Chris Blocker
There's some wonderful writing in this novel. Some individual stories that stand out. But I most struggled with the point of this novel.
The premise is simple, this is the imagined lives of five children who were killed in an air raid during WWII. What would their lives have looked like in 15 years? 30? etc. For the most part, their lives are pathetic and sad. There's definitely a shot of realism to their stories, but not much hope. So is the author's intent to illustrate they were better off dying before they had to suffer? Or that living sucks?
And in the end, there was no clarity for me, as a reader. These characters didn't live these lives because they'd died. So what? And what if they had lived these lives? Why does this story need to exist? I think this novel would've been more enjoyable without that initial detail clouding everything that came after.
I really enjoyed this novel. It's a bit more ambitious than Doerr's last, which I think will immediately turn off fans who were attracted to the author for his take on WWII. With its three separate storylines from very different time periods, Cloud Cuckoo Land bears some similarity to Cloud Atlas or The Tsar of Love and Techno. Though the three plots of Cloud Cuckoo Land aren't as intricately woven together as either of those books, the writing is just as strong and the individual stories are each as riveting as the next.
...I hope to come back and say more once I've processed further.
This book features a collection of photographs taken in the days and months following the atomic bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Also, there are a few essays that put the setting and photographs into perspective (and which constantly remind the reader that this is not political).
I made it a point to look at the photos of Hiroshima on August 6th, and the photos of Nagasaki on the 9th, reading the essays in the days in between. I've read several books on the atomic bombing of Japan, so I was prepared for the worst. These photos do not truly depict the horrors of what happened on those days. Some nod at the grotesque, but none really capture it. According to the essays, some of the photographers refused to capture the suffering of people. Also, we know that thousands of photos were confiscated and destroyed. Many of the photos that appear in this collection were kept illegally.
Still, this is the best we have of what happened on those days. Unfortunately, I'm not sure that these photos, as heartbreaking as they are, are enough to convince the masses that what happened on those days is worth avoiding at all costs.
I think Timmy's running out of steam.
It wouldn't be Timmy Failure without some laugh-out-loud moments, but the sixth in the series wasn't all that its predecessors were. And Emilio was fine, but without many of our already established favorite secondary characters in this one (especially Molly), The Cat Stole My Pants was a bit more dry than I was used to.
Yes, these are tears in my eyes. All throughout this book, I was impressed by the art style that I think expertly captures a child's view of mental illness, and by the coloring that really paints the mood. The episodic nature of each little tale I was less sure about. But damn if this author/illustrator didn't pull it all together in such a poignant and heartbreaking way. This is definitely going onto my list of graphic novels that I would highly recommend, with the disclaimer that the depiction of schizophrenia and its effects might be too much for some readers.
This collection is incredibly solid. Each of the stories in Some People Let You Down embraces a feeling of being haunted. Many of the stories deal with loss and grief–of loved ones, of security and home, of innocence. This collection shows many different and unique perspectives, most of which share a time and a link to a similar nondescript place like every small rural town you've encountered. Intriguing throughout, Some People Let You Down is filled with perfectly captured characters and an eerie beauty.
This “review” is part of a series in which I quickly scribble a few of the thoughts I had regarding a book I read in the first half of 2021 during a time when I let my reviews get very behind.
Not Without Laughter is one of those strange novels that doesn't seem to do all that much or say much, but it still completely captured my attention. This could perhaps be the result of my connection to the story, a child growing up in Kansas, near the same location this story takes place, although Sandy's experience is vastly different from my own. Some parts of the story picked up the pace considerably, but for the most part, this is simply the meandering tale of a child finding his place in the world.
This “review” is part of a series in which I quickly scribble a few of the thoughts I had regarding a book I read in the first half of 2021 during a time when I let my reviews get very behind.
I read Stamped from the Beginning when it first came out some years ago and loved it. I've been a fan of Kendi's ever since. While Stamped is still an important book, the simplified style and voice just weren't for me. Reynolds glossed over most of the details to present a much more digestible tale. But what about racism should be digestible? Someone may argue, “But Stamped is for the teens!” I guess. I wouldn't have liked this style when I was a teen either–I'd have thought I was being talked down to. But maybe that's just me.
This “review” is part of a series in which I quickly scribble a few of the thoughts I had regarding a book I read in the first half of 2021 during a time when I let my reviews get very behind.
Sure, comparisons can be made to Baldwin and Morrison. The author is clearly influenced by these two greats. But Baldwin and Morrison knew when the story was over.
The Prophets suffers most from a lack of editing. A great premise for a story by an author with a substantial platform still needs to face an editor or two. This story is unnecessarily long, meandering, and confusing at times. TEN PAGES of acknowledgements?!?? Sometimes the answer is “No.”
This “review” is part of a series in which I quickly scribble a few of the thoughts I had regarding a book I read in the first half of 2021 during a time when I let my reviews get very behind.
I read “Hell Screen” in college and have a generally favorable opinion of Japanese lit. But... I wasn't that impressed with this collection. Some of these stories were very overhanded, but that was common of the time. The best in this collection, in my opinion, is actually “Spinning Gears,” an unfinished semi-biographical work about the author's unraveling at the end of his life. It was psychologically complex and poignant, and left me wondering what treasures Akutagawa would've been capable of writing had he lived longer.
This “review” is part of a series in which I quickly scribble a few of the thoughts I had regarding a book I read in the first half of 2021 during a time when I let my reviews get very behind.
Pick up this collection of poetry and read anywhere. You'll likely find a sentiment that is familiar and hits close to your heart. And that is the power of a collection such as this one: Kaur is a collector of difficult emotions that she bottles up in colorful glass, and presents in an easy to swallow manner.
As far as poems go, these are not all that amazing. The verse is often clunky and relies more on the revelation of the emotion than on the words themselves. But Kaur clearly has her fans, likely because of how she presents these sentiments. I doubt time will be gracious to the poetry of Kaur anymore than it has been to the spiritualist pioneer poets of the 1800s, but time will tell.
This “review” is part of a series in which I quickly scribble a few of the thoughts I had regarding a book I read in the first half of 2021 during a time when I let my reviews get very behind.
God this novel was such a drag.
There was some quality writing in there. And there was the skeleton of a good story. But it was largely bogged down by so much overwriting, not to mention an atrociously orchestrated ending.
This “review” is part of a series in which I quickly scribble a few of the thoughts I had regarding a book I read in the first half of 2021 during a time when I let my reviews get very behind.
Add this one to my list of poorly rated books I loved. This is such a wonderful debut that probably just found the wrong audience.
I love how each of Anna North's novels are wildly different from one another. There are many authors who can write in a wide variety, but still sound like the same author. I'd have no idea this was the same author as The Life and Death of Sophie Stark if you didn't tell me.
America Pacifica was North's first, and though it's not perfect, it tells a riveting story and is quite beautifully written. It does have it's missteps thought, the biggest of which almost completely derails this story. This novel did fall completely apart at its lowest moment, but I still think it's worth the read.
This “review” is part of a series in which I quickly scribble a few of the thoughts I had regarding a book I read in the first half of 2021 during a time when I let my reviews get very behind.
I have no idea what to think of this novel.
The story itself centers on the sexual assault of a teenage girl fifteen years earlier.
The book is such a jumble of ideas and styles. I don't know if it's wonderfully brilliant or dreadfully pretentious. The story takes on multiple points of view. It's a thriller, a campy horror novel, a memoir, and more. It uses found documents, parts of the novel are comprised entirely of emails or extremely juvenile plays written by our characters as children. There's a lack of believability throughout these stories that begs the question, Is this a nod to victims of sexual assault? And yet, on its surface, this book seems potentially offensive on multiple fronts, including toward those same victims of sexual assault.
So I don't know what to think. But I do think this is exactly the kind of book readers can get lost talking about with others. Love it or hate it. Think it brilliant or simple, empowering or degrading. You'll probably have feelings about this one, one way or another.
This “review” is part of a series in which I quickly scribble a few of the thoughts I had regarding a book I read in the first half of 2021 during a time when I let my reviews get very behind.
The History of Love is a very clever historical novel with a heavy dose of romance (heh, it's right there in the title). It's a story that uses seemingly unrelated narratives to tell a very complex story.
This novel is just so well put together. It's one of those stories with so many pieces, and every piece comes together in a way that's incredibly satisfying.
This “review” is part of a series in which I quickly scribble a few of the thoughts I had regarding a book I read in the first half of 2021 during a time when I let my reviews get very behind.
This novel was such a creepy and psychologically complex read. It was strange and haunting.
But what I got most out of it was knowledge of Michael Strange, a historical figure I knew nothing of before reading this novel. I can't imagine a reader without prior knowledge of Strange making it through this story without consulting an Internet search.
This “review” is the first part of a series in which I quickly scribble a few of the thoughts I had regarding a book I read in the first half of 2021 during a time when I let my reviews get very behind.
One of my greatest musical discoveries in the past decade is the hip-hop crew Doomtree. I've a long history with hip-hop, but my appreciation had grown stagnant into the 2000s. Doomtree brought a freshness and relatability that had been absent.
If you didn't already know, this collection of essays is written by Dessa, who makes up 1/7 of the Doomtree crew. And that's ultimately why I read this book. But even if you've never heard of Dessa, or Doomtree, or could care less about hip-hop, My Own Devices can be an enjoyable read if you like thought-provoking essays. In fact, not being overly familiar with the cast might actually make this collection more enjoyable.
Why do I say that? Because I like Doomtree. But a great number of these essays revolve around Dessa's romantic relationship with another member of Doomtree. She never says who it is, she just refers to him as X. She does describe him as a black man, so that's a clue. Who could it be?
Why all the mystery? I don't know. Either don't make it completely obvious, or just be honest. Anyway...
Dessa is madly, deeply in love with “X”. She cannot get over him. And these essays about her “senseless love” are wonderful on their own. But learning that “X” is actually kind of an asshole makes his presence in Doomtree less enjoyable. Paired with the needless mystery, this collection left a bitter taste in my mouth for the music, and that's not something I was hoping to get out of this book.
Taking my feelings for Doomtree and its members out of the equation, My Own Devices shows a talented, intelligent, and playful individual at work. Dessa puts these traits on display throughout. I wish there was more of this, less of her lovesickness, but maybe that's for a future book.
Overall, I enjoyed reading these essays. Despite my aversion to the bitter truths of “X”, I did learn something from it: even the most brilliant people can be “stupid with love.” That was honestly a revelation. I truly hope Dessa can get over her feelings for “X”. And I hope that “X” can view the women who allow him into their lives with more respect. And maybe if the crew mends some of these hurts, we the fans can finally get a new album.
I'm enjoying reading this series to my youngest, now eleven. It's quirky and when it comes to reading aloud, quirky is my game.
I'm not sure if I've just come to expect the quirkiness from this series and have become a little numb to it, but I don't think this novel as a whole was as overall funny as its predecessors (though it starts out great.) Still, I look forward to the rest of the series.
That The Radium Girls sheds light on a horrific case of worker exploitation is its greatest gift. Books that succeed in reopening doors that had been closed should be celebrated. While the cases of the radium dial workers hadn't been completely covered up, they were not something many of us were familiar with. The popularity of this book has kept those stories alive.
Personally, I'd like to have learned more about the individuals in this book. Too much time is spent on detailing the illness and legal battle of the women involved, that little is invested in getting to know the individual women. Maybe that information didn't exist. Or perhaps the author didn't want to focus in on individuals. Whatever the reason, I felt that kept me from getting as emotionally involved.
The biggest gripe I had with this book was that the author attributed every ill action to sexism. While sexism certainly has a role in this story, there's more at play. I have no doubt that had impoverished young men been hired as radium dial painters, they would've been treated much the same by the radium dial companies. Greed was what made those women sick. The reason people started to pay attention wasn't because a man had gotten sick, it was because someone with money and prestige had gotten sick. Other examples of worker exploitation and war show clearly that poor men are just as expendable. No doubt, most men of the time would've been treated better by the doctors, the courts, and the media once the truths were uncovered. But let's not shift blame from the rapacious radium dial companies who were really at fault and should be held fully accountable.
This graphic novel's illustrations are largely simple and sometimes difficult to follow, but the use of colors is interesting and leads to some contemplation. The two stories themselves are surprisingly appealing. What seems initially like a ho-hum story comes exciting by the midpoint. I liked the characters and the situations and world they found themselves in. The conclusion was perhaps a bit of a letdown–by that point, I expecting quite the punch–but it was respectable.
At Night All Blood is Black is the story of a Senegalese soldier who comes unraveled after the death of his closest friend during WWI. Because this story is narrated by a person who is struggling with his sanity, the prose can sometimes be difficult to follow. There is a considerable amount of circular thought and repetition. At first I wasn't sure if this might simply be authorial style or the product of a translated work, but flashbacks in the story highlight a more lucid style. The story is interesting in summary, but I personally found the implementation too jarring to allow myself to be fully immersed in its telling.
Burnt Sugar is an uneven story of highs and lows. Truly, I love the premise that explores this idea of a daughter neglected by her mother, now placed in a position of care for her mother. And Avni Doshi does a tremendous job of drawing out the emotions involved in this situation. I really loved the concept, as well as the characters. It is here where this novel thrives.
The story itself meanders far too much, however, growing confusing at times. At its best, the story is quite interesting, wonderfully paced, and gorgeously written. At its worst, it can be a bit of a dry read, incorporating elements and scenes that don't quite gel with the novel's best moments.
(Advanced Reader Copy provided by the publisher through Edelweiss.)