Colin Murphy

A mindblowing and poetic critique of modern alienation and mediation interwoven with history lessons (capped with a history of history), attacks on various Marxist and anarchist factions, and sections of such obtuseness I'm still not sure if the fault was mine or the book's. Still, more genius per page than the leading brand and it looks good in a cafe.

It's almost occult how this book's methodical and straightforward exposition constructs concepts, concepts that pull and prod and pry and finally get down to the brass tacks of beating the shit out of your brain. It doesn't exactly excel as an introduction or overview or reference, but it exceeds all of those roles through a complete lack of mercy.

Although thought-provoking and wide-ranging, The Naked Crowd's central thesis (since security and privacy aren't necessarily competitive attributes, rational policymakers could find solutions that satisfy both requirements) seemed a little slight for even a couple hundred pages. Still, even the tenuously-related sections were insightful, particularly the last chapter. If only the people most in need of this book weren't also the least likely to read it.

Unapologetic and challenging, Nation of Rebels establishes a clear causal link between consumerism and the counterculture that purports to oppose it. Some of the authors' flourishes are annoying and (occasionally) offensive, but the central argument is so brilliant and undeniable it elevates even those peripheral points I would rather deny.

Naive, self-indulgent, and hypocritical. The author makes a couple anemic attempts at a cogent analysis of consumerism before giving up and lapsing into a loose recital of silly and self-congratulatory schemes. After reading Mediated and Nation of Rebels, both of which offer startling insights, this book is only memorable for being aggravating.

A disturbing thought experiment that paradoxically neuters itself with overtly fetishized ultraviolence and perverse sex shit. The scenario is horrific by its nature, or it would be if the torture porn wasn't constantly upstaging it.

Even in his own telling the author seems like a contemptible centrist incapable of articulating or even evaluating a moral argument. Half the book seems like a search for powerful government officials (or, in one episode, a collection of midlist actors) to name drop and then defer judgment to.

Although it shares all the great characteristics of the first half, it's damaged by a few problems. The text seems much rougher (repeated sentences or paragraphs in different sections, rare grammar and spelling errors). As it approaches the present it provides just enough detail to whet the appetite before moving on, and its editorial tone trends towards naive and clueless. Despite all that, it's still basically the best comprehensive overview I could imagine.

Each successive page was an excruciating step closer to total despair. It's a relief when Jurgis finally stomps all over on the garden of his soul. By the end just reading the socialist revival section is almost an ecstatic experience when compared to the misery that precedes it, which I suppose was the point.

2008/05/31
It strikes me that religious nature of Jurgis' conversion is pretty apt and probably deliberate. Although the connections he makes help him find a job and the cause gives his life meaning and purpose, the movement itself is sustained by promises of a soon coming utopia that never actually arrives. The parallels to the commonly cited communist critique of Christianity are glaring.

A powerful account of the political and personal examining (and empathizing with) successive generations caught on the wrong side of history by their adherence to principle. In recognizing both past liberal achievements and the potential for future projects it's a inspiration to cure disaffection.

A focused overview of Irish political history between 1918 and 1975, this book probably wasn't the ideal introduction to Irish history as it picked up shortly after the Easter Rising and assumed familiarity with that event's significant figures. After a little difficulty and some quick research, I became increasingly engaged. In spite its academic tone the book is quite readable.

The first textbook I've read cover to cover. Well-written, comprehensive, and stuffed with maps, timelines, and pictures of the arts contemporary to the time and place being discussed. It's also free of the peculiar compulsion to relate all world events to Europe, so much so it's kind of shock when the continent finally gets its game together. Also the sidebars relating the archeological and written evidence for the historical perspective are pretty great.

Through precise language and broad analysis, Guns, Germs and Steel swept away the last lingering cobwebs of European exceptionalism that I had accumulated in the unexamined corners of my mind. So much of my high school history had received an implicit narrative arc, usually terminating with the US, that a directionless recounting was kind of revelatory.

Terse and lightly ornamented, the book's unhurried tour through the inevitable collapse of a startup is strongest as a kind of counterexample in form and function to the trite parables that plague business books. A similarly succinct moral can be drawn, though: reality always wins in the end.

When I first read this book in grade school it left an indelible mark, such that it still stuck with me more than a decade later despite forgetting the title and author and most of the plot. Finally rediscovering and rereading it has only given me a greater appreciation. The decent imagery and even nuance that characterize the writing and plot was largely lost on my ten year old self. For example, I had remembered the ending as a total downer, a defeat. Recognizing it as the assumption of adult responsibility this time around was pretty peak.

The protagonist's (and, with increasing clarity across his career, the author's) contempt for ‘baseline' people and the book's increasingly ridiculous deification of academics is embarrassing. The world building is fun and the plot is engaging, but the major mystery is whether the cloying fetishization of intelligence is primarily cynical audience flattery or troubling personality defect.

Sprawling but increasingly engaging, Trinity gathers steam in proportion to its length. It's a lucky thing, too, since it's nearly 800 pages. Although I would have preferred at times more history and less novel, it deftly invoked powerful emotional responses (particularly feelings of futility leading to anger). Also, I kind of hate the British now.

A patchy tapestry of clever writing, convoluted plot, interesting characters, and a setting sufficiently odd to be the necessary introduction. Although occasionally frustrating, the frayed edges manage to suggest a system in the threads left they leave exposed, and the central intersections are pretty transcendent anyway.