Greg Brown

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Greg Brown rated a book 5 of 5 stars

The New York Trilogy
by Paul Auster

read in May, 2013

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Read the opening chapter of Auster's The New York Trilogy, and instantly know whether you'll enjoy the pages that are to follow. It's such an daring premise that I was enthralled from the start, but some may find it absurd, and too clever by half. (F...more Read the opening chapter of Auster's The New York Trilogy, and instantly know whether you'll enjoy the pages that are to follow. It's such an daring premise that I was enthralled from the start, but some may find it absurd, and too clever by half. (For one, the protagonist's very real reaction grounded it for me.) Either way, it sets up the ground rules for the book, letting you know just how far Auster is willing to go in exploring and contorting the familiar detective story. Each of the three stories starts from a central premise—trailing or searching for someone, and trying to figure them out—and strikes outward in a different direction. Each is strange in their own way.

In doing so, the novel wears its influences on its sleeve. Borges would be proud of how trailing someone for months means becoming them, almost like Pierre Menard's Don Quixote. Kundera would appreciate the twinning of literature and life in the opening piece. And of course, Pynchon would love the constellation of details in each story, each unclear if or how it relates to the whole, forming a parallel world of inference and supposition within the protagonist's mind. And of course, that last part is also reminiscent of Eco's semiotics. This multiplicity of influences makes the novel feel even more unreal, a strange sense of deja vu but without feeling like a copy. And this feeling is heightened by some of the works since that were clearly inspired by Auster's work, such as Murakami's The Wind-up Bird Chronicle. (The clipped language and sexual undertones of the opening piece certainly point that way.)

Do the stories benefit from being grouped like this, or do they needlessly repeat each other? To put it more bluntly: are they best understood as a unified work? My instinct says yes, in the same way as The Lost Books of the Odyssey's stories work together to hint at different facets of some unencompassable whole. The three stories in the trilogy feel almost combinatorial, echoing each other as they echo themselves, looping inward and outward through the central mystery of trying to know someone else. In a way, they feel similar to oulipo's project: using a central restriction to enable an explosion of creativity down lesser-traveled paths. The overall effect is wonderful to read; I originally considered spacing out my reading sessions, but I'm glad I chose otherwise.(less)

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Rising Up and Rising Down by William T. Vollmann

Rising Up and Rising Down: Some Thoughts on Violence, Freedom and Urgent Means
by William T. Vollmann

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Greg Brown rated a book 5 of 5 stars

Homicide: A Year on the Killing Streets
by David Simon

read in May, 2013

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For the most part, despite being set 25 years ago the book still holds up. Of course, the Internet has changed things to an extent, but the maze of conflicting databases of private information likely still holds true. DNA evidence has been the other...more For the most part, despite being set 25 years ago the book still holds up. Of course, the Internet has changed things to an extent, but the maze of conflicting databases of private information likely still holds true. DNA evidence has been the other major revolution, with it playing a minor role in the book, but improving immensely in the time since. Oddly enough, the most dated part of the book is the uncritical use of FBI profiling, a pseudo-scientific practice that has since fell out of grace. Also still operant is the use of arson investigators, a field of hunches and word-of-mouth that's responsible for sending at least one innocent man to his death at the hands of the state.

The characters are sharp, enjoyable, and thoroughly human. Simon does a wonderful job of getting inside their heads, something that I hadn't been able to experience previously due to the constraints of TV and the non-subjective storytelling of The Wire. In historical works like The Devil in the White City, writing this kind of internal monologue is off putting, especially when poorly-done. But Simon's angle works, because he spent a year with the squad; even if he wasn't able to directly channel their personalities by the end—and I don't doubt that he could—he could certainly just ask them what they were thinking. As a result, we don't just get a sense of the procedural aspects of detective work, but also a more thorough idea of its epistemology—how theories are born and perish, how innocuous behavior becomes suspicious and then innocuous again as the detective tries out various ideas.

More interestingly, perhaps, we get an idea of the detectives' value structure, and that of the police as a whole. Certain deaths are expected—that of those involved in the drug trade and other blue collar crimes, as well as the inner-city poor more generally. But there are others that warrant much more attention from the police: children, especially white ones; church officials; community leaders. These cases are called red balls, and get the most police work precisely because they garner the most attention from politicians, the media, and by extension the general public. This isn't to say that police are exempt from blame, but instead that it's an outgrowth of wider societal priorities, of a culture grown inured to throwing away the lives of the lower class by dismissing them as morally-culpable, but eager to maintain a firewall that insists that the innocent and the well-off should not be tainted by that same violence. It's a twisted sort of morality play—staged on the local news and in patrol cars alike—that justifies the latent racism and continuing neglect levied against the inner-city and its residents. Simon certainly shares this view, as he's said so directly in interviews and essays since. But in Homicide, it mostly lurks in the background, slowly constructed by the specific evidence that he brings to bear over the course of 600 pages.

There are some cases where Simon zooms out to cover a topic more abstractly, such as his 18-page jag about the reality of the Miranda warning, and it's in those cases where he demonstrates his greatest control over tone. He can slip from explaining the overall picture, to re-enacting dialogue, to addressing the reader as if you were one of the characters. He has the tremendous ability to get inside the minds of every player, and hold them all in his head simultaneously—a talent that no doubt came in handy for The Wire.

He crosses back to that subject in the Post Mortem, where he recounts the impact of the book in its subsequent TV series, follow-up projects, and eventually the grand study of Baltimore that was The Wire. So many of The Wire's scenes echo anecdotes from the book, to the point where I'd almost recommend you watch the series before reading the book, to get maximum juice out of arguably the best television ever made (and best work of literature of the 21st century so far, in my opinion). Simon's ear for dialogue informs all his work, and if you enjoyed what he's produced for the screen, you'll love this book. And some of the stories shared, such as the positively insane Geraldine Parrish tale, are worth the price of admission alone. It's a surprisingly long book, but the fastest 600 pages I've read in quite a while.(less)

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Cultural Amnesia: Necessary Memories from History and the Arts
by Clive James

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Greg Brown rated a book 5 of 5 stars

Wolf Hall (Thomas Cromwell, #1)
by Hilary Mantel

read in April, 2013

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This book was shockingly good, even with advance warning from everyone else who had clued in earlier and already read it. My first happy surprise with the book was seeing Mantel leap forward straight to adulthood; so many times these kinds of stories...more This book was shockingly good, even with advance warning from everyone else who had clued in earlier and already read it. My first happy surprise with the book was seeing Mantel leap forward straight to adulthood; so many times these kinds of stories marinate in adolescence, try to be another bildungsroman, the main character slowly learning about the world, and receiving stilted exposition as a benefit and curse. Cromwell comes to us as someone fully-forged, hard as steel yet laced with his history.

At the same time, though, Cromwell's low-born origins and foreign adventures inform almost every event in the novel, such as his talent in finding able mentees. And his polylingual skills come in handy for both him and Mantel, allowing him to spy on secret conversations, and the narrative to stay glued to Cromwell while incorporating things he normally wouldn't (or shouldn't) have known.

We get most of these insights through Cromwell's own thoughts, which form a sort of marginalia to the actual events taking place. It's a wonderful effect, but also kind of a necessary one to humanize his character. Rendered more objectively, he'd become a Mary Sue—remarkable in every way, seemingly imperfect.

Mantel's gift is in portraying everyone as schemers: King Henry, Anne & Mary, Thomas More, and Cromwell most of all. Indeed, these portrayals transform our understanding of Cromwell; instead of being a gutless schemer, we learn that he's simply better at scheming than everyone else. His pliability is transformed from weak morals into an asset, and his aims are always tied to the perpetuation of his household.

If there's any flaw to the book, it's this pliability; Cromwell comes across as someone almost too perfect, able to swiftly dispatch any setbacks in his rise to power. Indeed, his setbacks are from events outside of his control, and often predicted in a way. From talking with others who have read the next book (Bring up the Bodies), this gap is remedied there. Still, though, Mantel sells his character so deftly that it's hard to even notice this propensity amongst the delicious language and enjoyable thinking.

As a whole, the book is so wonderful that it's no surprise Mantel won the Man Booker prize (and equally unsurprising that the sequel would win again). Any critique would have to begin by questioning the strengths: is a straightforward novel like this unable to interrogate and change us in the way truly great fiction can? The language is delicious, but is there something inherently good about working our way through difficult reading, in strengthening those muscles and readying ourselves for wider vistas? My own impulses run towards the (post)modernist, so I want to say yes to both of those. But still, though, my heart flutters for Cromwell.(less)

Greg Brown rated a book 1 of 5 stars

Never Let Me Go
by Kazuo Ishiguro

read in April, 2013

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This was an incredibly frustrating book to read, and largely because of the narrative implausibilities and liberties taken to ensure the novel reaches its meager, disappointing "payoff". Central to the story is the three-way friendship and budding lo...more This was an incredibly frustrating book to read, and largely because of the narrative implausibilities and liberties taken to ensure the novel reaches its meager, disappointing "payoff". Central to the story is the three-way friendship and budding love-triangle between Kathy, Ruth, and Tommy—but of course, friendship isn't quite the right word.

On one hand, Ishiguro does a pretty good job of articulating the delicate dance of conversations, the implied understanding of uncertain friendships, and how the small slights of childhood can grow to larger, stranger breaches over time. But on the other hand, before long we can recognize that the friendship between Kathy and Ruth is anything but healthy, and that Ruth is essentially abusive and controlling to everyone around her. Yet Kathy and the others never do anything substantive about it, or are even able for recognize how they're being manipulated—even as adults. Having seen (and been in) a few abusive friendships of my own growing up, Ishiguro doesn't sell the ones in the novel at all, and doesn't quite understand how those power imbalances can be maintained for years, and seemingly by a single person over everyone they meet.

This sort of tic, the ongoing stupidity of the main characters, is used by Ishiguro not just to perpetuate friendships, but also to keep us (and the characters) in the dark about their destinies. Some of it is simply not explaining the ideas until late in the novel—an artificial, cheap ploy to keep us reading that undermines the meager successes of the main plot. But some of it is also wholly unrealistic, like none of the characters being able to read books, or do any sort of independent fact-finding of how their situation works.

Sure, the novel is a period-piece in an alternative history of 1990, but it seems so absurd that they would be unable to find out anything about themselves, even after leaving school and going to the outside world. There's no totalitarian government, etc. that would cause this kind of lacuna, and no real indication that any of the characters had even really tried. All of it is the dumbest shit, and I cannot emphasize enough how these kinds of serial lapses constantly intruded into my reading experience.

Given the high praise for the novel, I kept reading on, hoping that there would be some redeeming turn that would radically change my understanding of the novel's concerns, values, focus. But none was to arrive; only a middling, final reveal awaited, one that belittled everything that had happened and added nothing to the emotional backbone of the tale. This really was a deeply, deeply disappointing book, and I am deeply mystified as to what anyone ever saw in it.(less)

Greg Brown rated a book 5 of 5 stars

Cosmicomics
by Italo Calvino

read in April, 2013

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Calvino's novel is similar to Borges in the high-concept, borderline metaphysical premises, but more focused on the characters rather than following all the consequences of that premise. That's not to say that Borges isn't emotional; one of his under...more Calvino's novel is similar to Borges in the high-concept, borderline metaphysical premises, but more focused on the characters rather than following all the consequences of that premise. That's not to say that Borges isn't emotional; one of his under-appreciated gifts, and one lacking in most of his wanna-be successors, was in wringing emotional grist out of his evocative images and premises. Instead, Calvino isn't afraid to weave a separate emotional story onto the premise, or wander off-topic as he continues down the tale.

Indeed, Calvino is more interested in using the outlandish settings to more literally represent emotions and relationships that exist in our own lives, albeit in more subtler forums. For example, one of the stories depicts the transition of some species from the land to the sea—but struggling with relatives who have refused to make the change, and seem stuck in their ways yet still insist on their own wisdom.. Our narrator's girlfriend is thoroughly habituated to the land, and he fears of the consequences if he introduces her to his great-uncle. Even if we aren't amphibian, can't we recognize this tale?

This sort of panpsychism pervades the stories, with our narrator Qfwfq taking the form of a dinosaur, a mollusk, pre-creation matter, and more. Calvino's painstaking efforts to depict the sensory experiences of these creatures are what lends the book a poetic edge, since you rarely see those kinds of explorations in prose. There are exceptions of course, like Nagel's "What is it like to be a bat?", but they tend to be specialized forms and not general fiction.

Talking about it with a friend, she mentioned that the book seemed to be more a novel than a collection of short stories, and I'd agree. Resonating throughout many of the stories is love, loss, and dealing with the confluence of the two. Calvino's language is beautiful, yet dwells in melancholy. If this had been his only book I would have thought it a personal obsession, but it instead resonates as a particularly thoughtful thematic choice for a book concerned with the consequences and casualties of cosmic creation.(less)

Greg Brown made a comment on his review of Slouching Towards Bethlehem

"At least give me credit for remedying my lapse! I'm glad to find an author more grim than myself, though."

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Greg Brown is now friends with Matthew Duhamel
May 19, 2013 07:19pm · like
Greg Brown rated a book 5 of 5 stars The New York Trilogy by Paul Auster read in May, 2013	Rate this book Clear rating 1 of 5 stars 2 of 5 stars 3 of 5 stars 4 of 5 stars 5 of 5 stars
Read the opening chapter of Auster's The New York Trilogy, and instantly know whether you'll enjoy the pages that are to follow. It's such an daring premise that I was enthralled from the start, but some may find it absurd, and too clever by half. (F...more
May 19, 2013 07:12pm · see review
Greg Brown is currently reading Rising Up and Rising Down: Some Thoughts on Violence, Freedom and Urgent Means by William T. Vollmann	Rate this book Clear rating 1 of 5 stars 2 of 5 stars 3 of 5 stars 4 of 5 stars 5 of 5 stars
May 12, 2013 02:17pm
Greg Brown rated a book 5 of 5 stars Homicide: A Year on the Killing Streets by David Simon read in May, 2013	Rate this book Clear rating 1 of 5 stars 2 of 5 stars 3 of 5 stars 4 of 5 stars 5 of 5 stars
For the most part, despite being set 25 years ago the book still holds up. Of course, the Internet has changed things to an extent, but the maze of conflicting databases of private information likely still holds true. DNA evidence has been the other...more
May 12, 2013 11:40am · see review
Greg Brown is currently reading Cultural Amnesia: Necessary Memories from History and the Arts by Clive James	Rate this book Clear rating 1 of 5 stars 2 of 5 stars 3 of 5 stars 4 of 5 stars 5 of 5 stars
May 04, 2013 01:11pm
Greg Brown rated a book 5 of 5 stars Wolf Hall (Thomas Cromwell, #1) by Hilary Mantel read in April, 2013	Rate this book Clear rating 1 of 5 stars 2 of 5 stars 3 of 5 stars 4 of 5 stars 5 of 5 stars
This book was shockingly good, even with advance warning from everyone else who had clued in earlier and already read it. My first happy surprise with the book was seeing Mantel leap forward straight to adulthood; so many times these kinds of stories...more
Apr 30, 2013 09:14pm · see review
Greg Brown rated a book 1 of 5 stars Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro read in April, 2013	Rate this book Clear rating 1 of 5 stars 2 of 5 stars 3 of 5 stars 4 of 5 stars 5 of 5 stars
This was an incredibly frustrating book to read, and largely because of the narrative implausibilities and liberties taken to ensure the novel reaches its meager, disappointing "payoff". Central to the story is the three-way friendship and budding lo...more
Apr 07, 2013 02:28pm · see review
Greg Brown rated a book 5 of 5 stars Cosmicomics by Italo Calvino read in April, 2013	Rate this book Clear rating 1 of 5 stars 2 of 5 stars 3 of 5 stars 4 of 5 stars 5 of 5 stars
Calvino's novel is similar to Borges in the high-concept, borderline metaphysical premises, but more focused on the characters rather than following all the consequences of that premise. That's not to say that Borges isn't emotional; one of his under...more
Apr 04, 2013 12:04pm · see review
Greg Brown made a comment on his review of Slouching Towards Bethlehem "At least give me credit for remedying my lapse! I'm glad to find an author more grim than myself, though."
Mar 31, 2013 06:03pm · see review

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