Kyle
I'm a chionophile (Cold weather lover), so I was predisposed to like this anyway. Still, Vesaas enhances a reasonably familiar story with his lyrical description of the frost, icicles and snow that engulf this rural Norwegian village. Vesaas describes Unn's enchantment with the ice palace with such beauty that I'm giving this an extra star just for that. I think the character development lacked a bit, which disconnected me a little from the plot.
I appreciated Brian's introspection and thoughtfulness on how cinema can provide a sense of community and purpose for Brian himself. Every day, he attends screenings at the BFI Southbank, and the reader gets a clear understanding of what each film means to him. Brian developed a passion for post-war Japanese cinema. I can see what Jeremy Cooper possibly tried to do in echoing an Ozu film by showing the gentle mundanity of life. The only issue is that I never understood who Brian is as a character. He mentions aspects of his troubled childhood, but he quickly neglects them, and a paragraph or two later, he quickly revolves around talking about a Sans Soleil commentary.
Even for a cinephile like myself, this became quite tedious after a while and felt like reading someone's Letterboxd diary
It's fine. Adopts a Forrest Gump narrative juxtaposed with a Chancey Gardner type protagonist who develops an absolute love of cinema. It's endearing for a while despite the evident absence of novelistic tendencies like characterization. Occasionally, the side characters feel like an extension of the writer's thoughts about cinema. The burglar waxing lyrically about Now Voyager comes to mind. I appreciated how the short chapter breaks resembled a film, and as a cinephile myself, I loved all the film references. But in terms of an overarching theme or anything to take away from the novel? Well fuck continuity, I guess?
There are moments in this that definitely work. Schultz's and Theresa's relationship feels nicely done; for example, encapsulating the realist style that Baker is trying to evoke. And the ending is perfect would love to see how a stage production could reimagine it. However, it does feel a tad slight at times as if the barebones concept of five people in an acting class isn't quite enough to work for 90 + pages. Still, the theatre nerd in me mostly appreciated this.
A visceral exploration of the author's own experiences in “Nam” juxtaposed with those with whom he .
An underwhelming ending IMO doesn't detract from what is a razor-sharp look into how some relationships can end up being dysfunctional
Communication and the lack of it is, for me, the central theme of On Chesil Beach. The idea that Edward and Florence struggle to express their feelings to each other, afraid of the expectations ahead of their marriage, highlights the dangers of repressed emotions and poor communication, of how events and actions misinterpreted can have devastating consequences.
The prose is lyrically vivid, recounting Edward and Florence's miserable wedding night experience on a summer night in 1962. Florence's possible asexuality is a distinct contrast to Edward's desire to have an immediate sexual relationship. It is ultimately challenging to read since we know from the offset their relationship probably won't work.
Where I think On the Chesil Beach falters a little is the last section. The reader gets a good sense of Edward's later ruminations on the relationship, where he felt it went wrong and his own life. There is nothing from Florence's perspective contributing to my personal feeling that the ending felt rushed. McEwan could have expanded on parts of the story. Was Florence possibly asexual, or was there a hint of sexual abuse from her Dad? It was a bit disappointing this was never properly clarified.
A good read but not a great one.
A DNF. I respect the clearly exhaustive research that went into compiling the book. Pearlstein has an evident passion for the subject in his meticulous recounting of a tumultuous decade in American society. And I find myself intrigued in parts, often googling the names of people and events mentioned. However, Nixonlands strength is also its undoing. Pearlstein is so broad in recounting the 60s turmoil that it eventually becomes a chore to get through. Pages and pages describing riots, protests, and counter-culture movements are interesting initially, but after about three hundred pages, it becomes pretty repetitive.
I'm not sure where the editor was, but I couldn't help but feel this could have benefited from a much tighter edit.
Not difficult to see why this is considered a masterpiece. The way Wilde phrases his sentences often made me go back and re-read them because they're so richly textured and witty. Beautifully written with a compelling protagonist to boot.
Satisfactory epilogue to the series. It does struggle to justify its existence at times since Anabelle isn't a fascinating character. For the most part, Updike is really providing an update on what's happened in the area since Rabbit's death, e.g., what happened to Charlie Stavros and Springer Motors. Still, the ending is good, and I always enjoy how he interweaves cultural and political discussions of their time into the stories. In this one, it happens to be a heated Thanksgiving debate on the Clintons or American Beauty. Have to agree with Pru's thoughts on the latter btw.
When I studied Olivia Laing's The Trip to Echo Spring: Why Writers Drink in a contemporary literature class a few years ago, the lecturer Mike McCormack suggested Dead as Doornails as a similarly useful text in its exploration of how writers can be gripped by alcoholism. The only difference being was in his view, Dead as Doornails had plenty of humorous moments. Though certain sections in Dead as Doornails are definitely funny, thematically reading about how three of some of the most talented Irish writers of all time succumbed to the drink is pretty morbid stuff.
Still, the link between alcohol and creativity is something that has generally fascinated me. Could someone like Flann O Brien have written some of the unique forms of metafiction in At Swim Two Birds without Alcohol in his life? Borstal Boy is considered Beehan's masterpiece but would a sober Beehan have undertaken it? I'm speaking from personal preference here, but I wouldn't have minded if Cronin had explored this discourse in the book.
Also, the Soho section of the book didn't enthral me like the rest, but I initially thought the book's entirety was about these three writers.
It's a DNF, but I still want to rate it.
I'm a massive cinephile, but I find as the years have gone by, my interest in the Oscars has waned considerably. I've finally seen the light for what is a self-congratulatory show inundated with self-important speeches and, at times, mediocre nominations, and the sheer duration of it means I even avoid the highlights program broadcast on TV here the next day.
Oscar Wars sadly did not reignite my interest in the Oscars. It's a detailed examination of Hollywood history from the silent era to contemporary Hollywood. I guess Schulman's thesis statement examines how the Oscars acted as a cultural institution within that period of film, but it leads to a disjointed flow of writing since a lot of the chronology in a chapter goes from one time period to another, which made it challenging to follow.
Also, I would question the decision to have an entire chapter dedicated to the 1989 opening number fiasco, which isn't even that bad, in my opinion. Would it not have made more sense to have tightened up that section and included more of the mishaps that have plagued the ceremony, from the slap to the envelope gate and many others?
If you're unfamiliar with the history of Hollywood, I would even suggest skipping this and reading a good Wikipedia article instead since this book isn't too dissimilar anyway.
Entertaining series of vignettes about American consumer culture, the absurdity of life and fear of death. The only problem is DeLillo consistently beats the reader over the head with it to the extent that it becomes laborious to read in the last third.
At times, a beautiful articulating of thoughts on art, family, immigration and unreliable memories, but I also found it hard not to shake the rambling nature of the storytelling.
I went in expecting a light read, and while I mostly got that, I also didn't expect a sometimes tender, delicate portrayal of a middle-aged man struggling to cope with the failure of a marriage and the death of his only child. A bit overstretched for the most part; however, there's a really good novella to 200-page story here, but certainly not a 350-page one.
A fascinating account of a continent that I have little to no interest in visiting. It's an episodic narrative with Kapuscinski compiling a collection of his essays during the many decades he spent as an African correspondent. Each ranges from personal experiences to a history lesson or sometimes in between. Where the book shines is allowing the reader to grasp the vast cultural differences between here and the Western world. For example, time dominates a Western man, and it dictates our daily lives. An African man understands the absence of time and is not as stringent in allowing time to become a part of their lives.
The short essays are both the strengths and weaknesses of the book, though. It left me longing for more descriptions of his decision to live in a Nigerian slum. I think a lack of focus on Southern Africa was also odd since I would have loved to have read something on the Skeleton Coast, the most eerie part of Africa. It is still a good, solid piece of travel literature.
I'm looking forward to eventually reading this myself, but I'm also impressed that a few people here have managed to get an early copy of the book.
A disturbing but vividly visceral look at a woman's descent into madness. Ditlevsen writes with such clarity in examining the challenges that paranoid schizophrenia can bring upon a tormented soul by showing the reader the various voices of people that occupy her life constantly voicing their daily concerns and struggles. In doing so Ditlevesen deftly addresses the blurred lines between reality and imagination. Similarly to other great works that have examined mental illness, the novel explores the complexities of the condition and becomes a poignant and haunting tale .
Whereas Mrs Bridge was a superb portrayal of how a middle-aged woman adjusts to the monotony of suburban life interwoven with various themes, Mr Bridge is more straightforward in its approach showing how a deeply unlikeable individual can be materialistic and dead set in his conservative ways. His idea of a treat is to clip stock certificates to the Christmas tree. The core idea of the book that Mr Bridge cares more about accumulating wealth to ‘provide' for his family than providing any love to them is a good one
For such a short play the way in which it examines mental health and suicide ideation is impressive.
Overly vigorous and mundane examination of John James Todd (Hey, three first names!) and his various encounters throughout life, from the battlefront in the trenches during world war 1 to his filmmaking attempts to make a nine-hour epic of Jean Jacques Rousseau's the new confessions culminating in him being a victim of McCarthyism. The biggest issue here is that Boyd assumes the reader has an intricate interest in Rousseau's life and the filmmaking techniques he used to make a grandeur epic, but in reality, this took up half the book for me. If I wanted to read about the making of a silent film epic, I would just read production stories of Napoleon (1927), which Boyd was clearly inspired by.
If John James Todd was a fascinating character, all the overwriting could be forgiven, but he isn't lacking the self-awareness you think might have come in abundance during his later years.
Boyd seems to adore writing fictional biographies about people, but based on my personal experiences with this one, I won't be rushing to read them anytime soon.
Published in 1947 but is still completely relevant in today's society. The concept of a married couple owning a radio which allows them to overhear other people's conversations reminds me of the very nature of social media. Scrolling through a person's Facebook or Twitter feed, no matter how idealized they make their page, is similar voyeuristically.
It reminded me of a Coen brothers film in how it explores the absurd reality we often find ourselves in, but it's also tinged with a sprinkle of sadness. The Logan brothers constantly reminded me of criminals from a Coen brothers film like Burn after reading. I don't completely love the conclusion to this, but I did appreciate how Brautigan successfully blended the varying tones and created something compelling. Looking forward to reading more of his stuff.
Giving this a rating even though it was a DNF at 20%. A somewhat disappointing trudge through 1940's Hollywood. Friedrich provides a chaotic chronology that bears little relation to the previous subject matter. For example, he mentions the screenwriting battle between Herman Mankiewicz and Orson Welles on Citizen Kane and then delves into Bertolt Brecht. I'm sure Brecht's influence is remarkable, but I would have preferred more stories that dealt with what happened behind the scenes.
Also, for a book about Hollywood in the 1940's it really isn't about it at all. We don't get enough of what actually happened in 1940's Hollywood. How was the city growing and changing? What industries made Hollywood click besides movies? And what impact did the movie industry have on Hollywood as a whole? Not covered here. What was Hollywood as a city and a factory-like in the pre-war era? Not covered here.