I loved the tenderness between the characters themselves and the tenderness with which the author wrote about them.
I loved the five distinct voices of the members of the Moore family, whose alternating narrations unwind the story frontwards, backwards, and inwards.
I loved the "wisp of suspense," as one reviewer put it; but I also loved that the mystery was embedded in the character development, not the other way around.
I loved the reality of it. Even the best of folks trying to make the best of decisions sometimes just get it all wrong.
I loved that Phillips didn't need eccentric quirks or minor evil streaks to bring her characters to life. She just wrote about ordinary people trying to do right by each other.
For a first time novelist to tackle poverty, racism, prejudice, and family life in 1930s Alabama is ballsy, not least because the inimitable Harper Lee already did it with spectacular near-perfection. But Gin Phillips understands that in mining and in writing and in getting to know ourselves and others, nothing is ever finished.(less)
Perhaps I would have liked this book a little better had I not read it as a chaser to the magnificent Suite Francaise.
I appreciated that the story tra...morePerhaps I would have liked this book a little better had I not read it as a chaser to the magnificent Suite Francaise.
I appreciated that the story trained and focused its lens on the Vel d'Hiv roundup, an abonimable event in WWII France, perpetrated by French police and government, that I hadn't ever learned about and that apparently most French folks don't learn about either. But I lost interest when the story, which began as two stories alternating by chapter, streamlined into one narration. I missed the gripping firsthand account of Sarah's Holocaust tale when it merged with Julia's 21st century narrative, and might have rather just read the WWII story instead of Sarah's life contained in Julia's life.
After a killer first line (which gets repeated throughout the story), it's pretty much downhill. The idea for the plot was interesting, but the tellin...moreAfter a killer first line (which gets repeated throughout the story), it's pretty much downhill. The idea for the plot was interesting, but the telling seemed crass and was full of holes and awkward devices. At the end I felt like all the characters had regressed into a sort of lukewarm morality where as long as everybody's getting along, everything's okay. Though most of the plot was set in Alabama, nothing about gods in Alabama contributed to the sense of place I've been seeking in my Alabama reading.
Jackson is funny and gave her characters a handful of surprising insights; it's too bad I felt ever-so-slightly dirtier when I'd finished the book.(less)
You don't (and by you don't I mean I don't) read many stories about the sinewy connection between siblings. Start here. Bring your heart: you'll hand...moreYou don't (and by you don't I mean I don't) read many stories about the sinewy connection between siblings. Start here. Bring your heart: you'll hand it over to (and then shatter it to pieces for) the three siblings of the Bigtree clan, Ava, Ossie, and Kiwi. Bring your guts: in their regular lives at the family-run island theme park Swamplandia!, these kids wrestle alligators and date the dead; in their coming-of-age storms, they prove as unexpectedly resilient as the swamp itself. And bring along a good chuckle, too: their naive innocence will have you laughing, as will Karen Russell's observations of the absurdities we all impose on ourselves in the name of survival.
Don't forget your literary brain: you'll want it along to appreciate Russell's brazen talent for writing fiercely beautiful, arresting prose.
I'm off to find a copy of Russell's short story collection immediately, although I sort of feel like I need a few more days just to think about this one.(less)
The review from the Houston Chronicle says, "Atwood takes many trends which exist today and stretches them to their logical and chilling conclusions."...moreThe review from the Houston Chronicle says, "Atwood takes many trends which exist today and stretches them to their logical and chilling conclusions." That was probably true of trends that existed when the book was first published, in 1986. But even though following 2012's sociopolitical power trends to their extremities of praxis would probably land us in a very different world than the Republic of Gilead, where the narrator's story takes place, the book's warning is still germane when considering questions of prejudice and power imbalance.
Atwood's inscription includes a quote from Jonathan Swift's satirical essay A Modest Proposal, in which Swift recommends that to alleviate the pains of population growth and food scarcity, the Irish should eat their own children. The choice of this quote gives readers a hint regarding the wicked humor with which Atwood is about to address her subject. And indeed, she is funny in the darkest of ways, especially in the invented terminology of the Republic of Gilead (a government-sponsored fatal beating of a prisoner by a group of citizens, for instance, takes the euphemism "Particicution"). But she's also terrifying. Her tale (or rather, her handmaid's tale) suggests that all it takes to place a relatively stable society into the hands of dangerous radicals is the ignorant apathy and fearful conformity of the rest of the people.(less)
Ghosts and memories haunt Ren, an archaeologist who steeps herself in her work but avoids the same sort of passion in relationships. When evidence sur...moreGhosts and memories haunt Ren, an archaeologist who steeps herself in her work but avoids the same sort of passion in relationships. When evidence surfaces that points to an ancient artist whose bowls Ren has encountered before, she drops everything to spend months at the site of the dig. But the artist is not the only character with whom Ren becomes enamored; she also finds herself falling for Silas, a fellow archaeologist at the dig. Ren must discern how reliable her ghosts really are and decide for herself which reality she will live in.
After Gin Phillips' tender first novel, The Well and the Mine, this one was sort of a let-down. For one, she completely wore out the noun "thigh" and all forms of the verb "slide." Hands slid all over bodies and objects, and thighs received constant attention. I know, for example, that on Ren's left thigh are a scar, a bruise, and Silas's hand. Also, the title - which caught my interest before I'd read her other book - didn't really end up having much to do with the book. But the real reason I was disappointed is that the idea for the story is actually really good, and I think a writer with Phillips' chops could have executed it much more elegantly. Maybe she was working under a deadline?
I want to be a Gin Phillips fan. She's local. She's funny. She's insightful. But I might need a third book to prove that the first one wasn't a fluke.(less)
Are you interested in vampires, but not allowed to read Twilight yet?
Try this classic on for size. It's the tale of the vampire who made vampires famo...moreAre you interested in vampires, but not allowed to read Twilight yet?
Try this classic on for size. It's the tale of the vampire who made vampires famous, the original Undead bloodsucker: Count Dracula.
The story is told through the letters and diary entries of a small group of people who encounter Dracula and find themselves shrouded in mysterious circumstances. They are drawn together by their suspicions and must work as a team, led by clue-tracking Dr. Van Helsing, to hunt down Dracula. Time is ticking - if the gutsy band of vampire seekers doesn't find Dracula soon, one of them may join him by transforming into an Undead herself, not to mention the whole world will be in danger. But the Count has wolves, weather, and other wild forces at his command. Will Van Helsing and his crew catch Dracula at his game before it's too late?
Reviewed for the Emmet O'Neal Library Children's Department
Note: I read this as a concession to a friend who insisted that any librarian worth her salt would not let the vampire-lit phase pass without actually reading some vampire-lit. "Fine," I said in my best nonchalantly superior tone, "I'll read Dracula."
Since the review was for our library's kids, I didn't explain why I only gave the book 3 stars; but now I will. The good characters are so relentlessly good and the evil character is so abominably evil that the book feels a bit heavy-handed at times. I became weary of the Good Guys' apologies, earnest and well-kept promises, endless self-sacrifice, and dogged explaining to one another of their intentions so there would be no shadow of misunderstanding. And Count Dracula is so bad, all the time. At the very end, there is about a paragraph when Stoker invokes, like, a nanosecond's worth of sympathy for Dracula; but it truly is a microscopic inclusion (so, if you're not reading the book with a microscope, you'll probably miss it).
But. If sparkling in the sun and choosing pseudo-vegetarianism are traits a little further along the Vampiric Evolutionary Chain (I swear that's a thing), this book is worth reading to meet the father of bloodsucking badasses.(less)
Even though it was published in 1985, this book still consistently shows up on lists of the best novels for young adults; that's why I picked it up. I...moreEven though it was published in 1985, this book still consistently shows up on lists of the best novels for young adults; that's why I picked it up. I also know several dudes my age who regard the book with a special sort of reverence, maybe because it was the only thing they enjoyed reading in their teens or maybe because Ender's deep sense of honor and love is unhindered by sentimentality. Or it could be because Ender so thoroughly kicks ass every time he fights, whether it's school bullies, battle school training opponents, or alien armies.
Science fiction isn't a genre I typically like, and the particulars of the plot line didn't interest me much in this book. But I loved the character of Ender Wiggin. He's stronger and smarter than everyone he knows, and he has an inherent talent for battle; and yet, he doesn't like using violence or humiliating anyone. He's empathetic and kind without being cheesy. He kills, then hates himself for it. Card creates a hero by giving Ender an overdose of emotional conflict to go along with his extraordinary above-averageness.
I can see influences of Ender's story in more current popular fantasy/dystopian fiction. Both the Hunger Games and Harry Potter series seem to draw from elements of Card's story. Specifically, Ender's barely-licit battle classes for rookies have an echo in Harry Potter's DA, and Dumbledore's method of strengthening Harry in the later books (distancing himself and allowing Harry to deal with seemingly unfair situations) looks similar to how Graff and Mazer Rackham train Ender.(less)
Even though I really enjoy college football and I am a tiny bit obsessed with the television show Friday Night Lights, I didn't actually expect this b...moreEven though I really enjoy college football and I am a tiny bit obsessed with the television show Friday Night Lights, I didn't actually expect this book to be as good as it was. I think I have sports on one end of my brain and good books on the other, and ne'er the twain shall meet.
But Nanci Kincaid, an author I picked up in my Read Local campaign, proved me wrong. With razor-sharp insight most likely gained through her own experience as the wife of a college football coach, she narrates the story of Dixie and Mac Gibbs through the voices of Dixie, their daughter Sarah, their mothers, and other women who are connected in various ways to the Gibbs' lives. The book follows Mac and Dixie from high school and college, when he is the quarterback and she is a cheerleader, into marriage, parenthood, and Mac's continually evolving career in coaching. I don't want to spoil anything, so I'll just say that this is a story of how football--and winning--can become the other woman.
Kincaid did a great job of bringing us into the world of college football in the southeast, using the story to peel back the facade on the pressure coaches are under to cheat, the pervading culture of sexism and racism, and the absurd bedfellows made by church and college ball. Folks outside the SEC may have a hard time suspending disbelief for much of this book; but for those of us down south, it almost seems like a work of non-fiction.(less)
Wendell Berry meets Ernest Hemingway in this novel of lost innocence and learned love. The story is deeply rooted in a small Colorado town where every...moreWendell Berry meets Ernest Hemingway in this novel of lost innocence and learned love. The story is deeply rooted in a small Colorado town where everybody knows everybody's business. A handful of those everybodies - a high school teacher and his two young boys, a pregnant teenager, a pair of old bachelor brothers - find their paths criss-crossing in ways they could not have expected but that will change them permanently. Haruf brings characters to life by adhering to Strunk & White's advice to write with nouns and verbs, not adjectives and adverbs. Dialogue isn't encased in quotation marks, which makes it seem almost a part of the landscape; words and actions run together seamlessly and fit like puzzle pieces with the barn, the school, the dirt road, the bar, the abandoned house. Chekhov said, "Don't tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass." Haruf's prose never tells and always shows.
A plainsong was a single melody sung in unison by a group of voices. The characters in this story stagger in and out of each other's lives until they settle into a common, unadorned melody that binds them together. The result is a beautiful, uplifting story.(less)
I've been taking a writing class, and the teacher asked us to buy and read this book. Then we Skyped with author Jessica Keener in class this week. I...moreI've been taking a writing class, and the teacher asked us to buy and read this book. Then we Skyped with author Jessica Keener in class this week. I have to say, I much preferred the author to the book.
Our writing teacher's opinion was that the writing in Night Swim was far and away the best she'd read in years. I just didn't see it. Certainly there were standout moments - for instance, when the narrator describes her father eating dinner standing at the counter, bits of food dropping like pieces of him falling apart - but on the whole, I thought it was a little choppy. It also seemed to get sloppier toward the end.
I always feel bad for an author when the book is poorly edited, and that was the case here. Maybe some readers don't notice or mind, but grammar and punctuation errors yank me out of the story, as do glaring editing oversights like a very specific word used twice on the same page or used incorrectly.
Here's what I did like about the book: nearly all the supporting characters were well-developed, and Keener didn't offer any easy answers. Near the end, I found myself thinking, "Isn't she going to offer a final judgment on whether or not we are supposed to like Sherry, or some conclusive evidence that Sarah either does or does not regret her decisions?" But there's none of that, and even though it makes me uncomfortable as a reader, I appreciate the ambiguity.(less)
Reading about the New England seersucker-clad jet set kind of leaves me cold, even with the mild bite of satire and even when the pink polo shirts loo...moreReading about the New England seersucker-clad jet set kind of leaves me cold, even with the mild bite of satire and even when the pink polo shirts look like they might be starting to develop a feeling (other than drunkenness)(is drunkenness a feeling?)(okay, other than jealousy).
Winn spends most of the novel, which takes place over the weekend of his daughter's wedding, demonstrating his supreme selfishness. He's preoccupied with getting into a particular country club, bedding one of the bridesmaids, and generally exercising minute control over his image (especially as it's projected to other men). He is endlessly, cruelly critical. His empathy bottoms out on family members, especially his daughters. I basically hated Winn. (His rare flickers of vulnerability, rather than inducing sympathy for him, made him more despicable because of how they failed to change him.)
Luckily, Shipstead volleys the narration among other characters' viewpoints; the problem is that only one of them is even remotely likeable (Dominique). This is probably on purpose. Shipstead doesn't seem to think very highly of the materialistic Harvard boys' club culture whose members keep brands like Nautica in business; and yet, she writes an entire novel about them which only barely succeeds in satirizing their shiny, empty lives. At the end she starts to humanize a couple of the characters, but the hope of permanent change is still distant and dim.
The book's epigraph is from The Wasteland. Shipstead (in addition to some truly clever dialogue) actually does a pretty good job of stacking her own vision of a particular slice of society onto Eliot's vision and showing where edges line up. But I already read The Wasteland...and it was depressing. Another prose rendering of it, sans hope, is just an overdose of cynicism for me.(less)
Olive Kitteridge is the sort of woman you don't necessarily want to engage in real life; but within the covers of a book, she is the best sort of pers...moreOlive Kitteridge is the sort of woman you don't necessarily want to engage in real life; but within the covers of a book, she is the best sort of person to get to know, because getting to know her can change you.
Olive's mean. She's judgmental and petty and contentious. She withholds tenderness from her husband and her son, but expects them to treat her with affection and gentleness (which her husband does). She tells people insulting truths that they didn't ask or need to hear. She generally allows herself to remain in a state of cynical disappointment about life and the people around her.
But when Olive is stricken - by a teenage girl wasting herself away in heartbreak, by her husband's death, by a widower's persistent pressing on with life - compassion and empathy leak out through the crusty shell of her personality. I don't want to imply that she becomes nice; but maybe she begins to become kind.
Not all the stories feature Olive (although she appears in each chapter). But in every story, Strout introduces us to complicated characters with good, good hearts. These people could be your neighbors or your family, they're so real; and, indeed, Strout seems to suggest that there is much more to the people around us than we take time to understand.
Several of the Goodreaders whose reviews I've skimmed said this book was completely depressing and that they couldn't truck with the book's tragic view of life because they actually enjoyed people and living. But I would turn that around and say that Strout paints us a world in which the very worst things that can happen to people are happening, and yet there is still tenderness and love growing up through the cracks. If a reader cannot see, on the edges of the depressing plots, a shadow lining of impending joy...then that reader's worldview has some expanding to do, and his/her enjoyment of life has potential for exponential growth. How can you love life if you only see heaviness in its difficulties? Olive teaches us (by learning it herself) that if we stand in the midst of sorrow and fail to see an abiding contentment being sown, we have missed something essential to living.
Two scenes stand out to me that embody the love-wrapped-up-in-tragedy motif:
In one, a couple goes to a concert and sees Olive and Henry Kitteridge there, across the room. The wife wonders to her husband how Henry can stand Olive. But moments later, watching the Kitteridges interact, she realizes how. "He loves her," she comments, with a certain degree of wonder. "That's how he can stand her."
In the second, Olive is living at home alone while Henry, following an accident, is awake but unresponsive at a nursing home. Their son has moved far away. Several times during the months Henry is gone, Olive - never idle in regular circumstances - cannot bring herself to do anything except curl up on the bench in their front sunroom and fall asleep with her transistor radio pressed to her ear. Her loneliness is utterly raw, not only because of her lack of connections with other people, but because of her deep love for her husband and son.
And here's one more bit that nicely sums up a reappearing paradox in the book, the paradox of being able to know our loved ones deeply and yet have so many strangers in our lives. The same couple from the concert is driving through a neighborhood decorated with Christmas lights:
"'Oh, this is fun,' his wife said now, gazing through the night at all the houses they passed, lit up with different Christmas lights, and it made Bob Houlton smile as he drove; his wife contented, her hands folded on her lap. 'All these lives,' she said. 'All the stories we never know.' And he smiled further, reaching to touch her mittened hand because he had known she might be thinking that."(less)
Dellarobia Turnbow is caught in her own life. She got married young after becoming pregnant, and two kids later she still can't seem to find any sort...moreDellarobia Turnbow is caught in her own life. She got married young after becoming pregnant, and two kids later she still can't seem to find any sort of special marital fondness for her husband Cub, even though he's kind and does his best. Not having any family of her own, she also feels trapped by the security provided by Cub's domineering parents, in whose sheep farm she and Cub have a share.
It's not until a strange and beautiful natural phenomenon lands on their property that Dellarobia starts to see how her life might be different. The outside world begins trickling in to take a look - scientists, tourists, activists, students - expanding Dellarobia's ideas about what people are capable of and what they deserve. She has to confront her own mistakes and the Turnbow family opinion (and their secrets) before she comes to a point where she can make a decision about her future.
I'd heard some folks say this is a book about climate change; but in Kingsolver's deft narrative style, it's a story about one woman's personal journey, set inside a larger but parallel story involving the question of climate change. Much like the conservative rural farmers around her, who are some of the most-affected victims of climate change and yet who are least likely to "believe" in it, Dellarobia takes a long time to admit that the forces holding her back are real - and changeable. Technical (and persuasive) information arrives within easy dialogue, never seeming didactic or out of place.
Of the handful of Kingsolver books I've read and adored, this one sits at the bottom of the pile. Her writing, especially when it describes and ruminates on the natural world, has a transfixing, ethereal quality. And yet I became bored sometimes with the narrative, feeling like some scenes stretched unnecessarily long. Also, I failed to identify strongly with any of the characters (admittedly an issue probably having to do more with my personality than with the writing).
If you're a fan of Barbara Kingsolver, you probably shouldn't miss Flight Behavior. But if you'll only ever read one or two of her books, start with The Poisonwood Bible and don't worry about getting to this one.(less)
Reading The Sisters Brothers was a little like watching a Coen brothers film that was co-written by Flannery O'Connor. Is there such a genre as the Go...moreReading The Sisters Brothers was a little like watching a Coen brothers film that was co-written by Flannery O'Connor. Is there such a genre as the Gothic western? Because this book epitomizes it. (I know, I know it's probably technically classified as a picaresque novel; but I really think Gothic western is a better descriptor.) Much like in O'Connor's stories, the Good Guys and the Bad Guys are often the same guys, full of darkness and light in equal measure. And much like the Coen brothers' movies, the dialogue employs a mystifying lack of contractions. (I love this polite, formal rendering of 19th century western dialect, however strange or incorrect it is.)
Warning: unavoidable spoilers lie ahead.
In the world of Charlie and Eli Sisters, murder is money and strangers are oracles. The brothers' boss, the Commodore, wants Hermann Kermit Warm (!) killed and his secret gold-finding formula stolen. Charlie is in charge of the job, and the more ethically-bothered Eli, our earnest and vulnerable narrator, is his bumbling partner. They set out on a pair of horses called Nimble and Tub (Charlie and Eli?) to track down the prospector in the frenzy of the California Gold Rush.
They travel through a world peopled with shadows and witches, wandering nut-jobs spewing tears and prophecies, painted whores, and amateur veterinarians. Any stranger (child or crone, dream or reality, weepy or armed with poison and cruel intentions) is capable of changing Eli's already-anxious heart. He doesn't want to be a killer - he craves tenderness and honest exchanges with good women. Charlie, on the other hand, seems impervious to outside influences: he just wants to do the job and eventually be the boss.
Then curiosity and greed cause the Sisters brothers to veer off their path, and friendship - plus more greed - makes them forge a new and partly unintended way for themselves. But greed exacts its toll (deWitt makes sure we know), and Eli and Charlie crawl back to mother and home.
Eli seems to spend the book becoming progressively more humane and regretful of his bloody career. In contrast, Charlie's change is the result of a quick string of incidents that breaks him down completely. But Eli's last act requires the reader to consider whose redemption is more convincing or permanent.
There is a lot to say about this book, and I'm gonna do my darndest to say it, so I understand if you want to stop here. But consider that...
...in the lives of the Sisters brothers, the Commodore is god. He is a harsh and distant deity who passes down his orders in secret, pulls all the strings to orchestrate (but not commit) the murders he wants to happen, and then luxuriates in his bath. We aren't allowed to forget his looming presence in the story, but when we actually meet him (SPOILER ALERT!) he is naked, oblivious, and then dead. The end of his life requires Eli, who just wants out of the murder business, to do a little more killing; but it spells freedom for the Sisters brothers.
...characters are fabulously named. Far from being incidental, the names in this book lend themselves to the creation of a particular atmosphere and tone. And they're funny.
...women only appear in the story as either wicked pixies or someone to come home to (literally or metaphorically), but this seems pretty consistent with the way women would have been viewed by the gunslingers of the Oregon Territory in the 1850s. Instead of addressing the marginalization of women, deWitt probes the western genre's stock badass male hero. What does it look like to be strong? he seems to ask through his characters. Men weep openly and often in the book; they tremble and doubt and change their minds and are occasionally merciful. The surest ones end up dead as a result of their own folly.
...it's a grotesquely funny book. I laughed aloud as I read it. Nothing was so sacred that it couldn't be treated with a sort of horrifying humor (and, warning, no living being was so sacred it couldn't live a wholly tragic life and meet a violent, untimely end).(less)
Writing a baseball book set at a small midwestern liberal arts college seems daunting enough - how much story could there possibly be there? - but Har...moreWriting a baseball book set at a small midwestern liberal arts college seems daunting enough - how much story could there possibly be there? - but Harbach also tackles questions of independence, aging and coming-of-age, ambition, and most importantly, friendship.
The story revolves around the intertwined lives of five characters: Henry Skrimshander, shortstop prodigy; Mike Schwartz, the Westish College player who recruits and trains Henry; Owen Dunne, Henry's roommate and teammate; Guert Affenlight, the president of the school; and Pella Affenlight, Guert's young prodigal daughter who shows up at Westish after fleeing her marriage.
My favorite thing about The Art of Fielding was that I really liked all the main characters. I wanted to spend time with them. I rooted for their happiness and success. I didn't sense that the author was ambivalent or wanted me to be ambivalent about any of them; there was a tone of goodwill towards and between the characters. When these folks made mistakes, Harbach and I regretted it on their behalf. So what if the whole character of Owen is extremely unlikely? I enjoyed him.
I also appreciated that the writing was unself-conscious and stayed out of the way of the story. Harbach won't win any awards for the spectacular or creative or clever use of the English language, but he's a wizard at turning a nearly-500 page book into something totally readable.
One reviewer commented on the pathetic humor of one particular scene, in which Guert, sitting in his annoyingly stationary office chair, reflects on a line from his favorite author, Herman Melville, referring to the "snivelization" of society. Guert wishes for the "swivelization" of society. He just wants his chair to turn. Far from being pathetic, I thought this was a perfect example of how Harbach develops character through an omniscient narrator. For Guert, Melville changed his life; this thought of his reinforces how much everything is connected to Melville for him. It also shows us that although he's not a particularly witty guy, he's not the stiff, elitist type you'd expect from an aged ex-Harvard man. He's happy, and a little silly sometimes. I liked him more after this scene. I related to him.(less)
Bernadette Fox, a once-promising MacArthur recipient for architecture, has allowed her home and her psyche to fall into disrepair. She hates Seattle, where they live, and refuses to get along with the "gnats," the mothers of other students at her daughter Bee's prep school. Her husband, a bright star at Microsoft, arranges for an impromptu drug intervention, which goes awry when Bernadette escapes.
The rest of the story, which is told through a series of compiled e-mails, FBI files, interview transcriptions, and other artifacts interspersed with Bee's short narrative explanations, tells how Bee and her dad take a trip to Antarctica to see if they can round up Bernadette.
This was a super funny book, as you'd expect from someone who's written for the likes of SNL, Ellen, and Arrested Development. There were some unexpected about-faces from a few characters, which was comedic and poignant. I also liked the musings on what happens when an artist isn't actively creating (madness creeps in). I think the funniest element was how Bernadette seemed like she was being paranoid about the way another prep school mom, Audrey, was treating her; but the artifacts revealed that she was actually right, and Audrey really was that nutty.(less)
These are stories about failed romantic relationships in the life of Yunior, his father, his brother, and...moreWhat a heartbreaking collection of episodes.
These are stories about failed romantic relationships in the life of Yunior, his father, his brother, and his friends. Why do their relationships fail? Diaz doesn't try to fool you: the relationships fail because every single man cheats on every single woman he's with. Despite a healthy helping of angst and depression and regret on the part of Yunior and his compadres, these guys inexplicably (and maddeningly!) continue to act like bigots and cads. Yunior gets older, loses family members, becomes a professor, takes up running, then yoga; but his attitude towards women and his discipline of his sexual appetite never matures. He doesn't really seem to change much.
If regret doesn't change you, it becomes really depressing.
I understand that mine is not a very hip reading of the book. But what I don't understand is how some authors get away with outrageous commodification of women just because they're whizzes at character development. It's possible that I missed something very important - a key, an essential, a magical explanation of how this book made it to the National Book Award finals; there was a lot of Spanish in the book that I wasn't able to decipher and didn't look up, so maybe there was something wonderful there.
Maybe Diaz is accurately depicting Dominican culture and laying down a judgment about the meaninglessness of men's obsessive pursuit of non-committal sex and the destruction it precipitates; after all, the title indicates how the stories end - with loss (and nothing salvaged). In that case, okay. Well done...?
But is there any hope for change? Any chance that one of these men will finally break from the chauvinistic patterns of his patriarchs? Not in Yunior's world. Here they're all doomed to be jackasses just because they're Dominican.
Sad.
The one story I really liked, incidentally, was the only one of the collection that wasn't explicitly about the descent of a romance. It's "Invierno," and it's lovely and melancholic.(less)
Meursault's mother dies. It doesn't affect him any more than his boss's offer to send him to work in Paris, hi...moreThis is a great book that I didn't like.
Meursault's mother dies. It doesn't affect him any more than his boss's offer to send him to work in Paris, his lover Marie's request for marriage, [spoiler alert] his point blank murder of a complete stranger, and his ensuing trial and death sentence.
Meursault initially comes off as a conflict-avoiding pragmatist, but as the book progresses, especially as Meursault begins to examine his mind and reactions in prison, it becomes clear that he has lived his life in close adherence to Camus's theory of absurdism. Basically the idea is that our physical experience of the world is the only experience that exists and that all our efforts to make meaning out of anything else is futile, and thus absurd.
Everything in me reacts strongly against this story and its characters and the philosophy behind it. I guess that indicates that Camus did a really good job creating a novel that demonstrates what life looks like for a pure absurdist.(less)
Unexpectedly, I finished this book in a day because the language held me captive. I was intimidated by the structure and style and lack of linear plot...moreUnexpectedly, I finished this book in a day because the language held me captive. I was intimidated by the structure and style and lack of linear plot - it did win an award for innovative fiction, after all - but the atmosphere and the language dilemmas and the absolutely delicious turns of phrase won me over.
Here's one of my favorites: "He loves everything about her. It's perfect. It's as if he had drawn a line around her to separate perfect from imperfect. There's hardly room for a word." And in the context of the book, which has plenty of questions to ask about words and language, it's even more scrumptious.(less)
This was a Christmas present, and I knew Walls' name from several friends having recommended The Glass Castle (though I still haven't gotten around to...moreThis was a Christmas present, and I knew Walls' name from several friends having recommended The Glass Castle (though I still haven't gotten around to reading that one yet).
Walls' grandmother, Lily Casey Smith, was more of a character than any writer could make up. (Details, though, did have to be fabricated out of necessity; thus the fiction and non-fiction shelf labels.) The book has a strong, distinctive voice: Smith was tough as nails, unsentimental, and opinionated. Walls does a nice job communicating Smith's flaws, especially in parenting, without having the character come out and admit to being wrong.
But Smith's flaws aren't nearly as important to the story as her gumption and the gumption of her family members. It's that wild-headed acumen of hers - and the situations it gets her into and out of - that makes this an irresistible read.(less)
Hated it. Hated everybody in it. Nobody was consistent, everybody was a jerk. It took me forever to read because every time I had a few minutes to spa...moreHated it. Hated everybody in it. Nobody was consistent, everybody was a jerk. It took me forever to read because every time I had a few minutes to spare I picked up something else instead, knowing that if I read Gone Girl I would spend the next couple hours depressed about life and humanity and the publishing gatekeepers' across-the-board lack of frontal lobes. I'm not even sure why I finished it. OCD, perhaps?
Characters were either stock or nonsensical. Their decisions were random. Their props were out of place in the story (although it's not exactly clear what props would have been in place in this story, a pair of broken Punch and Judy puppets made me wonder why Flynn had consulted Don Mancini for ideas). Sure, it had twists...but so do Twizzlers, and it doesn't make them any less impossible to enjoy.
If you like Twizzlers, maybe you'll like this book.
But in my opinion, even for a mindless-murder-mystery-beach-read, it was a total waste of time.(less)
Billy and the other members of his squadron are heroes of the Iraq war. The Bush administration has sent them on a "victory" tour of the United States...moreBilly and the other members of his squadron are heroes of the Iraq war. The Bush administration has sent them on a "victory" tour of the United States, and tonight they're at a Dallas Cowboys game with plans to be recognized as part of the halftime show. (Tomorrow? Back to Iraq.)
Ben Fountain's greatest accomplishment with this book was the aplomb with which he created his protagonist, maintaining a razor's edge balance throughout the story. Billy is nineteen - he thinks about girls, his family, his friends, girls, who he can look up to, what's in his future...and especially girls. But he's also a soldier who has seen combat and watched his friends die. There is a crater in Billy's soul that he's trying to understand how to handle. We are in a constant pendulum swing between Billy's embarrassment about his latest erection and his confused concern about fighting a war that seems wholly disconnected from life back home.
Meanwhile, he is experiencing some dissonance between the American way of life he thought he was fighting to preserve and the American way of life he's seeing during the victory tour. Particularly effective is Fountain's use of clouds of catch phrases to represent the vertigo Billy experiences when strangers approach him to talk about the war (words like terrrism and nina leven). Billy aches for some cognitive reconciliation. His sense seems to be that rather than the war being meaningless, it's the lives of blind extravagance and consumption in America that turn out to be void of substance. "Oh my people," is Billy's near-despairing refrain, a supplication of sorts.
Fountain's other well-done feat here is to set the entire timeline of the novel against the backdrop of the Thanksgiving Day Cowboys game, climaxing at the halftime show (which features Destiny's Child). What better symbols to evoke the brash big-ness of American life than Texas, NFL football, and sex-laden pop music? The description of Billy's trippy experience of the halftime show is a chunk of near-perfect prose.
There were moments when the text mentioned Billy's name and I was surprised all over again that I was reading a third-person narrative; I often felt like I was inside Billy's brain and heart.(less)
If someone asks me for a beach read recommendation (which I take to mean something light and absorbing), this is the book I will talk about.
Narrator C...moreIf someone asks me for a beach read recommendation (which I take to mean something light and absorbing), this is the book I will talk about.
Narrator Clay is a 100% likable guy who instantly assumes the best about the people he meets. The story, through his eyes, takes on a rosy hue that has the potential to be obnoxious, but never becomes so. While he continually finds himself in awe of the capabilities of modern technology (namely everything related to the Google brand) and the brains that develop & use it (namely his girlfriend's), his deep love and loyalty belong to objects of the hand-made realm: his roommate's carefully constructed model city, for example, and (of course) books.
When Clay takes a night shift at an ethereal 24-hour book store, he quickly realizes that the shop is more than a shop and the proprietor, elderly Mr. Penumbra, is more than a shopkeeper.
Clay's optimism and earnestness kept me reading, as did the absorbing (if slightly thin) mystery involving a secret society, an underground library, and a super-computer code-cracker.(less)
It's an epic creation in terms of its scope, so let me start there.
Ten years in the making, Chris Ware's story-experience-in-a-box (I just can't call...moreIt's an epic creation in terms of its scope, so let me start there.
Ten years in the making, Chris Ware's story-experience-in-a-box (I just can't call it a book, and neither could the judges in the Tournament of Books, who ultimately voted it down due to its lack of resemblance to a book) defies the traditional linear notion of a story. I'm not talking about chronology; authors mess with timelines all the time with varying levels of success, but Ware's fourteen-piece story has no particular beginning or end. Open the box and start wherever you want; your understanding of the characters and their lives and emotions and thoughts will form one brick at a time, no matter in what order you choose to read the parts. It's almost as though instead of hearing a story told, you're seeing it...built. It seems similar to the way we construct our identities in life: there's no specific, rational plan so much as there is a back-and-forth of new experiences and reflections on old ones.
"Building" in the title also refers to the three-story apartment building where the characters’ lives converge. At moments, Ware even gives the building its own turn at narration (in a transparently opinionated voice, which seems counterintuitive; I’d expected the building to be the only objective narrator).
Although I granted Building Stories four stars (and even teetered on five) for its ambition, creative genius, and technical skill, if I had graded it on how much I actually enjoyed “reading” it, I would have to give it…maybe one and a half. It’s just sort of anticlimactic (and really, how can a story with no prescribed order really have an effective climax?). It’s also outrageously depressing.
In some ways, reading this was like watching Avatar. It was one brilliant creator’s decade-long project, an innovative offering that was supposed to blow the minds of those who experienced it. But even though I can appreciate all that…I just didn’t much care for it.(less)
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