Had I read this back in high school, I would be extolling it as the best book ever written, between the creepy premise, the poetic justice, and Wilde'...moreHad I read this back in high school, I would be extolling it as the best book ever written, between the creepy premise, the poetic justice, and Wilde's trademark way with words. I'm hesitant to declare a flawless victory now that my tastes have evolved a little, but this is a classic worth the time of anyone who likes irony, and loves dialogue.
For those that aren't familiar with the plot, Dorian Gray is a young British aristocrat who serves as the unrequited love and prime inspiration for an artist named Basil Hallward. Basil becomes so enamored that he pours all of his talent and effort into a portrait of Dorian, finding what he feels to be the pinnacle of his art. In the meantime, Dorian is reluctantly introduced to a friend of Basil's: Lord Henry Wotton, a hedonistic dandy that lives only to indulge idle whims and explore new sensations. After only a single day, Lord Henry's philosophy so affects Dorian that, for the first time, he becomes aware of the ephemeral nature of his youth and afraid of the day in which it begins to wane. As he gazes upon Basil's unveiled portrait, he idly wishes that he could keep his youth forever, and that the beautiful painting would age in his place. As time goes by, he realizes to his astonishment that he might have got his wish; as Lord Henry's influence takes greater hold, the portrait begins to reveal what an unnaturally long youth can do to one's soul.
The narrative is straightforward compared to similar books from the same time period. And, as one would expect from Oscar Wilde, the prose is delectable. The dialogue is pitch-perfect, and the descriptive passages are tight when they need to be and luxurious when they have the opportunity. Which, believe it or not, is at the root of the minor issues I had with the book.
I have to be frank and say that there really isn't a whole lot more in terms of plot than the synopsis above. Wilde seems much more interested in sharing his themes and social critiques than in spinning a yarn. The character of Lord Henry Wotton is a prime example; most of the time, he seems to be simply a delivery vessel for Wilde's sarcasm and humor. He's got witty repartee at the ready for every situation, and chews up the scenery with his caustic remarks and introspective musings on every page that includes him. Which amused me more than irritated me, actually, because Wotton is an interesting character in spite of himself. He serves as a poisonous influence that precipitates Dorian's downfall in the beginning, and offers a stark contrast to the depths of Dorian's corruption at the end.
The only trouble I have is that, at one point, the story takes the same sort of languid detour that Wotton's dialogue does. Once Dorian's course is established, the narrative suddenly drops into an exhaustive list of the fabrics he likes, the gems he is interested in, the music he listens to, etc. This is described in the sort of detail that suggests Wilde was indulging his own knowledge and interest. Once I made it through the middle and the story picked up again, I looked back on it as a sort of literary montage to explain Dorian's hedonistic comings and goings, but honestly, I began to lose interest at this point after tearing through the beginning. Not long after the main story picks up again, it suddenly ends with a Poe-like twist. It was a satisfying ending, but didn't seem to do justice to the rich prose that led up to it.
So, even though I loved most of the book, my eyes begain to glaze over in a few places. A bit of Oscar Wilde Overload, maybe. But those were only momentary lapses, as far as I'm concerned; this is a classic worth owning, especially if one has an interest in classic horror. It is also required reading for anybody who espouses hedonism, or likes to argue themes in literature.(less)
This book was actually one of my favorites when I was a teenager. My paperback copy, complete with promotional stills of the 1993 film version on the...moreThis book was actually one of my favorites when I was a teenager. My paperback copy, complete with promotional stills of the 1993 film version on the cover, is well-loved and starting to fall apart. After recently picking it up for quick re-read, I discovered it didn't quite hold up to the memories I had of it, but I can't really say whether it’s because my own sensibilities have changed or because it isn’t as good as I used to think it was.
The Joy Luck Club isn't really a straightforward novel. The story unfolds over a series of vignettes, contrasting the lives and memories of four Chinese women and their American-born daughters. The mothers overcame various hardships during their childhoods in China, ranging from arranged marriages to fleeing from Japanese bombs, and made their way to America. There, they formed the Joy Luck Club, a regular meeting where the ladies spend time eating home-cooked food, playing mahjong, and talking about their children, who seem increasingly alien as they grow up steeped in American ideals. The daughters, meanwhile, recall their cryptic upbringings and struggle to understand the meaning of their mothers’ advice as they in turn face the more modern problems of relationship trouble and failure to meet expectations.
The structure of the vignettes is very interesting. They start with the mothers, who describe the harrowing pasts that shaped them. The vignettes then shift to the daughters, relating their issues (which, honestly, seem tame and almost whiny compared to those of the mothers) and outlining their frustration at their cryptic and meddling mothers' advice. The second set of daughter vignettes contain their epiphanies as they reach an understanding with their mothers and begin to find a way forward. The last mother vignettes tie their past to their present, as each woman details the strengths and weaknesses she has passed on to her daughter, and how she plans to pass on what she has learned from them, as well. Through each of these mini-books, a unique narrative thread persists through the perspective of Jing-Mei Woo. Her mother, the Joy Luck Club's founder, passed away shortly before the book takes place, and thus she presents a vignette through each section, providing the book's main commentary as she attempts to step into her mother's shoes both in America and in China.
The book is moving, nicely paced, and provides a very palpable mood and setting. In particular, the mother vignettes are fascinating to read. All of the characters are nicely fleshed out (as well they should be, since this book is essentially a collection of character studies), and each is both sympathetic and flawed in their own ways.
I think my biggest complaint after this long-delayed re-read is the fact that the story itself is done with very broad strokes. The book serves as a finely tuned commentary on mother-daughter relationships in general, and deftly portrays the communication gap between immigrant parents and their American children, but the book never really goes deeper than that. The daughters' stories in particular seem to be merely a backdrop for the theme rather than the other way around, though it must be said how smart the parallels are to the stories of their mothers. The dialogue is fantastic, but the narrative prose often goes purple, which reinforces the idea of theme and moral over story. I've seen Tan accused of stereotyping in this book, and while I don't really agree, I can see where the accusation comes from; the book speaks in generalities, so there is a lot of room for misinterpretation.
None of this makes the book bad, in my opinion, but it does sort of puncture my previously-held belief of it being a masterpiece. It's not. It's simply a good book. One that I'm sure I will read again.(less)
I first read this book for a class in high school, and remember being completely enamored of it. Rereading after an intervening fifteen years of readi...moreI first read this book for a class in high school, and remember being completely enamored of it. Rereading after an intervening fifteen years of reading experience has given depth to that appreciation. Immediately after finishing, I left the book nonplussed and somewhat unimpressed. After thinking about the story for a day or two, though, I’m in love all over again.
The Maltese Falcon is an essential detective novel and, along with Raymond Chandler’s works, a hallowed progenitor of the hardboiled genre. For those that haven’t already seen Humphrey Bogart’s turn as Sam Spade, I don’t want to ruin any part of the tangled, complex mystery, because all of the fun in this story is in trying to make your way through its moving parts. Let’s just say it starts how you would expect: sullen, sarcastic private eye Sam Spade sits in his office, flirting with his secretary and shooting the breeze with his somewhat oafish partner, when the dame walked in. It started as a simple case, tailing a shady character in order to track down his beautiful client’s sister, but things get complicated quick, and people end up dead. Soon, a host of shady characters are calling on Spade, offering him vast sums of money in exchange for a mysterious black statue that one of them likely already has. Meanwhile, Spade’s acquaintances in law enforcement are increasingly suspecting him of foul play, and his client seems to shift her allegiances whenever the wind changes. Using only his wits and his cool, Spade has to get to the bottom of things without getting wrapped up in them himself... hopefully ending up with a pocket full of cash, to boot.
I finally realized why I had to think about this one for a bit before reaffirming that I love it: Hammett leaves a huge amount of subtext up to the reader to decode. The story is classic noir, and reads just like watching a noir film. In fact, there are no internal monologues, omniscient narrations, or transcriptions of character thoughts. Everything is in the dialogue, and it’s up to the reader to determine what the characters are thinking, which is easy sometimes, but intriguingly impossible much more often. And man, what dialogue it is. Hammett’s writing is whip-smart, and the snappy patter never lets up. Sam Spade, in particular, is a bottomless pit of cool. He’s got a line for everything and everyone, and he never sounds trite or overdone, despite being the literal template for every booze-soaked, cigarette-rolling, skirt-chasing private dick since. He is the best kind of detective to read: the guy that always gets his man, but is quick to acknowledge that he’s always out for number one and never quite clear on just how corrupt he may or may not be.
The other characters in the story are considerably more stereotypical; they fit their assigned roles and play their assigned parts. Again, though, the beauty of Hammett’s writing makes them stand out, in that nobody’s motivations are ever revealed, and the reader only gets a glimpse of what’s really going on. This carries through to the plot, in that while Spade eventually solves one mystery, there are plenty of questions that go unanswered. This isn’t a tidy drawing-room mystery. This is a crime story mixed with an intrigue tale, and it's delightfully messy.
The 1941 film is probably the version of this story that most are familiar with, and rightly so, considering that it’s one of the best films ever made. But Hammett’s original story is a must-read, especially if you like detective fiction or film noir but haven’t yet seen Bogie do Spade. There’s a certain kitsch factor at work, considering that the book will fulfill every last expectation you might have of a book about a hardboiled private eye and the femme fatale that showed up at his doorstep one evening. But having those expectations fulfilled is the best part about this classic.(less)
At four volumes, this is a lot of book. I decided to read it around the time that Beijing was making news for their Olympic preparations, as Three Kin...moreAt four volumes, this is a lot of book. I decided to read it around the time that Beijing was making news for their Olympic preparations, as Three Kingdoms is a beloved classic there and reputedly informs much of Chinese culture. After making my way through this epic, I can certainly see why, though I personally felt that it was a little more military history than novel.
Trying to pay attention to the particulars of Three Kingdoms can be a daunting task; there are literally hundreds of characters, many with similar names, and a majority of the novel is dedicated to descriptions of battles and their outcomes. Between the multitude of characters and the multiple repetitions of specific military stratagems, many parts of the story began to blur together for me. During the third and fourth volumes, I had to resist the temptation to skip forward and just read the chapter names in order to get a summation of events, passing over all of the lengthy battles and strategic discussions between generals and their subordinates. The translation doesn’t make things easier; though Roberts’ translation is heralded as the best, it is still rife with errors, and it feels like there is some specific cultural significance lost reading it in English, making certain scenes and actions seem somewhat incomprehensible to me as a Western reader.
The beauty in Three Kingdoms, though, is in the big picture. I often struggled to understand what was going on in a specific chapter, but the more I ruminated on the myriad power shifts, alliances, betrayals, ascents to power, and tragic falls that link together throughout the course of the book, the more fascinated I became with the entire story. The characters, too, are impressive; despite their numbers, each character is distinctly defined, with their own mannerisms, motivations, and personalities. At first, I was somewhat disturbed by the fact that almost everyone seems to be a scheming bastard who is not above compromising their own ethics and committing reprehensible acts, including the “good guys” (the only standout exception in my mind is Zhao Zilong). However, in context with the whole story of the fall of the Han and warring of the three kingdoms, this only serves to highlight both the complexity of the characters themselves and the harsh realities of their situation.
Even though I struggled at times to finish this dense, complicated book, I think anybody who is a fan of Asian culture or military history should give it a read. Especially if they have been exposed to and were intrigued by the multiple references to Three Kingdoms in modern movies, comics, and video games. (less)
I've been meaning to get to this one for a quite a while, since I find a definite appeal in mixing British politeness with undead hordes. This was an...moreI've been meaning to get to this one for a quite a while, since I find a definite appeal in mixing British politeness with undead hordes. This was an immensely fun read, but I did have my quibbles with it.
A synopsis shouldn't be necessary; this is Austen's Pride and Prejudice, set on the same story framework and supported with passages directly from the original text. What's changed here is the context. This version of the English countryside is under siege by "the strange plague," and bands of "unfortunate stricken" roam through the manicured gardens and forest lanes, devouring the brains of those who cross their path. The Bennett sisters, Mr. Darcy, and even Catherine de Bourgh are recast as skilled zombie-slayers, trained in the Orient and merciless in their occupation. As such, the social and romantic trials of Elizabeth Bennett take on a new seriousness against the backdrop of mortal danger from the claws and teeth of hungry zombies.
This really is as clever as it sounds, and works better than one would think it would. However, the mixing of the two genres isn't as seamless as would be ideal. Occasionally, the blend works well; oddly enough, it's the violent scenes that work best. Some confrontations between characters are reworked as kung fu duels, and strolls to and from the village become harried defenses against roving zombies. These scenes are not only hilarious to read, but actually contribute to the pace and tone of the story quite well. However, more subtle instances of Dawn of the Dead-ing in other parts of the book aren't quite as graceful. I sometimes felt like it was overly obvious where Grahame-Smith pasted his own sentences in Austen's paragraphs, which made those parts seem more gimmicky than I would have liked. I almost wish that this would have been an original story, rather than a reimagined one. I think I would very much enjoy a Regency novel with supernatural elements worked directly into the tapestry of the plot and characters, rather than simply stitched on top. For that reason, I'm very curious about the recently-released prequel.
Of course, part of my problem might be that I've never been a prime candidate for being an Austen fan to begin with, since I am not an independent-minded woman with occasional fantasies that feature Colin Firth as Fitzwilliam Darcy. Though I very much like the story and characters of Pride and Prejudice, getting through Austen's language was trying for me even here, with the occasionally zombie attack and martial arts duel to grab my attention (and, conversely, make the Regency stuff stick out even more). Of course, that's my weakness, not that of the writing.
All that being said, this is definitely worth reading for anyone who likes Austen, has a soft spot for zombies, or is just an avid reader of current popular fiction. The problems I found are minor, and highly subjective; overall, this is a wonderfully quirky and enjoyable book to read.(less)
I was sent a free copy of this to review, and I'm not one to turn down free comic books. This one is hefty, and I have to admit that I didn't finish i...moreI was sent a free copy of this to review, and I'm not one to turn down free comic books. This one is hefty, and I have to admit that I didn't finish it. However, that didn't have anything to do with the quality of the work. It's just that I've read the Odyssey before, and I wasn't really in the mood to read it again.
In short, I was expecting this to be an abridged, flashy take on Homer's material, like many "graphic novel classics" tend to be. However, this is a remarkably faithful adaptation of the original. In many places, the panels are overwhelmed by huge blocks of text, as Odysseus or Telemachus embarks upon one of their long soliloquies. The artwork is stripped down, but it does the job nicely; there is a rough-hewn feeling of antiquity about the illustrations, and subtle perspective and color differences are used to great effect to vivdly highlight key points of the story.
Hinds arranges the story in the most optimal way for the format, but he was quite literal in his process of adaptation, as this reads more like a Greek epic than a comic book. That being said, it is a fantastic choice for a reader who wants or needs to read The Odyssey, but has trouble getting through his dense prose, since Hinds does a fantastic job in bringing the epic to life.(less)
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