Braden C read and liked Black Elephants's review of King, Queen, Knave (Penguin Modern Classics):

"Lately, I've asked people who they think are the best wordsmiths in the English language and while some people can answer that question in a heartbeat, others turn into a puddle of contemplation. For me, I've known the answer to that question for abo...more Lately, I've asked people who they think are the best wordsmiths in the English language and while some people can answer that question in a heartbeat, others turn into a puddle of contemplation. For me, I've known the answer to that question for about a year and that answer is: Shakespeare, Edgar Allan Poe and Vladimir Nabokov. In every work I've read by these writers, they continually astound me with their ability to string a shocking sentence together. Every work of theirs seems innovative and full of color; it's like taking a bite into a fresh piece of fruit.

That's why it kind of hurts me to say this: I did not like Vladimir Nabokov's King, Queen, Knave. No, that's too simple of a statement. The beautiful language, unique descriptions, and originality ofKing, Queen, Knave made my head spin with awe, but the story absolutely bored me to tears. However, I think that was Nabokov's point.

Hmmm. Can you see why I find Nabokov such an interesting writer? He writes his narrative in a style that is so complementary to it's purpose. Lolita was a seduction, thus the language was intoxicating and the narrative as silky as flattery; in Invitation to a Beheading, the point of the plot was unclear and so the language and narration was full of hesitancy and hiccups; and The Real Life of Sebastian Knight was about a failure and so the story would wind up with promise and than deflate.

For King, Queen, Knave, the story is a chess game about three people: Dreyer, his wife Martha and his nephew Franz, and like a chess game, this book was not a spectator-sport. In the end, the action was more apparent and interesting to those playing rather than those watching. I plodded through half of the book dying for Martha and Franz to finally start their affair - which they did! And then I plodded through the latter half of the book dying for someone to finally die already - which someone did! But it was just so difficult for me, as the reader, to take an active interest in anything.

Much like a card game, Nabokov slices up his narrative into his character's three perspectives so that Franz, Dreyer and Martha never know what cards the other is holding or what the other is thinking. The reader knows because they are not playing, rather they're circling the table watching the card players play, but again, that's only so much fun for the reader.

There are interesting side tangents, characters, linguistic moments, and etc. and this book still makes me applaud Nabokov for his English mastery (the man writes every book in a way I've never seen before), but, I just didn't care.

For more thrilling Nabokov reads, check out Lolita or Invitation to a Beheading.

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Braden C read and liked Angie's review of Still Life with Woodpecker:

"Tom Robbins is Tom Robbins is Tom Robbins, and you like him or you don't; I do. There is something about the stoner-cowboy vernacular of the thirty-something 1970s-era male that I find endlessly endearing. It is this vernacular that I am holding resp...more Tom Robbins is Tom Robbins is Tom Robbins, and you like him or you don't; I do. There is something about the stoner-cowboy vernacular of the thirty-something 1970s-era male that I find endlessly endearing. It is this vernacular that I am holding responsible for this book's tendency to remind me, constantly and throughout my entire reading of it, of The Executioner's Song. I thought that maybe it was the fact that the main characters of the two stories shared a lot of similar traits, like bad teeth and criminal tendencies and a not entirely commendable fondness for hot-tempered, barely-adult females. Then I thought that it was the photo of Tom Robbins on the back of the book, because Tom looks almost exactly like Gary Gilmore looked in my imagination. But in the end I decided that it was the tone and rhythm of the narrative, a casual, grinning, shaggy-haired, budweiser-downing, dirt-under-the-fingernails sort of sound that you can imagine enjoying having as a neighbor, until it lost it one night and shot out its girlfriend's windshield after a drunken fight and the cops kept you up until 3 a.m. with their lights and bullhorns. Still Life with Woodpecker reads like a story that Gary Gilmore might have written. This says something about their shared generation, and something (potentially negative) about Tom Robbins, but I think it says the most about Norman Mailer, whom I must genuflect to once more for so flawlessly capturing so many characters in so much three-dimensional detail. Still Life with Woodpecker is not Robbins's best work, and it won't challenge you or linger in your mind after you've finished it. But if you are looking for an easy-going friend to drink a couple of beers and discuss your hazy theories on the grand scheme with on your porch some Saturday night, this is your guy.(less) "