Jeff
I thought I knew what a “page-turner” was, but I couldn't read this one fast enough. The pacing is absolutely frantic, even though it's filled with inner dialog and takes place over the course of only a few weeks. It's disturbing in various ways, and Abbott nails so much of what childhood is like–which is one reason why it's so disturbing.
Well, I think this is my favorite Atwood book–I think I like it even more than Handmaid's Tale. It's not a perfect book, but it is such great spot-on satire, with a quick pace and wonderful characterizations that I have to give it 5 stars. The protagonists aren't people I'd like to hang out with, but it's heartbreaking (and oddly inspiring) to see them put through their paces.
As usual, Atwood is so great at near-future satire that I wonder if we'll see a prison/city combo as described in this book in my lifetime, or, indeed, if we already have them.
Definitely ambivalent about this one–at times an interesting look at inner psyches, but with characters so difficult to relate to, a setting that is so important but not completely fleshed out, and writing so terse, it wasn't an easy book to enjoy. Looking forward to insights from the book group I'm reading this with...
I've been told that second and third readings of Wolfe's stories allow you to find layers of interesting meaning; my intent with reading this for a book club was to do two readings, but I'm not sure I'm up for a second reading of it–we'll see.
I get it. He's a genius. I just think he's not my flavor of genius. Interesting themes here, a puzzle-that-maybe-isn't-meant-to-be-solved sort of structure. Deep examination of colonizers becoming colonized (and vice versa!), of identity, of how stories are told. This is the kind of thing that sci-fi is made for, in my mind. And yet.
And yet, I like my stories interesting on the surface first, with all of the deep stuff there as well; instead, these stories aren't particularly interesting on the surface, with one-dimensional characters and some 40-year old sci-fi tropes that feel 140 here (ooooooh! cloning! it's so weird!). Yes, yes, yes, the deeper themes are explored in a wonderful way, but only if you dig pretty deeply in the text. Sure, that can be fun, but I'd rather read something like The Left Hand of Darkness, which explores similar themes in a deep way, but which can also/instead be read for its plot alone. I'd even rather read Dhalgren, which has a crazy, non-linear structure but at least is a wild ride, even if you set the themes to the side.
Maybe my thoughts will shift on a second reading? We'll see...
I will confess that I've never written fan-fiction, and have only read a few stories. That said, I don't think this book is about fan-fiction, so much as (when it succeeds) about moving in to a new stage of life, and the fears, failures and triumphs that doing so can entail. Cather resonated with me–the overwhelming feeling that going to college can engender, the weight of having some social anxiety, the fun and fear of falling for somebody when you're 18.
I also mostly liked how Rowell included and dealt with mental illness in this book.
Worth reading, but didn't live up to it's clever premise, for me. I enjoyed the quick little vignettes about some of Harry's lives that weren't examined very deeply, and about the lives of some of the others, and I thought the overall structure was interesting, but I couldn't get invested in Harry, or his nemesis, or each of their quests; this meant getting through the second half was a bit of a slog.
Lots of good stuff here–the science behind how it is that we feel certain about some ideas is interesting, and helps me understand not only my own brain better, but also how to have some compassion for folks who believe wildly different things than I do.
The first two-thirds of the book are pretty stellar; the last third, which attempts to use the preceding ideas on some traditional problems of philosophy (mind/body dualism, free will and the like) wasn't as enjoyable for me. I think the ideas apply much more easily to some day-to-day issues regarding people with different world-views than they do to some very complex philosophical problems that Burton kind of oversimplifies.
There are fantastic moments in this book, and I love the meandering pacing. When Highsmith ratchets up the tension, it's a fantastic ride. The contrast between Ripley as a man who wants to be loved and Ripley the man who might just hit you over the head is played out well here, and even holds up over time, I'd say.
Still, it has a fairly predictable ending (it may not have been predictable in 1955), not much in the way of an interesting tone, and gives us quite a few unintelligent characters; rather than Ripley being some sort of clever criminal, he's mostly just lucky, which might be fun as a metaphysical puzzle, but not as fun as a thriller. (And perhaps Highsmith wanted to write something more metaphysical–in that case, she didn't go far enough for me.)
Glad I read it. I may read another in the series to see how her writing develops over time, but this one didn't top Strangers on a Train for me...
I picked this up because I'm enjoying Wilson's comic book writing so much, and I mistakenly thought this would be some sort of YA-ish novel (which it only sort of is). The setting (in an unnamed country with The State in control) was new to me in various ways, but with the all-too-close-to-home impending surveillance state as a central character. Alif is charming in various ways, but not the most easily likable character at first. Watching him understand the world and himself as he navigates a crisis is one of the pleasures of the book. It also seems like Wilson has done her homework regarding the basics of hacking and various technologies–at least enough to make the book work well around those facets of the story. She's got some magical realism going on, and a host of interesting characters surrounding Alif (two of his women compatriots are particularly well-written).
There are also some pretty dark sections of the book–there is torture, and Wilson doesn't shy away from presenting it to us in all of it's horrific glory. That section of the book changed the entire tone for me, just as Alif also has his worldview shifted. It's a well-done move on the writer's part.
I hope she has some more novels coming...
Loved this book. I was hoping to get an audiobook of it, but that doesn't seem to be in the works, which seems very odd to me. And yet we all know Cleese's voice so well, and his writing here is so familiar (in good ways) that I hardly needed to actually hear his voice–it was heard anyway loud and clear anyway, in my head.
Some folks may not dig this because it talks sparsely about Python folks and stops just as the show begins, but I found myself wanting him to talk even more about pre-Python days; Cleese has a fairly keen eye, and I wish he had turned it even more on his romantic relationships, on his friendships and the like. His armchair philosophy comes across (to me) as charming, though I'll be it chafes some folks.
I haven't laughed out loud at a book this much in...well, ever, I think. But I also got a good peek at the workings of early British TV, and a bit more of a look into a man who, turns out, makes me laugh as much now as he did when I was 10.
The ideas evoked here are fascinating–what if there were other options, apart from being alive, or being dead? How do memory and grief sometimes work for us, and sometimes against us? The existentialist bent is everywhere in this book, and quite enjoyable.
I didn't enjoy the structure quite as much as the rest of the ideas; lots of playing around with stories within stories, and non-linear storytelling. All of that can be fun an interesting, but it felt a bit half-baked in this case.
Still a quick, enjoyable read that will have me thinking for quite a while.
While I've read a few too many books lately that go meta with what-is-fiction-what-is-writing and the like (Dhalgren may have cured me of it), this book does it better than most. Given the wonderful language in this book (no surprise Zambra is also a poet), I think I'd read just about anything he put out. The book is wonderful, evoked all sorts of emotions in me, and I'm going to seek out his first two novels.
It feels odd to give this book three stars–it probably deserves 4 or 5 just for holding up so well in so many ways to more modern books, despite being over a century old. The structure of the book was the most pleasant surprise for me–starting in the middle, then showing the beginnings through story-in-a-story. I also quite enjoyed the horror aspects that I wasn't expecting, especially toward the end as we see how being but off from other humans can turn a person into a monster.
The fun ideas in this book keep it together, just barely. The characterizations are pretty weak, the plot cobbled together, and deux ex machinas abound. But it's still totally fun, and has some interesting ideas about what first contact could turn out to entail (spoiler alert: factionalized earthlings and aliens, and war). I'll read the sequel just to explore some more of the ideas, for pretty much the same reasons I've enjoyed Philip K. Dick books–crazy ideas, clunky writing.
One of those rare books that I can never really recommend to anybody, but I'm (mostly) glad I read. It's an experience I'm glad I had; I will also be fine if I never have a similar experience again. Perhaps because other works have been influenced by Dhalgren, some of the meta-conceptual stuff seemed a bit one-note (words from the book being in the notebook Kid has, etc.). The tone of the book was frustrating and yet enjoyable. Nothing (at all) is pinned down in this book, and yet Delany touches on class, race, capitalism, sex, and the like–the result for me is a kind of disappointing non-commentary on all of the above.
Still, one set of chapters will stay with me and was worth the whole book: As Kidd helps a family move from one floor to another, so much about the power of psychological denial is so strongly portrayed that I may reread just that section at some point.
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I'm halfway through with this book–on my 4th time trying to read it, and I've made it further than ever before. I'm enjoying it. It is long, but enjoyably so this time around. I do wonder if it needs to be as long as it is; I suspect the meandering structure is part of the meaning of the book, so I'm going with it. I may have to take some breaks before finishing it though–1000 pages gets in the way of other books I want to read...
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I loved this book–I love the meta-narrative conversation with Camus' The Stranger, I love the sparse writing, I love the humor; there is snark here elevated by being applied to existentialism, to colonialism, and the like. I would have gone with five stars if there hadn't been so much misogyny that wasn't really unpacked.
It's tough to give this one five stars, only because Baldwin's depiction of women in the book is lacking the nuance and intensity that his depiction of men excels at. But I have to give it five stars because it's the sort of book that I can honestly say: I have never read anything like this. Lots of amazing queer characters, lots of the deep sadnesses and amazing joys of everyday life, amazing comments on race and economics that don't stray into heavy-handedness too often. I know the book has critiques that it is uneven, and perhaps it is, but this book's unevenness is better than most of the even “masterpieces” I've read.
I'm embarrassed to say this is the first Baldwin book I've read. Can't wait to read more.
