Chris Blocker
In terms of plot, I think Such a Fun Age is wonderfully successful. There are quite a few threads running throughout, and they're all tied together rather nicely. Some of these threads may have relied on convenient plot points, but I don't think they were too far out of the realm of possibility. There were definitely times when these threads came together, and I found myself at the edge of my seat in anticipation.
Characters were a bigger problem for me. And this is quite likely a case of failing to separate authorial intent from the actions of the characters. There seemed to be judgement about the actions of some characters who behaved badly, while others never even received a talking to. Zara, for instance, is a terrible friend. She doesn't allow Emira the time or space to make her own decisions during stressful situations. She's constantly interfering, making choices that completely alter the course of Emira's life. But I never got the impression from any of the characters that Zara's actions were anything but exemplary. Zara is just one example. Overall, I wasn't a fan of many of these characters, either in construction or in the way they were developed.
There's a great idea in here, peeking its head out often throughout this novel. Overall, I like this exploration of those who strive toward performative “wokeness,” but I'm not sure this novel completely succeeds in fully delivering the message.
I went into this story expecting one thing: a romance. And I left it with a very different thing: a story of friendship.
So In Five Years isn't perhaps really a romance, though it has elements of that category. What starts as a seemingly average Hallmark-eqsue story grows increasingly more serious as it goes. This deeper exploration of love between friends and lovers is what gives this novel its gravitas through an otherwise absurd premise.
What alienated me most as a reader was all the wealth being thrown around. It's hard to connect with characters who are so fabulously wealthy. Personally, I could've done with all the bling.
If you're going to read a thriller, what better premise than this one?
Confessions is such a twisted tale of revenge. Perhaps the story is dragged out a bit too much by the first-person narration. Many of the same events are told by multiple characters, some points of view adding very little. Also, this story requires quite a bit of a suspension of disbelief (though that's probably par for thrillers).
Overall, I think the structure and narrative could've been constructed better, but the skeleton of this story is really riveting and intense.
There's been a swell of popularity in novels about toxic relationships in recent years. I don't think I'm the right audience because all the ones that receive the most praise completely fail to hook me. ([b:Fates and Furies 24612118 Fates and Furies Lauren Groff https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1434750235l/24612118.SY75.jpg 43913972], yes I'm talking mostly about you!)This one at least brings in race and sexuality which is why I didn't give it a terrible rating, but for the most part, this is still the story of toxic people hooking up and having elite parties, feigning a belief that the world doesn't revolve around them, while all their actions scream, “LOOK AT ME! LOOK AT ME!!!”An oversimplistic take? Perhaps. I still don't like it.
Shirley Jackson brings her uncanny wit and astute observations to SUBURBIA!
A huge ensemble cast makes this a difficult one to connect with, but it's oh so clever and filled to the brim with absurd reality.
This isn't the best Jackson for readers looking for a strong story or character arcs, but as good as any looking for top-notch irony and a deeper understanding of people.
This novel was quite the surprise! I suspected before cracking the spine that big events were at the heart of this novel's impetus, but I wasn't quite imagining the apocalyptic level it attains. What's best about this story is the creeping uneasiness of it. Increasingly, it becomes more and more clear that everything is at stake (or perhaps already lost).
This is such a riveting and intelligent literary thriller, complete with scenes that are absolutely heartbreaking. Yet I appreciate that the author never tries too hard to force the reader's feelings. This isn't the kind of story that provides all the answers, but if that's something that doesn't bother you, I highly recommend this one.
This story could've been so boring in the hands of another writer.
This is only my second Anne Tyler, but I'm getting the impression that she writes “simple,” comforting stories that somehow feel weightier and have the power to move. I can't imagine very many authors being able to take this same story and make it so interesting.
I really identified with Micah Mortimer, a character whose content life takes some unexpected turns. Despite having a dry and obsessive personality, Micah comes off as a character worthy of attention and affection.
I don't find myself excited to read more Tyler, but I certainly do hope I'll encounter her work again.
Who can pass up a story about an ostrich farm?
Though the story is a bit predictable in places, there are enough surprises to keep things interesting. Throw in all the family dysfunction and you've got a story that soars.
Throughout, there are some really strong descriptions of the desert, as well as powerful writing concerning the ostriches. The novel's best moments are probably those that focus on the birds (and that's not a bad thing.)
There's a wonderful concept here. The story itself has potential. The problem for me all comes down to orchestration.
First, the author explains far too much. Authors need to trust the reader to figure some things out.
The bigger issue is that most of the story is replayed through conversation. There's not much actual story here. Li Lan talks to another character, then another, then eavesdrops on two characters, etc. This novel is almost entirely made up of two characters talking, sharing much more than they ever would in reality. Personally, I think that's poor storytelling, and also rather boring.
This isn't an easy book: four hundred pages devoted to a boy who does everything to help his alcoholic mother. It's emotionally manipulative, but it remains tremendously powerful. Never before have I read such a thorough exploration of addiction. The final scene Shuggie has with his mother was so gut wrenching and powerful–it's one that will stay with me for years.
This one received so much flak from the Booker community this year, but I personally really enjoyed it. It may be light in some areas, but I thought it was entertaining. The premise, though not satisfactorily explained, was intriguing nonetheless. I enjoyed watching these characters grow and develop individually, as well as within the group. The way the group dynamics shifted with time and with the introduction of new members was well done. I completely understand why this wasn't a favorite of many Booker Prize readers, but I felt this one fell in the middle of this year's pack.
How Much of These Hills Is Gold has such a powerful and unforgettable beginning. It grabs a reader's interest and leaves them with some haunting images. The writing in these opening scenes is so vivid and strong. The bulk of the middle is comparatively dry in regards to story, through it's full of the same strong writing. The final section ties everything together nicely. I personally got really excited when I saw hints of East of Eden in the story's concluding chapters. I anticipated a parallel moment with Lucy and Sam in the brothel, but the story went in a different direction. This was probably best, since that story, the story of Cal and Aron, has already been written. (The similarity did make me wonder if this was a bit of a nod to Steinbeck, though????)
The Shadow King presents a lesser known chapter in the story of World War II: the Italian invasion of Ethiopia–more specifically, the role women played in the conflict. Mengiste's story is fully imagined here. Readers can easily identify with Hirut and her intense desire to keep ahold of her gun, a gift from her father. Aster's wishes and desires were less easy to understand. I never quite grasped what she wanted and didn't want, particularly in her relationship with Hirut. All together, this story moves with tremendous writing and a compelling storyline.
This second-person tale of a floundering and embittered Zimbabwean woman started off well enough. While it was never a riveting or emotional read, the first several chapters kept me interested. Unfortunately, I felt like nothing about this novel moved in an upward motion. The protagonist's actions were a never-ending series of blunders resulting in tedious events. Too much of a slog. Best part: the excellent snapshot of modern day Zimbabwe.
This second book picks up with the same intensity, pacing, and atmosphere of its predecessor. Focusing entirely on the fall of Anne Boleyn, the scope of this second volume isn't nearly as grand as Wolf Hall.
Everything I had to say of Wolf Hall is true here. There's no divorcing one of these tales from the next. (See what I did there?)
The Tsar of Love and Techno is easily my favorite read in more than five years. It's profound, touching, and oh so incredibly clever. This is a book that I hope to get around to again someday.
First, a bit of clarification. This book is billed as a collection of stories. Why this is the case, I do not know. It's not uncommon for publishers to sell a collection with the thinnest thread joining them as a novel. Why? Novels sell better. So why would a publisher push what could easily be called a novel as a collection? I have no idea. These “stories” are all very much linked. The connection between them gives a more complete picture than many novels do. More than that, I don't think these stories could stand on their own, and that alone should be a big indicator that this is not a collection of stories. Why does it matter? Because when you first go into The Tsar of Love and Techno, you're going to want to look at the big picture. Knowing that everything in this “collection” is connected to an overarching story is important to appreciating it fully. So I will be referring to this book as a novel.
Why did I love this novel so much? Because it has nearly everything I want in a story. It's cerebral and emotional. The way Marra brings together all the threads is ambitious. As is evident from this book as well as his debut, he's a clever author with a strong understanding of how all the fragments of a story can be seamlessly pieced together. And yet, Marra knows how to tug on the emotional heartstrings. The stories of these characters seeking peace, acceptance, forgiveness, family... they're all so wonderfully heartbreaking.
What else? Well, the characters are wonderfully drawn. They're authentic in their construction and they grow in ways that are believable and captivating. The history and the landscapes are richly detailed, but in a way that doesn't cause the story to get bogged down. Marra's style is lyrical, gritty when it needs to be, full of pain, but not devoid of hope.
You know, Marra kind of reminds me of David Mitchell meets Colum McCann. Does anyone else see this? I don't like putting too much stock in comparisons, but I'll put that out there anyway.
If I had one critique of Marra in general, it's that for whatever reason his stories don't quite stick with me the way that they should for being so impressive. I don't even know why this is, and it could be a flaw of my own. Despite enjoying every passage of this novel, I walk away retaining only the broadest sense of the story. This does mean however, that I'm actually eager to read it again, hopeful that I'll pick up more on a second read. (And I'm not generally a re-reader.)
Personally, I thought The Tsar of Love and Techno was superior to a A Constellation of Vital Phenomena, a novel that is adored by so many. Marra's debut was intense, reflective, vivid, and beautiful, just like this one, but I found the added layers that spanned time and space to be enriching and entertaining. Despite not being a re-reader, I do hope I'll be able to return to both of these novels. And hopefully, Marra's future is paved with many more.
This isn't really my sort of read, but I found it to be a surprisingly clever approach to the mother-daughter story. The humor is sweet, but grows cloying by the end. That's not to say I laughed (I don't easily laugh), but I did smirk from time to time, particularly during the events leading up to the school's event for prospective parents.
The charm wore off though. It just went on too long for me. The author's choice to present the story in an epistolary form was probably the best; the choice to keep the story going so long was questionable. The best parts of this novel were Bernadette's squabbles with her neighbor and the events of the first few chapters. The longer it went, the more I felt myself disengaging.
Year of the Rabbit is a graphic novel that depicts one family's struggle to survive the genocide in Cambodia. I've read about the horrors of the Khmer Rouge–this book doesn't really show that. This genocide looks like every other genocide by a tyrannical ruler and I'm not sure this was the case. I'd like to have seen a story that didn't hold back. Perhaps this is just how it was for this family.
Also, this story is a bit chaotic. Too many characters and an artistic style that makes it difficult to distinguish one family member from the next. In many ways, this is an important work, but I didn't find it particularly eye-opening.
This tale of loss is surprisingly affective. There are many tropes in this teenage tale of grief and depression that could have caused the story to derail, but de Pass pulls them together in a way that works exceptionally well. The more the reader gets to know Cara and company, the more believable they become. I was surprised, given a bit of a rocky start, that I was moved in the end. The Year After You is a smartly written novel with some pretty good character build up. I was pleasantly surprised.
I almost gave up on this book around the halfway point, but then my opinion momentarily improved and I pressed on. Unfortunately, it didn't last. This novel starts with a group of overprivileged teens whining about everything. It ends with them complaining about their terrible parents. Meanwhile, the world goes to shit.
Perhaps there's an allegory here for parenting, privilege, religion, or something–I just didn't have enough interest in the story to truly pay attention.
Kings of Broken Things is an expansive story which constructs 1910's Omaha with great care. It explodes with moments of action and probes readers with questions of justice. There's so much going on in this story, and that is probably its greatest flaw. There are a few too many characters and plotlines with no apparent purpose.
I enjoyed how Wheeler took the events of Will Brown's lynching in 1919 and crafted a story about the city. I appreciate stories where a place becomes a character. Wheeler definitely pulls that off with this story. This is a story about Jake and Karel and Evie... it's a story about a lynching and injustice and corruption... but more than anything else, it's a story about the environment that brewed such a terrible storm.
I love the unconventional duo of Bunny and Michael, though it's difficult for me to believe that the powerful and wealthy Bunny would have so quickly adopted Michael. In some ways, these characters and their actions aren't always believable, yet they are at other times. Despite issues of plausibility, they bring this story to life.
Rufi Thorpe tackles so many subjects in such a small space: abuse, addiction, sexuality, violence, class, ethics... Even though the book asks all the right questions, there doesn't seem to be a lot of room for emotion. Most telling to me was the lack of empathy for Bunny's victim. These characters gloss over any substantial remorse for this girl while the author shows constant empathy for Bunny and Michael. Despite their status as outsiders, Bunny and Michael are incredibly selfish, and I never got the impression that this was what the reader was supposed to learn from their characters. A broader understanding of compassion would've given this novel a deeper well of affect to draw from.
I've long been intrigued by the life of the Brontës and know so little about their imaginative “Glass Town” years, so I was really excited about the concept of this graphic novel. While Glass Town displays considerably creativity, the illustrations–crude and geometric–didn't impress me. The story was confusing and didn't give me much insight into the Brontës' real Glass Town. There were metafictional elements present, a device that generally thrills me, but I was a bit indifferent with how they were orchestrated here. Glass Town is a book for graphic novel buffs and the most devoted Brontë junkies.
I honestly expected to absolutely hate Steinbeck's first published novel. I've heard several warnings about how terrible it is. Perhaps these warnings only buoyed my opinion.
Cup of Gold certainly is far from the author's greatest works, but it's probably not his worst. In fact, this one gets off to a decent start as young Henry must grapple with his desire for adventure. His conflict with his parents regarding his future and the subsequent life of servitude were the novel's highlights. It's when “the adventure begins” that the pacing gets wonky and the story starts to drag.