Jeffery Harvey

I picked up The Brass Verdict after reading Connelly's The Lincoln Lawyer (which, I must admit, I picked up after re-watching the movie on cable). I enjoyed Connelly's writing and the Mickey Haller character quite a bit in the first novel and I wanted to see where Connelly took the character.

The Brass Verdict tells the story of Haller, after taking some time off, picking up the cases of a slain lawyer friend, including a very high-profile murder case involving a Hollywood producer. On the whole, this novel was another victory for Connelly and the Haller character, though I must admit that I felt it got a little wayward between the 1/3 and halfway point. Once this story picked up, though, it raced to the finish in compelling (though not overly surprising) ways.

Connelly picks up the theme of family from The Lincoln Lawyer, only this time, the focus is on Haller as a child (rather than his relationship with his daughter). The interplay between Haller and Bosch is amusing, but only becomes truly interesting at the end of the novel upon the reveal of the book's only real surprising twist - Haller and Bosch are half-brothers. Upon this realization, recasting the characters as foils to one another - two sides of the same coin - adds a level of depth to the novel that I wish I would have known early on. (I will admit, though, that uncovering this truth early on would have been a detriment to the narrative.)

I continue to enjoy Connelly's writing. After starting The Brass Verdict, I found an interview with Connelly in Esquire magazine where he talked about his inspiration and how he came to be so familiar with the legal process and legal systems (where he simply “observed” the process as an outsider and, I believe, a journalist). Connelly must have been quite the observer, because I find his presentation of the court system and due process to be authentic and accessible.

Though I did not find The Brass Verdict to be as “good” as The Lincoln Lawyer, I'll most definitely pick up the next in the Mickey Haller series.

This book celebrates its status as a “self-help” book, but that is not meant to be a detrimental statement. Whereas most books aimed at making us feel better ask us to blindly believe that we as individuals are awesome, limitless creatures; have us repeat a number of mantras designed to brighten our spirits (images of SNL's Stuart Smalley come to mind); or irrationally discredit the negative feelings we are all guaranteed to have/ this book gives us tools to combat those feelings and encourages us to realize their validity.

Now, with all of that said, I will agree with a number of critics and say that the steps advocated in Part III are a lot easier said than done. In tone and speech, I am an optimist, but privately, I tend to be a pessimist and particularly hard on myself. I get pessimistic and down on myself for “having to resort to something like this book to pick myself up”. If, after all, learning optimism were as easy and intuitive as Seligman makes it seem, then why can't I pick myself up?

Seligman, though, taps into a very useful strategy for not only learning optimism, but also for dealing with the random shit that will pass our way. Use evidence to support one's thoughts. If you feel bad, sad, overwhelmed, etc., think about why. Identify evidence that supports the feeling. Identify evidence that contradicts the feeling. Make an informed decision. So many times, we form an opinion of ourselves or our situation and believe it whole-heartedly because it originated in our own brain...and, as Seligman notes, what more credibility do we need?

In short, I recommend this book. Read it not as a “cure all”, but as a tool to store in your own mental tool box to use at strategic times.

Duckworth's style in writing the summary of grit, her research focus, is deft and clear; I enjoyed it. As in many books of this style, she leans heavily on the stories of a number of people, some famous, others not so. Personally, I would rather read about the empirical research behind the concept of grit. I realize, however, this book is for mass market and not specifically for the scholar. All-in-all, an enjoyable read that prompts an interest.

I read Kegan and Lahey's An Everyone Culture: Becoming a Deliberately Developmental Organization as an optional “assignment” as part of my doctoral program. I will be reviewing the text with the other fellows in our program and I am sure it will make for a lively discussion.

First, I should admit that I am a proponent of adult development and I have an interest in individual and organizational leadership development. That interest undoubtedly biased my reading of this book. I found the approach of the three exemplar organizations interesting and further found myself looking up supplemental information on all three. I admire their attention to personnel development and gaze enviously upon the ways in which they have built development into their routine operations.

Kegan and Lahey have done a solid job of distilling the commonalities between the exemplar organizations into a coherent narrative. The book reads easily and is an appropriate mix between research reporting, self-help guidance, and personal stories. The personal tidbits ground the material and bring it to life. The chapter that makes the traditional business case for the deliberately developmental organization is ambitious, but from the perspective of a business owner, leaves me slightly wanting. Still, though, the text functions as a compelling call to DDO-hood and, if taken in the proper spirit, the exercise in the penultimate chapter can be revealing for the reader.

The authors make their most convincing argument surrounding the need to invest in people. I appreciated that the went well beyond presenting such platitudes as “employees are the first priority” or “our employees are our greatest assets”. This text talks about how to walk that talk. I can also appreciate the authors' take that rewards go beyond financial compensation. People do bring their humanity into the workplace and, as such, provide insight as to what motivates them. Cultivating such relationships makes the process of the work more meaningful.

For those with any type of management/leadership role in their organization, An Everyone Culture is a worthwhile read.

Put simply, I enjoyed this book.

It's been a title on my “To Read” list for a while, and now that I've gotten through it for the first time, I find that it's given voice to much of what I've consulted over the years as well as I've studied during and following my doctoral dissertation. Command and control is a bit of a myth, functional in specific, tightly-focused contexts and perhaps more broadly in a bygone era. In my world of emergency management (and emergency services more generally), an example to clarify this statement is helpful. Command and control can greatly benefit the tightly focused operations of an incident scene (or a single incident scene within a larger disaster), where the goal is largely agreed-upon. Yet, for the purposes of wrapping one's arms around the totality of the disaster, command and control struggles (if it doesn't outright fail).

What's needed in these situations?

From the perspective of my dissertation, I explored the applicability of “shared leadership.” Others might think of an even broader term: “collaboration.” McChrystal and colleagues dub it a “team of teams,” and that's an apt moniker.

Perhaps the most important insight from this book is that even though the authors advocate for a team of teams approach, they quickly expand that recommendation with a reminder that the amoeba-like nature of the structure means that it's nearly impossible to describe it prescriptively. Every organization finds itself in myriad contexts, each of which may bear relevance to the ultimate structure of the team of teams. With that, I couldn't agree more.

I appreciated the authors' efforts to use military and civilian examples. the book leans military, and that's okay because that's the primary context of the majority of the authors and the inspiration for the line of thinking that came to be known as “team of teams.” Could the book have benefitted from, perhaps, small business examples or organizations from sectors focused on innovation? Sure it could have, but that's not a critique of the text so much as it is my recognition that all of us would love to see uber-relevant, seemingly cherry-picked examples from contexts like our own. There again, the point of the writing is to prompt one's thinking, and I (the reader) carry the responsibility for judging the applicability of the text for my own experience (a small business owner and college professor, which are the vocational manifestations of my identity as an emergency manager as described above).

If you work in the field of emergency management, then I highly recommend this book. In fact, I tend to agree with author and emergency manager Kelly McKinney's assertion that this is required reading for emergency managers.

So, pick it up, set aside a few hours, and enjoy.

Despite many attempts to put this one down, I've finally finished “Lolita”. I honestly cannot say that I liked the book, but then again I can't say that I disliked it.

The language throughout is well crafted and the word choice is often wonderful. Overall, however, I found the narrative to be overly descriptive; the descriptive texts were, at times, unnecessary. The edition that I read (pictured above) was 309 pages in length. If it would have been trimmed to about 175 or 200, stripped of all incessant description, the story would have read very well.

I found Part 1 to be a little easier to read than Part 2, but found the action in Part 2 to be superior to Part 1. By the time I got to Humbert's chasing of Lo and her “kidnapper”, I wished I would have been more interested into digging into the names left for him at the numerous motor lodges; however, I was so interested in finishing that I glossed right over them.

I did find it simultaneously interesting and disturbing the way that Humbert finds all kinds of ways to blame an event from his childhood and Lolita herself for his condition. Nowadays, we realize how constant doting on a child can lead to less than desirable results when said child reaches adulthood. Combined with the forced upon and sought out sexual element of their relationship, his doting on Dolores concurrently speeds up her maturation and stunts her development.

While I'm glad I read the book, I must say that I would only recommend it to those wishing to add fodder to their list of classics read.

My second foray into Batman as a father.

The Resurrection of Ra's al Ghul addresses Ra's' attempts to re-animate to continue his work with the League of Shadows. The first prelude chapter was amazing as it described the process by which Ra's is brought back to life: in my opinion, the strongest chapter in the entire graphic novel. We're also given more insight into Damian as Batman's son. His cockiness is still there, but it is now masked in the form of adolescence. Damian continues to want to get to know Bruce/Batman, but there is still something more to the character, more of a sinister intention that is hovering under the surface.

The novel also introduces new characters (new to me, that is) I-Ching and Sensei. I-Ching is a character with a lot of untapped potential. I like how he just shows up at opportune moments. I also enjoyed seeing Talia al Ghul more involved in the story. She's another character with significant potential.

This particular book, though noted as “by Grant Morrison”, is actually written by four different authors. Though generally cohesive, the constant switching in authors was much more jarring to me than chapter-by-chapter changes in illustrators and colorists.

The spin on the theme of family is good stuff. We've always had the family theme with Batman stories given what happened to Bruce's parents, but that angle had to do with how does one rebuild the concept of family. This particular book assumes that it's been built and now asks how it should be kept together. What does it mean to be a family? Is it blood relation? Common goals? Friendship? There are no answers given, but the path taken toward the answers...there's the depth.

Just finished this one...not as inspirational as some of the other leadership books I've read, but very good nonetheless. It has informed several decisions I have been mulling over regarding the progression of my business.

This book is centered on the concept that the world is bigger than any one of us as individuals. In order to succeed, you have to be willing to teach, coach, and mentor. Mentoring requires being vulnerable, releasing some ego constraints, and being honest. Teaching requires the conscious development of “teachable points of view” - in other words, you can't teach what you haven't internalized and what you don't support.

It has taken me quite some time to sit down to write this review. I wanted to make sure my initial impression of The Black Swan was the impression I am willing to commit to writing.

First (and most importantly), I enjoyed the book's premise. I work in disaster preparedness and I enjoy reading about various ways to view improbable events. I spend a fair amount of time in my professional life comparing probability and severity and further thinking about how to communicate those thoughts to clients who may or may not regularly think about potential emergencies in such a way. Taleb's assertion that we are at least as threatened by what we don't know as we are by those threats of which we are aware is one of those points that should be repeated in disaster planning meetings again and again. Second, I believe the author to have done an admirable job of balancing highly technical mathematical ideas and accessibility for the reader.

Several reviewers from a variety of other websites criticized Taleb for including anecdotes about such characters as Yevgenia Krasnova (given the character's status as fictional). I will admit I initially found these inclusions jarring, but once I acknowledged it as a stylistic way for the author to present his material, I took no issue with their inclusion. Fictional examples do not dilute the believability of the data-based material Taleb presents. Several points made by the text highlight the often subtle nature of recognizing black swans. The black swan could be a product of incremental changes over long periods of time. The use of extreme fictional examples, then, are pithy ways to convey complex ideas over the course of a few pages.

The primary objection I have with this book is the almost snarky tone with which it is written. I can appreciate injections of humor, but to read quibs on seemingly every other page toward most academic fields was a bit much. I can appreciate disdain for certain subjects and I see no reason why an author should steer clear of acknowledging them. Any comedian, though, will tell you that over-using the same joke spoils its humor.

I am not in a position to recommend this book to anyone. I am glad I read it and I certainly wouldn't discourage anyone else from reading it. However, one should be aware of what she/he is getting into before starting it.

Here was a book for which I liked the idea of reading much better than the actual novel. Goolrick gives us an account of Ralph Truitt, a turn of the century industrial tycoon from Wisconsin, and Catherine Land, the woman who answers Truitt's personal ad for a “reliable wife”. The back cover of the book promised intrigue and murder, ominously hinting that the “lonely Ralph Truitt had a plan of his own”. Sounds interesting, right?

Not really.

This book had all of the elements of a great one, and that's why I'm being a little hard on it now. There were flashes of brilliance; obviously Goolrick can write. Overall, though, for what could have been an in-depth, mind-bender type of thriller, perhaps even a top-notch psychological thriller, the reader is given page after page of laborious description for minimal action. It was almost 30 pages in before the first real action occurred.

Furthermore, the author teetered on spending too much time crafting the small details, but seemingly glossed right over the major events in the book. We learn in the matter of one page that Catherine and Antonio had jointly hatched the plot to kill Truitt. We learn in a matter of two sentences that Larson cut off his hand. Parts of the book read like a list poem when Goolrick tried to depict the thought of “things just happen”.

But then again, there were very eloquent sections that left the reader longing for that type of prose. The exchange between Catherine and Antonio at the end of Part II was straight out of a play - well written, easy to which to relate, and easy to visualize - indeed the reader could almost empathize with the characters at that point. (Thanks to Dave Brown for the “out of a play” idea.)

Goolrick dabbled with the theme of a sort of insanity thanks to the long Wisconsin winters. This theme could have added an interesting element to Truitt and Catherine's relationship. It could have provided a context for the horrible things that the characters were doing. Goolrick's theme of redemption and forgiveness is obviously present but made to feel so ordinary that the reader dismisses it as a potentially-central premise of the book. Perhaps the most successful theme is the pervasive power of love, even when one doesn't want to give in to it. Catherine's realization of her love for Truitt, built on the simplicity of daily companionship and comfort, is a nice contrast to the blinding love Truitt felt for Emilia, the maternal love Mrs. Larson felt for Truitt, and the intoxicating, passionate love Antonio came to feel for Catherine.

I wanted to like this book...I really did. I nominated it for my book club. I liked the cover, the feel of the book, the promise made by the back flap, the teaser quotes from the expert. But I just couldn't fall in love with the book.

This book rested comfortably on my shelf for quite some before I cycled through a long list of titles to get to it. (I'm one of those weird people who, teaching syllabi thrown at me aside, generally reads in the order I buy books.) While on that shelf, unbeknownst to me (because I am also one of those weird non-Apple people who don't keep up with Apple TV), the book was adapted to a live action series. This review is of the book alone.

First, I enjoyed the writing. Fink's style is engaging and accessible. She presents the unfolding scenario with the appropriate level of drama, but not hyperbolic drama, and I find that to be a welcome characteristic to the disaster genre. The subject matter is dramatic enough, and we can leave it at that. Put differently, Fink's background as an investigative journalist shines through, and that gives the unfolding narrative a level of street credibility.

Second, as an emergency manager, the community and family/personal preparedness lessons jump off the page. There was a striking amount of misconnection on display after invested substantial funds toward addressing that issue. It calls into question the accountability mechanisms we use for federal preparedness dollars. It also motivates (and simultaneously terrifies) me as an emergency management consultant. If anyone is interested in why people like me go on and on about participation in preparedness projects, just read this book.

Finally, readers can't help but feel the humanity here. Everyone is equal parts hero and villain. The victims here are certainly the patients, but there's a compelling argument to be made that the label “victim” applies to nearly every character.

For disaster nerds like me, reading this book is a no-brainer. For folks that want to see the apparatus that is government improve, here's the foundations of a road map (for one part of what said apparatus does). For the faint of heart, be weary, but give it a try anyway.

Assigned as pre-reading at the start of a doctoral program, this book provides a solid overview to reading not only research, but scholarly writing in general. The book is well-written and easy to read, breaking down an unnecessarily difficult process into manageable chunks. For anyone not accustomed to reading research and other scholarly writing, I would highly recommend it.

When I posted the review on Warren Bennis' “On Leadership”, I mentioned that books I had started since I had started Bennis' text had caused me to re-think whether or not I found Bennis' text informative. “The Leadership Challenge” was the book that spurred the re-thinking.

Pretty good insight as to how to become a better leader. Lots of good stories and examples. Many of the tricks they offer are easy to implement - being a better leader is as simple as choosing to be a better leader. This book is built on the fact that leadership can be taught. Its success is built on the fact that anyone can accomplish the extraordinary.

My only caution with the text is that it contains too many lists. It starts with the “five practices of exemplary leadership”, then offers two ways to achieve each of the five practices, three activities that you can take to accomplish the two ways to achieve the five practices, and so on. While all of the advice is resonant, it is virtually impossible to remember all the lists.

I took a break from reading historical classics and emergency management books to dip back into some fiction. With an undergraduate degree in creative writing, I'm aware of the writers hailing from my small hometown, and as such, I'm familiar with Phillips' work thanks to a shared hometown and an anthology project from said undergraduate program.

First, I enjoyed Quiet Dell immensely.

Though I grew up 20 miles or so from the community, I was not aware of the Powers murders. I read the book alongside light research on the case. The history of an area is baked into its present, and I appreciated the opportunity to understand a little more about North Central West Virginia.

Phillips did a wonderful job or interweaving fiction with the historical accounting. The first third of the book, set entirely in Illinois, was appreciated, though once readers are introduced to Emily Thornhill, the pace picks up. The inclusion of photographs from 1930's era Clarksburg were terrific. I found myself jumping back and forth from the photos to current pictures. Knowing about the current renovations of the Gore Hotel, it's great to see efforts to restore it. One hopes the same thing for the Waldorf. Looking at the current Quincy Street area, one can find nearly where the grocery stood.

Phillips's writing is typically quite dense, with layered imagery, and I've had to read many of her other works slowly. The narrative of this novel was more straight-forward. The layering was there, but a reader can hit the high points on the narrative and enjoy the story.

Me, I could have done without the ethereal Annabel narratives following her passing. I understand why they were there, and there's sentimental value to knowing that she was connected to Duty and Mrs. Pomeroy, but all Annabel excerpts after the first one (at the time of her death) felt superfluous.

All-in-all, a good read. It's nice to get back to my West Virginia roots. There's far more quality writing sourced to our state than people realize.

Upon a second reading, my rating for this one improved by a star. Perhaps I am at a different point of my career or maybe the composition of my staff is such that I more clearly see the utility, but the simple circular mapping graphic - A Acts -> B Reacts -> B Acts -> A Reacts -> Repeat - is a simple and effective way of taking an initial look at our relationships.

The one draw-back to this book, in my opinion, is the presence of a new “tool” in each chapter. Most build on the mapping diagram I referenced above, but a relationship map followed by the ladder of reflection followed by three steps for this followed by three steps for that...it all starts to run together.

But...I am certainly glad that I re-read this one, even if it was in preparation for the Summer 2023 term.

This one is a hard one for me to review. Why? It wasn't the book that I thought it was going to be.

Now, that's as much on me as anyone else. I read some snippets and press materials, and I was drawn in by an ethical examination climate change as a catastrophe, and for what it's worth, as an emergency manager, I was anticipating a sort of spin-off of ethical considerations for climate change-exacerbated disasters as well.

But again, that's not what this book was.

That said, I didn't NOT enjoy the book; in fact, when I reoriented my headspace, I quite liked several passages. Rieder makes the reader think, and that's a strength of the book. There were passages and phrases that stuck with me for days, and I even shared a few of those in photo form (properly cited, of course!) on other social feeds. I've studied ethics at a surface level while working towards degrees, and it was refreshing to see a contemporary spin put on popular ethics debates like abortion.

I read one review on Goodreads that lambasted the final chapter of Catastrophe Ethics as overly didactic and woke, and I understand how a review like that could hit the waves, so to speak. I didn't read the last chapter as preachy, though. It was Rieder's attempt to situate a newly-coined term - “catastrophe ethics” - into a complicated, interconnected world where his Puzzle is all around us. (You can't hide if you're a climate change denier.) Like all valid (in my opinion) ethical discussions, conversants should feel a tinge of discomfort.

For me, I once read from a textbook that one of the differences between ethics and morals is that ethics are collectively-focused, while morals are more personally-focused. That's understandably reductive, but it's something I've carried with me for a few years now. That said, perhaps there was room in this book to distinguish ethics and morals more explicitly. It's there, but there are also plenty of instances where there's a murkiness caused by overlapping uses of the two constructs. Would that change my view of the value of the book? No, but it was something for which I was looking when beginning the reading.

I still want to read the book that looks at the ethical challenges surrounding disaster (or “catastrophes” as mega disasters), and I'm bummed that it wasn't between these covers. Still, I'm glad to have read this one, and I enjoyed Rieder's writing style. I'll dive back into this one again, someday, when I really want to focus more broadly on ethical thinking.

Greenleaf sets forth the almost utopic vision of “servant leadership” as a sort of modified “people-first” mentality. The concepts themselves are great. The evidence that he provides is convincing. I also found it interesting that Greenleaf predicted some of the political situations in which we now find ourselves. Why is this interesting? He did it in the 1970s!

I do agree with many of Greenleaf's assertions about servant leadership. I do believe that one of a leader's responsibilities is to treat his/her people right and try to do what's good for both the organization and the people that comprise it. There is a line, though, that cannot be crossed, which Greenleaf recognizes and debates the element of servitude in that context.

I felt is was a major shortcoming that he limited his discussions to corporations, universities, and churches. I would like to have heard his thoughts on government, the small business, non-profit/charitable sectors, volunteer organizations, etc. Also, the book was hard to read. The writing style did not relate well to the content, which made the content seem distant or inaccessible. The actual hardcover binding of the book also made it hard to read.

An interesting read, made more so by the fact that I enjoy Taffer's television show. John Taffer has an exercises a number of good ideas related to doing business generally. For example, his thoughts on four-walls marketing certainly apply to the bar/hospitality business, but also apply to other retail and commercial offerings. Those in consultancies can certain embody the services they provide as well as integrate walking the talk into numerous facets of their business.

I appreciate Taffer's reliance on data. It shows that he is well-read and personally vested in the industry in which he has chosen to work. The sources and types of data he mentions in this book also shows creative interpretations of seemingly bland data. Taffer has a way of making demographics come to life.

This book suffers from what I like to call the “snapshot in time” phenomena. Many of Taffer's examples from television (e.g., America Live) are all over the Internet as failed conversions and the former owners have gone on to negatively relate their experiences on the show. These issues do not affect the validity of the example Taffer is making in the book; they simply create incongruities in the value the reader assigns to the topic being exemplified. Think - if it worked that well, would the business have closed? The answer, of course, is that myriad factors play into the closure of a business and, if there is anything that Bar Rescue teaches, it is clear that businesses on that show had a number of problems at the onset.

Bazeley's text on qualitative data analysis is full of helpful tricks, tools, and techniques. As such, it is a terrific reference and students studying research should keep this one handy. The screen shots from qualitative data analysis programs enhance the discussion. Further, Bazeley should be commended for the creativity she advocates when discussing the many different ways researchers may break down and break open qualitative data.

The course for which I read this text was condensed into an eight-week timeframe, which was far too short to develop a complete understanding of the content of this text (especially when considering we had other texts to read in the course as well). Personally, I would like to see a slightly more lengthy discussion of validity concerns, though this was not the focus of the text and Bazeley provided more than enough techniques that could be used for triangulation efforts.

I found Bazeley to be biased toward qualitative data analysis software. I appreciated her acknowledgement of the benefits of software tools and I agree that such tools can significantly streamline data analysis. The text, at times, seemed to actively discourage students from employing manual techniques, frequently pointing out the overwhelming nature of everything from printing off multiple copies of data, to the potential for losing certain versions from one's pile, to the difficulty of creating complete code lists.

Ultimately, I would recommend this book to qualitative research students.

Another entry from the “I Survived...” series:

Again, I appreciate the human element coming through the narrative. Tarshis does a nice job of crafting a story that doesn't get in the way of the gravity of the situation. With this one, I appreciate the focus on the widespread destruction of the tsunami. It's easy to overlook anything associated with the wave not connected to Fukushima Diiachi.

I had to read this book for a graduate class. When I first started with it, I was excited because it was easy to read and really highlighted some good points with respect to leadership. In reality, I have picked up some good quotes from it.

However, as my coursework progressed and was assigned additional leadership texts, I came to regard this one as very bland. It is meant to be a prescriptive text for leaders but I think it is sporadic in theme and delivery. In some cases, it is hard to understand how the examples relate to the chapter at hand until the last paragraph or two in the chapter. Such a tactic has its place in fiction, but not in a textbook.

Bottom line, the subject matter was admirable and moderately relevant. The book was originally published in 1989. My version advertised its being revised for relevance in a post-9/11 and post-Enron world. Honestly, though, I found the revisions to be forced and the concepts to still be somewhat dated. This was truly a transitional book written to guide leaders from a former paradigm to the a new one. Now that the new one is here, it is time to move away from this book.

We all look for book recommendations from myriad sources. Brett McKay and his Art of Manliness world served as the source for this recommendation. (Side note: If you're looking for a well-rounded list of 100 books, crossing genres and ranging classic to contemporary, McKay's 100 books that every man should read is a good list.)

Put differently, Steppenwolf is not a title I would likely have picked up on my own. Like most books, though, I find value in having read it.

Hesse's work with the duality of one's personality or, more aptly, the multiplicity of one's personality, was the highlight of this work. Who hasn't struggled with their identity, wondering which of numerous roles takes center stage? In my own life, am I a father? Husband? Entrepreneur? Professor? Researcher? The answer, generally, is “yes.” The deciding variable is where I find myself at any given moment.

Hesse deals more with our primal natures vs. our more refined, cultivated identities. That we have an introverted, more animalistic, almost visceral nature isn't exactly groundbreaking, but the character's turmoil over when and how to give that nature it's fair share is an interesting take.

I find myself deficient in my knowledge of European history between the world wars. Hesse works toward commentary on the bourgeois, and I'll admit that I'm missing something. That said, it's easy to pick up on the element of longing in the text. Haller's revulsion toward all things bourgeois is, at the same time, his (to himself) inexplicable inclination toward it. The protagonist sees no meaning in the mundane trivialities of the bourgeoisie, yet he is frustrated when an aimless railing against it offers no meaning. “Meaning,” then, is what we make of it, and Haller can't quite get to the realization that the bourgeoisie have made their own sufficient meaning of life. Seeing emptiness in all things breeds emptiness in oneself.

Though I am unaware of any direct influence, Haller's listlessness prior to meeting Hermine appears in a more modern tone in Richard Yates' Revolutionary Road. The Frank Wheeler character just knows he's meant for more, yet he finds that he's meant for exactly the reality that he creates. He longs for more than just middle class, yet as life goes on, one realizes he/she has built something pretty special in the carrying out of the day-to-day.

By the end of Steppenwolf, I find myself questioning the meaning of it, while at the same time satisfied with what I think its meaning is. Perhaps that's exactly Hesse's intent.

My second foray into the world of graphic novels. As with the first paperback, I enjoyed this one. I must admit, though, that I felt it slipped slightly from the first one. The story lines evolved, but it seemed like a re-imagining of the same line - man meets Josephine, man falls in love with Josephine, man learns there is more than meets the eye with Josephine, man dies (or nearly dies) for Josephine.

As with the first collection, I still enjoy the flexibility with which the narrative can be read. There are multiple levels to the narrative, there are good stories, and the reader can handle which ever level he/she wants. Love that...the mark of a well-written piece - graphic novel or otherwise.

I have it on good authority that issue #11 presents a twist in the narrative, which I welcome and to which I look forward!

I'm finding it tough to write a review for this book. I've been trying to read it now for almost two years, but had a lot of stuff going on and had to start/stop and start over a few times before finally getting through it. Was all the effort worth it? Honestly, I'm not really sure.

THINGS I LIKED ABOUT THE BOOK

Brundage's use of language inspired me throughout. I've always enjoyed and admired authors who have a way of taking words and using them in new ways (e.g. slightly modifying verbs to use them as adjectives and so on). The language itself was quite descriptive, yet not so descriptive that it lost the flow of the story. In some ways, though, you could tell it was a debut novel in which the author was flexing her linguistic muscles just because she could.

Also, and this opinion is tainted because I have lived my entire life in a state that is “quasi-South” and certainly widely (wrongly) considered close-minded and backward (WV), but I admired the fact that much of the religious fanaticism normally associated with people from the south was on display in a decidedly northern state (NY). All of us are guilty of relying on stereotypes to describe places we've never been, but it was refreshing to read an author that celebrated the fact that there are both enlightened populations, opinionated populations, and those that take their enlightenment and opinions too far in a state like New York. Conversely, it would be nice to see an author depict a truly cutting-edge, genius character in a southern setting.

THINGS I WASN'T CRAZY ABOUT

While I enjoyed Brundage's use of language, I was not crazy about the storytelling. I found the plot to be somewhat predictable and even cliche (i.e. bored, lonely housewife has affair, struggles with the moral aspects of cheating on a spouse, then finds out she is pregnant). The abortion angle could have interrupted the predictable but, instead, added to it because we knew from the very beginning that Michael was abducted because of his openness to the procedure.

Annie, the supposed feminist, had settled into the role of stereotypical housewife. With a family and a job at the local college, the housewife aspect of the character was not what bothered me; it was the fact that there was no new spin on the role. We as readers weren't given access to how her younger life as a fearless feminist journalist shaped her actions and worldview as a housewife (and, as the book progressed, a bored housewife). The Michael character had flashes of some emotional turmoil that was have created an additional layer of tension in the novel (e.g. his conviction to a cause versus his feelings of obligation to his family), but those flashes were extinguished much too quickly. I could go on, but you get the idea.

The way the events of the novel played out seemed like teenage drama with a purpose. It's fine that abortion and religious fanaticism were focal points of the book. But it's only mentioned that the primary antagonist ultimately tried to kill as a protest of abortion even though she herself had had an abortion! The book could have been much deeper if it would have explored the tension in that character's mind as she carried out the bombing, the kidnapping, etc. Add to this fact that character's mental instability, and we could have had an incredibly complex, memorable read.

All in all, the book intrigued me enough to pick up a copy of Brundage's next novel. Her use of language alone was enough to spark such an interest. As a recommendation to those picking this one up, just don't expect too much and you'll enjoy it!

Although I must admit I was not as much a fan of this graphic novel as I was Batman, Vol. 1: The Court of Owls, this one still drew me in and kept me hooked. I have come to be a fan of Scott Snyder's writing. He has kept it up throughout this arc as well as into the Zero Year arc.

My favorite chapter of this particular graphic novel was the one that centered on Alred's father. It was very nice to see a step away from the main story that simultaneously supported the main story and provided insight on Alfred, one of the most under-used characters in the Batman ethos. I also admired Snyder's skilled inclusion of Court of Owls mythology in so many of the Batman stories that we have heard before. So many keys that made Bruce Wayne into the Batman have their roots in the Court of Owls? Well done.

Whereas Batman, Vol. 1: The Court of Owls read more like a piece of fiction versus a true comic, The City of Owls moved the story back into the comic realm. This shift was not a detriment, but it provided a different feel for the arc. Gone were the explorations of many themes; in was the non-stop action element. With the exception of the notion that Lincoln March was in fact Bruce Wayne's brother, gone was the thought-provoking social commentary.

Long-time Batman fans should enjoy this arc as would those new to the Batman story. Kudos to Scott Snyder for a clever re-imagining of a well-known tale.