (I’m sorry ladies, there is just no real way to know ahead of time whether a guy will call you after sex.) Perhaps most impactful are Gavin’s frequent reminders that everything up to an actual sit-down with a dude is potentially (and probably) bullshit—not just his claims to be 30 years old, gainfully employed and “an avid windsurfer,” but maybe his entire personality and character, the pre-date blanks of which women tend to fill in with sunshine and rainbows.
The final chapter in the Sookie saga is formulaic, a predictable conclusion that wants for a bit of general closure (even Harry Potter gave us a 19 Ye...moreThe final chapter in the Sookie saga is formulaic, a predictable conclusion that wants for a bit of general closure (even Harry Potter gave us a 19 Years Later, Charlaine). And yet, Harris does answer the only question we ever really cared about, and the ultimate romantic fate of our plucky heroine is the one spoiler I won’t give away.
I can’t say that Knox comes across as the nicest person person in her book (certainly not the smartest) or that she doesn't bear responsibility for ho...moreI can’t say that Knox comes across as the nicest person person in her book (certainly not the smartest) or that she doesn't bear responsibility for how convoluted the Kercher investigation became. But in writing Waiting to Be Heard, Knox accomplishes what I imagine she set out to do: Presenting her side of the story, and countering 95% of the claims made against her. If she is a psychopath—which I suppose she'd have to be, if she were guilty—then she’s a fine one. A fine one, indeed.
I stand by my feelings that The Great Gatsby is not the best book in the history of all time ever, but Jay Gatsby is one of the greatest characters in...moreI stand by my feelings that The Great Gatsby is not the best book in the history of all time ever, but Jay Gatsby is one of the greatest characters in literature, admirable and pitiable in equal measure.
Being a professional humor writer (essayist, author, whatever) must be frustrating; at some point, you begin to run out of material. But this is what...moreBeing a professional humor writer (essayist, author, whatever) must be frustrating; at some point, you begin to run out of material. But this is what makes David Sedaris who he is: When you can turn a trip to the dentist, or an experience in airport security, into something poignant and insightful and hilarious, you theoretically have a near-infinite universe of things to write about. And so perhaps this is why LEDWO feels like a bit of a let-down. When Sedaris is on, he’s on—while reading this week, I’d [obnoxiously] text my friends his better bits, stuff like “My new passport photo made me look like a penis with an old man’s face drawn on it”—and so when he’s off, or just slightly less on, it feels like an affront. Like Beyoncé putting out a bad album, or Jesus coveting his neighbor’s wife.
A Thousand Cuts is only a few years old (2010) and it's a testament to the apparent longevity of school shootings that it could have been released yes...moreA Thousand Cuts is only a few years old (2010) and it's a testament to the apparent longevity of school shootings that it could have been released yesterday. Moreover, we are still constantly facing the question of what makes a person kill people–numerous people, violently, en masse. In fact, this is a pretty bleak period in our nation’s history (interpret period to mean month, year or decade, depending on your level of pessimism) and thus a great time to read this novel. It’s not the most subtle book — on occasion, its themes feel almost shouted – but maybe it shouldn't be. Maybe we shouldn't tiptoe around the issue of whether the "why" matters, and if it does when and what are we supposed to do with it.
Don’t be discouraged by the dramatic selfies populating the cover of Light and the other Gone books: These aren't (or aren't only) silly novels about...moreDon’t be discouraged by the dramatic selfies populating the cover of Light and the other Gone books: These aren't (or aren't only) silly novels about teen romance. Mostly the romance (between lead bro/teen hero Sam and annoying know-it-all Astrid, and between evil megalomaniac Caine and head biotch Diana) is a subplot within the Gone books’ much broader story arc: that of a nuclear accident whose fallout resulted in the sudden disappearance of everyone over the age of 15, plus the sudden appearance of an opaque dome that trapped the remaining babies/children/teens in a town-sized confine while also spawning a series of human and animal mutations that are in equal measure awesome and deadly. I mean, say what you will about 16-year-olds navigating the confusing trenches of young love, but post-apocalyptic politics and nuclear-grade genetic mutations are plots that know no terminology like “young adult.”(less)
Sonali Deraniyagala’s is one of those stories, the kind you relay to someone else just to watch their eyes widen as they try to imagine that level of...moreSonali Deraniyagala’s is one of those stories, the kind you relay to someone else just to watch their eyes widen as they try to imagine that level of grief, as they attempt to wrap their mind around soldiering on when in an instant you've lost the five people closest to you in the world. I try to imagine experiencing such a profound loss and I can’t; I don’t know how I would survive.
But what I love most about Wave is that it isn't inspirational (I don’t know if Deraniyagala intended it to be). It doesn't read like a guide for other bereaved wives or parents. It doesn't feel like an affirmation of our place in the world, or of a ”mysterious ways” God that seems to appeal most to people after tragedies He ostensibly could have prevented. Wave is just a moment of darkness, a glimpse into one woman’s survival, a bit of extremely highbrow disaster porn. It’s haunting and beautiful and makes you want to stop reading the news because who knows what hurricane/tsunami/earthquake/asteroid/sinkhole might might do away with everyone you love in the span of 15 minutes. It makes you want to call your mom and hug your sister and cancel all beach vacations. But more than anything, it makes you hope that Deraniyagala found some measure of peace in writing Wave. Some teeny tiny modicum of peace.
Women, myself included, often have counterintuitively negative reactions to women’s issues. We don’t want to be considered successful women, just succ...moreWomen, myself included, often have counterintuitively negative reactions to women’s issues. We don’t want to be considered successful women, just successful people. We don’t want our professional contributions to be qualified by our girl parts, and so discussing gender in the workplace feels anathema to achieving equality. And to this end, women get a lot of mixed messages. “You can do anything a man can, but you don’t have to take the same path as a man would, but you should behave aggressively and confidently like a man does, but also you should help your company effect change that will benefit women, which is something a man probably wouldn’t do.” It’s exhausting, running everything through the lens of womanhood. It’s another thing to think about, another battle to fight, another injustice to dwell on — and you’re never quite sure if talking about it is making things better or worse. Whether or not I identify with her anxious wallflower of an Average Woman, in Lean In Sandberg makes a decent argument for “better.”
The Passage treads on exceedingly familiar territory, which is to say that it continues my exploration of Dayum We Are Obsessed With The End of The Wo...moreThe Passage treads on exceedingly familiar territory, which is to say that it continues my exploration of Dayum We Are Obsessed With The End of The World. And if I’m being honest, there’s nothing spectacularly new about The Passage, though Cronin does a good job of creating his own iteration of Vampire Death Plague. The book is more than anything a compulsive page-turner, very Stephen King-esque in both size and scope. And even though solid 40% of the included blurbs call The Passage “beach read of the summer,” hook me up with a Snuggie and some snacks, and I can read a sweeping, addictive and thoroughly imagined vampire book any day of the year. Twice on Valentine’s Day.
Born Round is a memoir in the sense that Bruni documents his life: He covers his early schooling, his college years and his career. He talks a lot abo...moreBorn Round is a memoir in the sense that Bruni documents his life: He covers his early schooling, his college years and his career. He talks a lot about his relationship with his family, and coming out as gay, and growing as a reporter. But these things are in many ways just a backdrop to Bruni’s other trajectory: from chubby to slim to chubby to fat to average to slim again. Because when you struggle with your weight the way Bruni does, the way so many people do, there is no portion of your life whose contents are not qualified by exactly how fat you were at the time, by which jeans you fit into, by how obvious your love handles were in photographs.
And so while Born Round isn't the most interesting memoir, it’s a completely accurate portrayal of what I like to call Fat Brain, of the exhausting emotional toll of never going more than an hour without thinking about your weight. If you’re a fellow fatty (or former fatty) this book feels like a smile-slash-sigh-of-relief.
How to Be a Woman is A+. A+++. Caitlin Moran is honest and brash and hilarious, and doesn’t hesitate to scoff at knee-jerk wariness of feminism. But b...moreHow to Be a Woman is A+. A+++. Caitlin Moran is honest and brash and hilarious, and doesn’t hesitate to scoff at knee-jerk wariness of feminism. But by highlighting the myriad ludicrous obligations to which women are beholden—aesthetic, emotional and societal—Moran also inadvertently points out another one. As the 21st century byproduct of decades of equal rights battles, are we as females required to continue fighting the food fight? Do we need to be openly and aggressively offended by sexist humor? Do we need to mentor young women, or participate in task forces focused on women in the workplace? Should we march up to every asshole construction worker and say “Excuse me sir, but as an empowered female, I am offended by your attempts to subjugate me and reduce me to the sum of my physical parts!” Do successful women need to actively raise up other women, or is the mere act of being a successful women, of living comfortably and confidently in one’s own skin, feminist enough?
The slowing is a genius narrative foil: It presents society with a world-ending scenario, but one that allows an indefinite amount of time, perhaps ev...moreThe slowing is a genius narrative foil: It presents society with a world-ending scenario, but one that allows an indefinite amount of time, perhaps even a great deal of time, before the end actually arrives. Karen Thompson Walker has created here a leisurely cataclysm, the terminal illness of armageddons.
The beauty, of course, is that the slowing is simultaneously everything and nothing. What it amounts to is a guarantee that at some point in the future everyone will die, a guarantee with which the human race should already be familiar. And while there are certainly tangible side effects, some of them extreme, these too beg the question of what exactly makes life worth living. Is it the taste of a sun-warmed peach? The satisfaction of a well-pitched baseball? Is it daylight? If sheer living is the only thing you can hold onto, what and how much would need to be taken away to make that living feel pointless?
It’s difficult to explain what ACFL is “about,” a struggle not entirely helped by my edition’s vaguely worded back cover, which devotes a third of its...moreIt’s difficult to explain what ACFL is “about,” a struggle not entirely helped by my edition’s vaguely worded back cover, which devotes a third of its real estate to phrases like “one of the most accomplished, powerful, and enduring classics of speculative fiction.” The book opens in post-apocalyptic times—roughly the 26th century—when the human race has long since crippled itself in a nuclear war known as the Flame Deluge. Off the bat, we meet Brother Francis, a monk in the “Albertian Order of Leibowitz,” a monastic order devoted to the preservation of knowledge, a task they accomplish by hoarding, hiding, memorizing and copying books whose value has been drastically reduced by a post-Deluge society that frowns upon literacy. Leibowitz refers to Isaac Edward Leibowitz, a 20th-century electrical engineer employed by the U.S. military, who after being martyred for his devotion to scientific knowledge, was beatified by the Romance Catholic Church (“New Rome”). At the time of the book’s opening, he is a candidate for sainthood.
Here—ironically—is where things get wacky. Although it opens in a barely civilized post-apocalyptic setting, Canticle goes on to span centuries. Primary characters—generally the abbots and monks of the Albertian order—are replaced in the narrative by their successors, who each face a host of problems that highlight the progression (or deterioration) of society in the intervening decades. The whole novel is like a time-lapse video: Through hundreds of years of social and political upheaval—stretches of civility and barbarism, literacy and ignorance, peace and warfare—there stands this monastery, with its crew of monks dedicated to the preservation of knowledge at all costs.
There were many many things I liked about Canticle, not least of which was the apparent fun Miller had in imagining how people—especially slow-to-change people like monks—might react to advances (or regressions) in civilization. But even as I never stopped appreciating the caliber of ACFL, I found that I never quite got into it, in part because I was never entirely sure whether I was reading rising action, falling action or something in the middle. Canticle is a very difficult book to predict, and while that could certainly be considered a strength, it was sometimes a hindrance, not knowing whether the character, setting, time period, society or state of political affairs with which I was absorbed would carry through to the next part of the novel.
Although zombies are one of the happening supernatural creatures of 2013—thank you, The Walking Dead—Isaac Marion does a great job of creating a zombi...moreAlthough zombies are one of the happening supernatural creatures of 2013—thank you, The Walking Dead—Isaac Marion does a great job of creating a zombie world that adopts all the typical fixings of the undead, plus some extras. The zombies in Warm Bodies have the capacity for limited speech and thought; they've formed semi-communities whose perks include bizarre religious ceremonies and a zombie training school for undead kids. They have friendships, sort of, and get “married,” sort of. Generally speaking, they seem less removed from not only humanity, but mere human-ness, than we are perhaps used to in books/movies/TV shows of this ilk.
Overall, I really really enjoyed Warm Bodies, and am excited to see the movie (because really, who knew that weird-looking kid from About a Boy would turn out decently attractive?) As zombie stories go, it’s fun and quirky, but still speaks to that greater question that accompanies all plague or plague-esque end-of-world scenarios: Why did this happen?(less)
At the risk of provoking a nerd outcry (and in the interest of explaining the novel to those who haven’t read it) Watchmen is sort of like a really da...moreAt the risk of provoking a nerd outcry (and in the interest of explaining the novel to those who haven’t read it) Watchmen is sort of like a really dark The Incredibles. It takes place in a fictional 1985, eight years after the Keene Act outlawed "costumed adventuring" by vigilantes not in the employ of the U.S. government. The novel opens with the death of the Comedian, a former member of both the Minutemen (a 1940s group of masked avengers) and the Crimebusters (the Minutemen’s much more horribly named successors). The Comedian’s death, a probable homicide, leads us to Rorschach (another former Crimebuster, and our protagonist of sorts), who is convinced that someone is purposefully killing masks. The rest of the novel is a whodunit for this mysterious hero-killer, as well as a history of masked crime-fighting and its participants, and a fairly timeless commentary on the ills of society and the threat of nuclear destruction (despite being fictional, this 1985 still includes a Soviet war in Afghanistan). Although it isn't particularly hard to follow, it would be fair to say that Watchmen has a lot going on.
But despite its inherent geekery (superheroes, physics experiments gone wrong, nuclear war; there’s even a comic book within the comic book) Watchmen isn't inaccessible, and doesn't require any particular affinity for comics or science fiction. It is ultimately just a story—a mystery, a character study and even a bit of a romance—and one that frankly would still resonate if it were released for the first time today. It’s engrossing and creative (traditional comic strip panels are broken up by newspaper articles, book excerpts and other documents) and overall just a really enjoyable way to spend a week.
For the unfamiliar, Larson’s is a unique style and quality of historical writing. His books, though nonfiction, read like novels, and come equipped wi...moreFor the unfamiliar, Larson’s is a unique style and quality of historical writing. His books, though nonfiction, read like novels, and come equipped with dozens of pages documenting original source materials, everything from archived letters to old newspapers to almanacs of rural farming conditions. In an Erik Larson book, the sentence “The morning was warm as Sally fetched eggs from Bob’s Market,” probably has no fewer than three sources: the weather report for that day, a memoir or letter or autobiography written by Sally herself, documenting said eggs-pedition (sorry), and business records asserting that Bob’s was the only local outlet selling eggs at the time. Consequently, the overwhelming impression made by Larson’s books is thoroughness, and the sheer attention to detail needed to turn fragmented historical documents into a single compelling narrative.
My only gripe with Issac’s Storm was a) the lack of photos (in his end notes Larson mentions referencing more than 700 of them, so what gives?) and b) that it isn’t Larson’s best (Devil in the White City is), which is sort of like saying “That isn’t the best gourmet macaroni and cheese I’ve had.” It’s still great. It still has an impressive number of ingredients. It still reminds me why I love macaroni and cheese, and how much I admire the people who make it. And most importantly, it’s still way better, a billion percent better, than any macaroni and cheese I could make myself.
What makes Divergent interesting—dare I say mildly unique—is that its conflict doesn’t rely on the avarice or corruption of a single person or body of...moreWhat makes Divergent interesting—dare I say mildly unique—is that its conflict doesn’t rely on the avarice or corruption of a single person or body of people. Sure, there are instigators in the war that’s ultimately waged among factions, but said war isn’t the byproduct of an immoral central government (see: The Hunger Games, Brave New World, 1984, Fahrenheit 451). No one’s fighting evil vampires (Twilight, The Strain) or rebelling against dubious biological conditioning (The Handmaid’s Tale, Never Let Me Go, Brave New World again). Rather, Divergent pits virtue against virtue, ideal against ideal, and good intentions against a paved road to Hell. This facet of the novel—a central fight that’s more Hufflepuff vs. Gryffindor than peasant vs. king—makes it special, and in some sense a better read for teenagers. “Would you rather be always honest or always brave?” is a more valuable question than “Would you rather be poor and oppressed or not poor and oppressed?”
As book titles go, The Casual Vacancy is pretty appropriate. Not only because a casual vacancy — a seat on a local city council made suddenly availabl...moreAs book titles go, The Casual Vacancy is pretty appropriate. Not only because a casual vacancy — a seat on a local city council made suddenly available by the unexpected death of its holder — is the circumstance around which J.K. Rowling’s latest novel revolves, but also because somehow this particular turn of phrase seems to define book itself: unceremoniously lackluster.
In the vein of Lionel Shriver, Lost Memory of Skin doesn’t come down definitively on either side of the questions it raises, but merely brings them up...moreIn the vein of Lionel Shriver, Lost Memory of Skin doesn’t come down definitively on either side of the questions it raises, but merely brings them up in such a measured and nuanced way that you’re forced past knee-jerk prejudice and into a more difficult line of thought. Banks never asks you to like his characters, merely to face them. And when your characters are convicted sex offenders, facing them is challenge enough.
If I could choose one word to describe Perks, it would be poignant. One of the very first lines in the book—”So this is my life. And I want you to kno...moreIf I could choose one word to describe Perks, it would be poignant. One of the very first lines in the book—”So this is my life. And I want you to know that I am both happy and sad and I’m still trying to figure out how that could be”—stuck with me after I read it the first time, and still resonates with me today. It’s a small book, short and sad and sweet and a nice read for a Sunday afternoon when you’re feeling old and downtrodden and want to remember why being 16 was almost definitely worse.
Broom of the System is weird, predictably so, and never seems to make any grandiose point, or come to any sort of neat conclusion (in fact, the novel...moreBroom of the System is weird, predictably so, and never seems to make any grandiose point, or come to any sort of neat conclusion (in fact, the novel famously ends mid-sentence.) I can see this particular style — coupled with Wallace’s penchant for run-on sentences, existential ramblings and just generally strange shit — being unappealing to some people, and in most cases it would be less than appealing to me as well, as I have historically shied from these “exploring the meaning of things through pseudo-realistic circumstances” novels; see, for example, This Book Will Save Your Life). But I have a soft spot for David Foster Wallace about the size of a small planet, so I’d forgive him pretty much any level of literary chaos.
In a way, it’s the anachronism of TPM that makes it work, or at least work better than a novel where Mitchell finds out Madeleine is dating Leonard th...moreIn a way, it’s the anachronism of TPM that makes it work, or at least work better than a novel where Mitchell finds out Madeleine is dating Leonard through Facebook, and Leonard channels his crazy into tweets, and Mitchell documents his trip to India on Instagram. The novel is an inadvertent reminder that the Internet has taken all the mystery out of life, and young love, including the countless hours spent pondering the exact whereabouts, activities and emotions of one’s current, former or potential significant other. Sure, maybe it wasn’t the best story ever written, or even the best story ever written by Eugenides. But that’s okay. Because at the end of the day, who doesn’t love a good boy meets girl.
Not only does WILGS fail to be particularly earth-shattering with respect to the financial sector, it for the most part fails to be particularly inter...moreNot only does WILGS fail to be particularly earth-shattering with respect to the financial sector, it for the most part fails to be particularly interesting as a book.
TBG is like a Lionel Shriver novel without all the nuance, or character development, or wildly skilled (intimidatingly skilled) presentation of though...moreTBG is like a Lionel Shriver novel without all the nuance, or character development, or wildly skilled (intimidatingly skilled) presentation of thought-provoking issues. It’s mostly just a novel, with moderately gloomy characters and moderately sinister overtones. It’s a bummer, but not in any sort of innovative way. It’s, I don’t know, meh.
So acute was my ignorance of Mary Shelley’s classic that, before reading it, I never realized Frankenstein is actually the name of the scientist, not...moreSo acute was my ignorance of Mary Shelley’s classic that, before reading it, I never realized Frankenstein is actually the name of the scientist, not the monster that emerges from his experiments (though I’m sure there’s some English Lit major argument to be made for the symbolism of confusing the two). This was one of many tidbits from the novel that have been mostly excised from modern interpretations, which are pretty much limited to tall green men with big foreheads, bad haircuts and neck bolts issuing monosyllabic grunts with their arms outstretched, as they slowly advance on their intended victims. In other words, Frankenstein has been pretty well botched by pop culture.
John Green’s characters fall in love the way you really do in high school. His teen boys are intelligent doofuses, cursed with social awkwardness, but...moreJohn Green’s characters fall in love the way you really do in high school. His teen boys are intelligent doofuses, cursed with social awkwardness, but blessed with brains and the kind of adorable quirks that will probably make them heartthrobs at the local coffee house in college. Green’s teenage girls are damaged but smart, with a flair for the mysterious. Most importantly, they have personalities, something Twilight would have you believe female teenagers are sorely lacking.
John Green is most definitely a young adult novelist, but not because he writes books about young adults, or books that young adults can read. Rather,...moreJohn Green is most definitely a young adult novelist, but not because he writes books about young adults, or books that young adults can read. Rather, he has retained some muscle memory of what it means to be a teenager, and through his characters one can’t help but appreciate the beauty of what it feels like to be that age: “Young. Goofy. Infinite.“
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