I've never understood people who enjoy shopping, because I really don't. Even shopping for books doesn't really thrill me. But lordamercy, do I understand acquisition.
I went to the Cambridge Public Library today. It's a big, shiny new building with vast, sprawling shelves of shining new books. I swear somebody bought all those books in the children's room just last week. I was dumbstruck, and then I checked out about six books, to add to the 20 I already had.
I'm about to start on The Dead-Tossed Waves, which is a "companion book"--not exactly a sequel--to The Forest of Hands and Teeth. I was very excited about this book--'cause hey, zombies--but even just reading the first page, I'm remembering why I actually didn't love Hands and Teeth as much as I expected to. It was a really fantastic premise and world, but the actual story it was telling was somehow unfocused. It sprawled along, didn't wound back on itself, didn't really seem to know where it was going.
I think I've figured out why, though, just from the first page of Dead-Tossed. It's because the point of the book--it's driving force--is young lust. It's not a zombie story, or an adventure story or a survival story. It's about a girl who loves and wants a boy who for various (vague, hard to understand) reasons, she can't have. However much they're learning the secrets of their world and running for their lives, that's not why you're reading this story. The story was written because of lust.
And that's a valid, compelling reason to write a book. Look at Twilight, for crying out loud, with barely the pretense of a plot (all of which takes place in the last fifth of the book), just lots of gazing and longing and aching. Look at Harlequin, but also look at a lot of great literature about lust (I understand Proust addresses the subject). It's not even romance, it's just desire, and it's a perfectly valid thing to structure your book around.
But it's not really my kind of book. I think that Hands and Teeth makes more sense to me now that I think of it as a coming of age emotional story with a zombie setting, but it doesn't make me like it any more. Which is a shame, because the world building is really so great.
Ah, well. The great thing about literature today is that there's always another zombie book to be read. And the great thing about libraries is that they're free!
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Best. Audiobook. Ever.
Warning: I'm going to use every cliched hyperbole of enthusiasm I can cram into one post here, because this book was a roller coaster ride that keeps you on the edge of your seat!
Beat the Reaper, by Josh Bazell, and it's embarrassing that I can't think of anything to say that actually tells you about the book without sounding like all the back cover blurbs and reviewers and what am I even here for? The book is funny and smart and FAST--it moves like the wind, and you can almost get whiplash only it never quite pushes you too far. It's about a resident at a miserable mess of a hospital, whose night is being complicated by bizarre illnesses, incompetent coworkers, an insane work schedule--and, oh yeah, one of his former mafia colleagues who threatens to tell everyone from his old life where he's keeping his Witness Protected self unless he (said former mafia colleague) is kept alive by our hero in the face of a terminal illness.
In between scenes from this one really, really bad day, we get flashbacks from our hero's life, which, as you can probably imagine, is full of adventures. It's not for everyone--it's violent, by a lot--but it's absolutely hilarious, and absolutely relentless. There's a scene at the end where I stopped the audiobook, called my husband (who read the book last week) and said, "Is he seriously going to do what I think he's doing?" And the answer is, "Hell yeah, he's doing that." I can't tell you any more without spoiling, but seriously, read the book and call me 20 pages from the end with that same question.
Now, I think I need to especially sell you on the audiobook. The narrator was awesome. I have never heard such a good performance, with such a pitch-perfect character. I know that part of the reason this worked is that the book was written in the first person with such a true voice, but man, this guy just hit every note. So if you're looking for an audiobook, this is the first one you should pick up.
And memo to Josh Bazell: I'm waiting for whatever you publish next. Any time now...
Beat the Reaper, by Josh Bazell, and it's embarrassing that I can't think of anything to say that actually tells you about the book without sounding like all the back cover blurbs and reviewers and what am I even here for? The book is funny and smart and FAST--it moves like the wind, and you can almost get whiplash only it never quite pushes you too far. It's about a resident at a miserable mess of a hospital, whose night is being complicated by bizarre illnesses, incompetent coworkers, an insane work schedule--and, oh yeah, one of his former mafia colleagues who threatens to tell everyone from his old life where he's keeping his Witness Protected self unless he (said former mafia colleague) is kept alive by our hero in the face of a terminal illness.
In between scenes from this one really, really bad day, we get flashbacks from our hero's life, which, as you can probably imagine, is full of adventures. It's not for everyone--it's violent, by a lot--but it's absolutely hilarious, and absolutely relentless. There's a scene at the end where I stopped the audiobook, called my husband (who read the book last week) and said, "Is he seriously going to do what I think he's doing?" And the answer is, "Hell yeah, he's doing that." I can't tell you any more without spoiling, but seriously, read the book and call me 20 pages from the end with that same question.
Now, I think I need to especially sell you on the audiobook. The narrator was awesome. I have never heard such a good performance, with such a pitch-perfect character. I know that part of the reason this worked is that the book was written in the first person with such a true voice, but man, this guy just hit every note. So if you're looking for an audiobook, this is the first one you should pick up.
And memo to Josh Bazell: I'm waiting for whatever you publish next. Any time now...
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Ed Norton Has a Widow's Peak?
Ed Norton starred in the movie The 25th Hour, which I enjoyed. What I really enjoyed, though, was City of Thieves, the second novel by David Benioff, whose first novel was The 25th Hour. So it seemed like I ought to read the book.
The people in the book are so well drawn that I was not even picturing the actors. They're sad and clear and strong and pathetic and exactly who they are. And the stories--the anecdotes--and the plot of the book were well-explored; it's a sad goodbye, which is explored on every level.
But. This is a book for a lover of writing, and of New York. It's the kind of book that contains all the neat little New York stories that a guy has been saving up--the monologues about death and loyalty, the loving descriptions of looking out across the river at Queens in the pre-dawn light, the strange characters you see on the street or meet in a nightclub or on a subway platform.
What that makes it is not my kind of book. I can appreciate the execution, and I can enjoy the characters and the story, such as it is. But the foundation of this book is about texture and observation--and New York--and, as such, is really not meant for me.
Benioff has a book of short stories, too, which has some nice blurbs. I wish I liked short stories more. Brenda, you should read it. (Or hey, somebody else--this is a public blog.) It's called When the Nines Roll Over. Somebody let me know how it is. I absolutely loved City of Thieves.
The people in the book are so well drawn that I was not even picturing the actors. They're sad and clear and strong and pathetic and exactly who they are. And the stories--the anecdotes--and the plot of the book were well-explored; it's a sad goodbye, which is explored on every level.
But. This is a book for a lover of writing, and of New York. It's the kind of book that contains all the neat little New York stories that a guy has been saving up--the monologues about death and loyalty, the loving descriptions of looking out across the river at Queens in the pre-dawn light, the strange characters you see on the street or meet in a nightclub or on a subway platform.
What that makes it is not my kind of book. I can appreciate the execution, and I can enjoy the characters and the story, such as it is. But the foundation of this book is about texture and observation--and New York--and, as such, is really not meant for me.
Benioff has a book of short stories, too, which has some nice blurbs. I wish I liked short stories more. Brenda, you should read it. (Or hey, somebody else--this is a public blog.) It's called When the Nines Roll Over. Somebody let me know how it is. I absolutely loved City of Thieves.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
This One's For You, Melissa
A million years ago, in another life, a friend and coworker of mine moved away. In one of those random bouts of purging that I never seem to go through, she gave me a little pile of books by Garth Nix and said I'd love them. And she moved away and I haven't seen her in ages, which makes me sad.
Somehow, I never read the books, either. I think it was partly the lack of information: I had the recommendation and three very long paperbacks with less-than-informative back cover blurbs, and that was it. Even the titles were character names--no information there. I had no idea what I was getting into, and (as we all know) a hugely long list of things to read. Aside from the fact that they were clearly fantasy and that Melissa Montgomery liked them, I had nothing to go on.
As part of my Personal Library Renaissance--now more like a Personal Library Outreach Program--I picked up Sabriel, the first the series. The prologue was interesting, shading perhaps a hair toward the melodramatic. High fantasy, solemn fantasy. Okay. Chapter one appeared to take place in a version of the modern world that included magic and--promising--the undead. Promising. Our main character is a boarding school girl whose father has also been privately training her to become a necromancer.
Okay, I'm totally marking the kind of geek I am by saying this, but KA-CHING!
I'm loving this book. Still near the beginning, but it's a very strong story--characters, telling, everything. So thank you, Melissa Montgomery, wherever you are.
Somehow, I never read the books, either. I think it was partly the lack of information: I had the recommendation and three very long paperbacks with less-than-informative back cover blurbs, and that was it. Even the titles were character names--no information there. I had no idea what I was getting into, and (as we all know) a hugely long list of things to read. Aside from the fact that they were clearly fantasy and that Melissa Montgomery liked them, I had nothing to go on.
As part of my Personal Library Renaissance--now more like a Personal Library Outreach Program--I picked up Sabriel, the first the series. The prologue was interesting, shading perhaps a hair toward the melodramatic. High fantasy, solemn fantasy. Okay. Chapter one appeared to take place in a version of the modern world that included magic and--promising--the undead. Promising. Our main character is a boarding school girl whose father has also been privately training her to become a necromancer.
Okay, I'm totally marking the kind of geek I am by saying this, but KA-CHING!
I'm loving this book. Still near the beginning, but it's a very strong story--characters, telling, everything. So thank you, Melissa Montgomery, wherever you are.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
My Newest Library
Well, since the Chinatown Storefront Library project ended, I found myself with some free time on my hands--or at least, free energy. Fortunately, at the farewell party I met a teacher who works at the high school that was accepting a large batch of donations from our YA collection.
The Josiah Quincy Upper School is a new-ish charter high school in Boston, tucked into a corner of Back Bay and Chinatown. They're currently working on building a serious library, as part of their goal of International Baccalaureate accreditation. This all sounds very impressive--and it is--but Peter Chan is the teacher who's there in the weeds--moving furniture, making plans, running committees. I just go in once a week and enter books into the catalog. My small part!
Just today, though, I ran into a teacher from the McGlynn school, here in Medford. I used to volunteer there before the baby was born. When the new year started after Adam was a few months old, I found out that the librarian and the aide who had worked there when I did had both left. I never ended up going back. It turns out, though, that their positions have not been filled; the school doesn't have a librarian, just a few teachers managing to keep the doors open for classes to come get books as necessary.
Part of me thinks, "They need me!" Another part thinks, "This is what they get for not funding the library." And a third part is saying, "Um, how many volunteer gigs can you do at once?"
I don't know. I'm feeling kind of introverted lately--note the rare blog postings. But then again, I always have a hard time passing up opportunities to do things. So--what would you do?
The Josiah Quincy Upper School is a new-ish charter high school in Boston, tucked into a corner of Back Bay and Chinatown. They're currently working on building a serious library, as part of their goal of International Baccalaureate accreditation. This all sounds very impressive--and it is--but Peter Chan is the teacher who's there in the weeds--moving furniture, making plans, running committees. I just go in once a week and enter books into the catalog. My small part!
Just today, though, I ran into a teacher from the McGlynn school, here in Medford. I used to volunteer there before the baby was born. When the new year started after Adam was a few months old, I found out that the librarian and the aide who had worked there when I did had both left. I never ended up going back. It turns out, though, that their positions have not been filled; the school doesn't have a librarian, just a few teachers managing to keep the doors open for classes to come get books as necessary.
Part of me thinks, "They need me!" Another part thinks, "This is what they get for not funding the library." And a third part is saying, "Um, how many volunteer gigs can you do at once?"
I don't know. I'm feeling kind of introverted lately--note the rare blog postings. But then again, I always have a hard time passing up opportunities to do things. So--what would you do?
Saturday, March 06, 2010
Catching Up With Bill Willingham
The title makes it sound like I know the guy and we're going to have an intimate conversation in this blog post, but no. I'm referring to the fact that I'm very close to having read all of the issues of Fables that have been published so far, and I'm going to have to start (gasp!) waiting for new collections to be published.
Given the nature of public libraries and comics, this makes it equally likely that I'll have to start buying collections, since I have no idea how long I'll have to wait to get my hands on collections when they come out. It's nice, though, that I caught up just as the major story arc that took up the first 10 volumes that came out is finishing up just as I catch up. Is it possible that I'll become a serial comic reader? Perish the thought; I'm far too cheap.
I was discussing Fables with some friends the other night, though, and I wanted to give some advice to anyone who's thought of giving it a try: the first two volumes don't do the series justice, by any means. Volume 1, Legends in Exile, has one of the most let-down endings I could have imagined for it. I was really enjoying it, and then there was an ending that was very nearly as lame as "and it was all a dream." (Though for the record, it wasn't all a dream. It was just that lame.) I gave the second volume a shot, and it was even more intense. But the ending, though better, was proportionally just as bad. (Vol. 1: story = 7, ending = 2; Vol. 2: story = 9, ending = 4; it's like an SAT question.) This one wasn't actually bad, it was just sort of nothing. "And then the adventure was over and everything went back to normal."
But volume 3 is where the ongoing story sort of picks up, and the backstory that has been hinted at and filled in gradually steps to the forefront. The stakes get high, the stories get meaningful, the resolutions get satisfying. And it all builds to volume 10, War and Pieces, which is about having a solid plan and executing it with skill. So satisfying, I'm almost afraid to move into volume 11.
By the way, I'm sorry about the long silence here. The past few weeks have been very busy on the home front, and not very busy on the literary one. I've been reading the same book (Children of God) for well over a month now, because I keep being afraid something upsetting will happen and putting it down. I often read only two or three pages a day, which can fail to add up.
But I'm kicking back into gear; expect more library exploits and literary outings in the next few days.
Given the nature of public libraries and comics, this makes it equally likely that I'll have to start buying collections, since I have no idea how long I'll have to wait to get my hands on collections when they come out. It's nice, though, that I caught up just as the major story arc that took up the first 10 volumes that came out is finishing up just as I catch up. Is it possible that I'll become a serial comic reader? Perish the thought; I'm far too cheap.
I was discussing Fables with some friends the other night, though, and I wanted to give some advice to anyone who's thought of giving it a try: the first two volumes don't do the series justice, by any means. Volume 1, Legends in Exile, has one of the most let-down endings I could have imagined for it. I was really enjoying it, and then there was an ending that was very nearly as lame as "and it was all a dream." (Though for the record, it wasn't all a dream. It was just that lame.) I gave the second volume a shot, and it was even more intense. But the ending, though better, was proportionally just as bad. (Vol. 1: story = 7, ending = 2; Vol. 2: story = 9, ending = 4; it's like an SAT question.) This one wasn't actually bad, it was just sort of nothing. "And then the adventure was over and everything went back to normal."
But volume 3 is where the ongoing story sort of picks up, and the backstory that has been hinted at and filled in gradually steps to the forefront. The stakes get high, the stories get meaningful, the resolutions get satisfying. And it all builds to volume 10, War and Pieces, which is about having a solid plan and executing it with skill. So satisfying, I'm almost afraid to move into volume 11.
By the way, I'm sorry about the long silence here. The past few weeks have been very busy on the home front, and not very busy on the literary one. I've been reading the same book (Children of God) for well over a month now, because I keep being afraid something upsetting will happen and putting it down. I often read only two or three pages a day, which can fail to add up.
But I'm kicking back into gear; expect more library exploits and literary outings in the next few days.
Monday, March 01, 2010
And the Winner Is....
....growfamilygrow! Congratulations, and you win your choice of books that I've recently really liked: Chalice, by Robin McKinley, Fool, by Christopher Moore, or The Family Man, by Elinor Lipman. So we're talking rich, classic-style fantasy, or clever, hilarious, bawdy sendup of King Lear, or modern, intelligent, heartwarming chick lit?
I'm totally buying one of these for myself, too. I think I'll pick one of the ones that you don't. So let us know which you'll pick! I can gift it to you through Audible, if you'd prefer, or send it through Amazon. Please let us know which book you want in the comments; you can contact me via email (or PM) for your address.
And to everyone else--I have to say, I'm actually feeling really bad that not everyone can win a book. I'm totally doing one of these again, the next time there are a few options I'm finding myself dwelling on.
In the meantime, thanks for entering. You should totally get all these books at the library; that way everyone's a winner. What? Too treacly?
And a shoutout to Saralinda, who gave us up for Lent. Another time, one and all. Thanks again!
I'm totally buying one of these for myself, too. I think I'll pick one of the ones that you don't. So let us know which you'll pick! I can gift it to you through Audible, if you'd prefer, or send it through Amazon. Please let us know which book you want in the comments; you can contact me via email (or PM) for your address.
And to everyone else--I have to say, I'm actually feeling really bad that not everyone can win a book. I'm totally doing one of these again, the next time there are a few options I'm finding myself dwelling on.
In the meantime, thanks for entering. You should totally get all these books at the library; that way everyone's a winner. What? Too treacly?
And a shoutout to Saralinda, who gave us up for Lent. Another time, one and all. Thanks again!
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Short Extension
Okay, kids, I'm going to extend this for 24 hours and pick the winner tomorrow, because I think there's someone else who's planning to enter but doesn't have internet access on the weekends. Sorry to tip the odds like that--tomorrow evening, we will have the Grand Drawing! Get your entries in now!
And this extension does mean that you can get your significant others to post, too, for double-duty chances. Thanks to all contestants--I'm excited to see who wins!
And this extension does mean that you can get your significant others to post, too, for double-duty chances. Thanks to all contestants--I'm excited to see who wins!
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
My Own Worst Enemy
Okay, first: don't miss the free book drawing in Sunday's post. Leave a comment on that post and win a book!
Today I'm gloomy because I accidentally spoiled the book I'm reading for myself. Well, I say accidentally, but I did flip to the end and read the last two lines. I don't suppose I can blame anyone for that but myself. But in my defense, that very rarely actually ruins anything!
But in this book it did. I have to say, I'm torn between whether to tell you the book or the ending--clearly I can't tell you both. Since presumably you can see from my sidebar what I'm reading, though, I'll manage to restrain myself regarding the end.
The book, then, is Secrets of Eden, by Chris Bohjalian. I wasn't expecting a mystery, which it turns out this is--at least in structure. Of course, it's much more about the human drama than about the mystery. Still, though it's already clear to me that the ending is a big reveal, and I'm disappointed with myself.
Happily, I'm still enjoying the book, maybe more than I expected to. Strangely, I feel like I was anticipating a Jodi Picoult book, and the slight sense of redundancy and overwroughtness that comes with it, and am finding myself pleasantly surprised.
I'm experiencing deja vu. Have I said this about Jodi Picoult and Chris Bohjalian before?
Anyway, don't forget to enter the drawing!
Today I'm gloomy because I accidentally spoiled the book I'm reading for myself. Well, I say accidentally, but I did flip to the end and read the last two lines. I don't suppose I can blame anyone for that but myself. But in my defense, that very rarely actually ruins anything!
But in this book it did. I have to say, I'm torn between whether to tell you the book or the ending--clearly I can't tell you both. Since presumably you can see from my sidebar what I'm reading, though, I'll manage to restrain myself regarding the end.
The book, then, is Secrets of Eden, by Chris Bohjalian. I wasn't expecting a mystery, which it turns out this is--at least in structure. Of course, it's much more about the human drama than about the mystery. Still, though it's already clear to me that the ending is a big reveal, and I'm disappointed with myself.
Happily, I'm still enjoying the book, maybe more than I expected to. Strangely, I feel like I was anticipating a Jodi Picoult book, and the slight sense of redundancy and overwroughtness that comes with it, and am finding myself pleasantly surprised.
I'm experiencing deja vu. Have I said this about Jodi Picoult and Chris Bohjalian before?
Anyway, don't forget to enter the drawing!
Sunday, February 21, 2010
On My Mind, or Oh Look, a Contest!
I don't buy books. That's the reason I don't have a Kindle; if I can't check books out of the library, what's the point? I don't want to be confined to reading books that I'm sure I'm going to like. Also, I'm cheap. It causes me guilt, since I'm part of the demise of publishing, but there it is.
So I only buy about five books a year, and they're almost always books that I've read before. With the very occasional exception, the rule is this: if I read a book--from the library or borrowed from a friend--and enjoyed it, and then find myself, weeks or months later, thinking about it, wanting to read it again, wanting to lend it to people, that's when I buy it.
I wish I had more time to reread. But just knowing it's on the shelf and I can pick it up when I want to is a pretty big deal.
Lately, there are a couple of books I've been thinking about. One was Chalice, by Robin McKinley. I really can't say that there's anything about it that stands out--in a lot of ways, it's a pretty standard fantasy novel. But it captured a mood, a quietness, that really drew me in. The world-building is really excellent. There are some details of the backstory that are left mysterious, which works really nicely. Plus there's beekeeping, which I rather liked as well.
Besides rereading, I like to lend out books. That's why I think I might have to buy Fool, by Christopher Moore. It's such a clever book--in plot, in language, even in pacing--that I can't be sure that it'll be as great to reread as it was the first time. But I do know that I'm going to shove it into the hands of almost everyone (Kris, I'm looking at you), and that the only way to do that is to own a copy.
And then there's The Family Man, by Elinor Lipman. I'm sure I've said this before, but Linden and I used to say that it was too bad that, when you come to love the characters in the books you're reading, you always have to read about the trials and tribulations they go through, and that you can't just read about good times. Sometimes people write books like that, and they're mostly bad. But this one--The Family Man is about a staid life getting shaken up, but not in an upsetting-but-ultimately-for-the-best way. Really, it's just all kind of startling, funny adventures.
How, though, am I ever going to get a chance to reread one of these books? I have no idea.
Hey, I know! A contest. Readers ahoy: leave a comment on this post. In a week (because I'm a slow poster and I assume I have slow readers), I'll pick a random number and that commenter will get the book of their choice, of the three listed above. I don't promise it will be brand new, but it will be in excellent condition. People I'm married to are excluded from the contest, even if they comment. First time readers welcome, so feel free to (ahem) tell your friends. One comment per poster, please!
It won't help me reread them, but it will spread the joy. And here at LibraryHungry, we're all about spreading the joy.
So I only buy about five books a year, and they're almost always books that I've read before. With the very occasional exception, the rule is this: if I read a book--from the library or borrowed from a friend--and enjoyed it, and then find myself, weeks or months later, thinking about it, wanting to read it again, wanting to lend it to people, that's when I buy it.
I wish I had more time to reread. But just knowing it's on the shelf and I can pick it up when I want to is a pretty big deal.
Lately, there are a couple of books I've been thinking about. One was Chalice, by Robin McKinley. I really can't say that there's anything about it that stands out--in a lot of ways, it's a pretty standard fantasy novel. But it captured a mood, a quietness, that really drew me in. The world-building is really excellent. There are some details of the backstory that are left mysterious, which works really nicely. Plus there's beekeeping, which I rather liked as well.
Besides rereading, I like to lend out books. That's why I think I might have to buy Fool, by Christopher Moore. It's such a clever book--in plot, in language, even in pacing--that I can't be sure that it'll be as great to reread as it was the first time. But I do know that I'm going to shove it into the hands of almost everyone (Kris, I'm looking at you), and that the only way to do that is to own a copy.
And then there's The Family Man, by Elinor Lipman. I'm sure I've said this before, but Linden and I used to say that it was too bad that, when you come to love the characters in the books you're reading, you always have to read about the trials and tribulations they go through, and that you can't just read about good times. Sometimes people write books like that, and they're mostly bad. But this one--The Family Man is about a staid life getting shaken up, but not in an upsetting-but-ultimately-for-the-best way. Really, it's just all kind of startling, funny adventures.
How, though, am I ever going to get a chance to reread one of these books? I have no idea.
Hey, I know! A contest. Readers ahoy: leave a comment on this post. In a week (because I'm a slow poster and I assume I have slow readers), I'll pick a random number and that commenter will get the book of their choice, of the three listed above. I don't promise it will be brand new, but it will be in excellent condition. People I'm married to are excluded from the contest, even if they comment. First time readers welcome, so feel free to (ahem) tell your friends. One comment per poster, please!
It won't help me reread them, but it will spread the joy. And here at LibraryHungry, we're all about spreading the joy.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Chicken Out a la King
I couldn't resist going with the pun for the post title, though I wouldn't say I'm exactly chickening out. I did start to listen to The Gunslinger, though, and I am going to stop listening to it now.
I never read any Stephen King till after college. One day I just realized I'd never read any, and I thought, what the heck. So I checked out a couple. I started with the old stuff, which was a good move on my part, and I enjoyed a lot of them. I even have a couple of favorites--I really loved The Stand, Salem's Lot, and Pet Sematary. A lot more of them I liked but didn't love--Needful Things, It, The Dead Zone. Overall, a good ride.
But then, I sort of got caught up with what he's been writing lately, and woah, Nellie, does that man need an editor. Thousands of pages, not to tell sweeping epics, but to describe every single thing in minute detail. I'm not even going to go into it here, because it makes me tired just thinking about it.
Unfortunately, he still tells a good story, and I really kind of want to read Under the Dome.
But The Gunslinger, this is old stuff. This is from his heyday (did I use that right? Heyday?), and it should be tighter, it should be better storytelling.
Sadly, I'm just not loving it. It's not just horrifying--though there is something especially horrifying in listening to his lingering descriptions of gore being read out loud. It's also kind of boring. I'm about 15% of the way into the book, and all I know is that the Protagonist is chasing the Antagonist through a wasteland that's turned into desert, and that something bad happened in a small town that involved the Antagonist reanimating a dead guy. That's literally everything I know about the story. Oh, except that it's dry, and there's grass, and everyone is craggy and sullen and amoral and mean and that there's no beauty in the world, and little water.
I'm tired of it. I think I'm getting too old for this stuff. I feel like a big mope. I need a good audiobook. I'm taking nominations.
I never read any Stephen King till after college. One day I just realized I'd never read any, and I thought, what the heck. So I checked out a couple. I started with the old stuff, which was a good move on my part, and I enjoyed a lot of them. I even have a couple of favorites--I really loved The Stand, Salem's Lot, and Pet Sematary. A lot more of them I liked but didn't love--Needful Things, It, The Dead Zone. Overall, a good ride.
But then, I sort of got caught up with what he's been writing lately, and woah, Nellie, does that man need an editor. Thousands of pages, not to tell sweeping epics, but to describe every single thing in minute detail. I'm not even going to go into it here, because it makes me tired just thinking about it.
Unfortunately, he still tells a good story, and I really kind of want to read Under the Dome.
But The Gunslinger, this is old stuff. This is from his heyday (did I use that right? Heyday?), and it should be tighter, it should be better storytelling.
Sadly, I'm just not loving it. It's not just horrifying--though there is something especially horrifying in listening to his lingering descriptions of gore being read out loud. It's also kind of boring. I'm about 15% of the way into the book, and all I know is that the Protagonist is chasing the Antagonist through a wasteland that's turned into desert, and that something bad happened in a small town that involved the Antagonist reanimating a dead guy. That's literally everything I know about the story. Oh, except that it's dry, and there's grass, and everyone is craggy and sullen and amoral and mean and that there's no beauty in the world, and little water.
I'm tired of it. I think I'm getting too old for this stuff. I feel like a big mope. I need a good audiobook. I'm taking nominations.
Wednesday, February 03, 2010
Two for Two
I can't believe it took me this long to start reading Children of God. For anyone who has read The Sparrow, run out and get this book.
What turned me off initially was--well, without giving too much away (I hope; please someone tell me if this is too much of a spoiler), you find out at the beginning that someone you thought was dead in The Sparrow is not dead. That seemed like such an annoying change in history to allow a sequel that I just couldn't credit it.
This time, I knew that going in, and it didn't bug me. It makes sense that this character could still be alive, and it was the only annoying thing about the story. It all makes sense, and is, like The Sparrow, so thoughtful and intelligent that I'm really caught up in it. It's a rare book that has such an excellent balance between story, character, and--theme? meaning? philosophy, I guess.
Absolutely loving it.
What turned me off initially was--well, without giving too much away (I hope; please someone tell me if this is too much of a spoiler), you find out at the beginning that someone you thought was dead in The Sparrow is not dead. That seemed like such an annoying change in history to allow a sequel that I just couldn't credit it.
This time, I knew that going in, and it didn't bug me. It makes sense that this character could still be alive, and it was the only annoying thing about the story. It all makes sense, and is, like The Sparrow, so thoughtful and intelligent that I'm really caught up in it. It's a rare book that has such an excellent balance between story, character, and--theme? meaning? philosophy, I guess.
Absolutely loving it.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
We Have a Winner!
The Physick Book of Deliverance Dane, by Katherine Howe. Awesome book. I'm not too into the Salem Witch Trials (really, who is?), mostly because I find it kind of scary. But I'm starting to suspect that I'm a fan of academic intrigue-type books (cf. Allegra Goodman's Intuition). I'll take recommendations for more of those, if anyone has them.
This book was a treat. It was both tense and leisurely, modern and historical, exciting and satisfying. I can't seem to explain it without making it sound like it's something it isn't--it has supernatural elements, but it's not science fiction or a ghost story or anything. It has historical interludes and a running plot in the past, but it's definitely not an historical novel.
I think I liked that some parts of Connie's life went well while others were troubling. I liked that, while there was a lot of tension, there was no police-involved, run-for-your-life pacing. It's not a grand, sweeping story, nor a small story. It's a nice, medium-sized story.
The plot--for the curious--revolves around a Harvard history grad student who's been called upon to fix up and sell off her late grandmother's crumbling house in Marblehead. She ends up on the trail of the titular Physick Book, or spellbook. The details of academic research (just enough of them, not too many) are engaging. I like the tension around academic politics and striving. There's a young man, and a distant but loving mother.
This is not my most eloquent review--I'm sick right now and going to go lie down ASAP. But I wanted to share this, because I enjoyed this book so much.
And now, finally, I'm starting Children of God, and so excited about it. Tally-ho!
This book was a treat. It was both tense and leisurely, modern and historical, exciting and satisfying. I can't seem to explain it without making it sound like it's something it isn't--it has supernatural elements, but it's not science fiction or a ghost story or anything. It has historical interludes and a running plot in the past, but it's definitely not an historical novel.
I think I liked that some parts of Connie's life went well while others were troubling. I liked that, while there was a lot of tension, there was no police-involved, run-for-your-life pacing. It's not a grand, sweeping story, nor a small story. It's a nice, medium-sized story.
The plot--for the curious--revolves around a Harvard history grad student who's been called upon to fix up and sell off her late grandmother's crumbling house in Marblehead. She ends up on the trail of the titular Physick Book, or spellbook. The details of academic research (just enough of them, not too many) are engaging. I like the tension around academic politics and striving. There's a young man, and a distant but loving mother.
This is not my most eloquent review--I'm sick right now and going to go lie down ASAP. But I wanted to share this, because I enjoyed this book so much.
And now, finally, I'm starting Children of God, and so excited about it. Tally-ho!
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Harry Potter Doesn't Save the World
The Magicians, by Lev Grossman, takes a grown-up take on the basic premise of Harry Potter--a hidden magical world, or at least school, where young magicians are whisked away to train. I'm about a quarter of the way through the book, and our overachieving, bored-with-reality teenage protagonist Quentin has stumbled into and passed the entrance exam to Brakebills, and is now a third year student at the prestigious magic college. The normal world (muggles, mundies, whatever you want to call them) feels like a pale imitation of reality now--this is where things shine brightly.
What a promising premise, right? Only the book reads like anybody's college experience--my own college experience. So far, it's mostly about getting a fancy-pants education, trying to fit in at a school that's very different from anywhere you've ever been, being academically competitive, etc. And there's not much else there. If they were studying chemistry instead of magic, pretty much nothing would be different--including the mysterious story of one character's brother's death at the school.
I just don't think this is enough to sustain a story like this. Maybe if it was intended for high school students, it would make more sense, but it lacks the perspective of a kid. It's a book for adults, but it doesn't have anything to say to me as an adult.
I presume that something else must happen. I'm about 75 pages into the book--I mean, something has to happen, right? Alice's brother died mysteriously a few years ago; Quentin doesn't know what kind of magic he'll practice. That's about all I have to go on, other than one of their classmates is gay, everyone's super-competitive, he's got an exclusive little group of friends now.
What it comes down to is that I don't know what this book is about, and I'm not loving it enough to find out. Maybe I'll try again someday, when I'm up for something leisurely, but right now I'm dying to sink my teeth in something.
So: let's see if The Physick Book of Deliverance Dane is what I've been looking for. I'm pretty sure there's a college (Harvard) and some magic in it. Wouldn't it be crazy if this was everything I wanted The Magicians to be?
What a promising premise, right? Only the book reads like anybody's college experience--my own college experience. So far, it's mostly about getting a fancy-pants education, trying to fit in at a school that's very different from anywhere you've ever been, being academically competitive, etc. And there's not much else there. If they were studying chemistry instead of magic, pretty much nothing would be different--including the mysterious story of one character's brother's death at the school.
I just don't think this is enough to sustain a story like this. Maybe if it was intended for high school students, it would make more sense, but it lacks the perspective of a kid. It's a book for adults, but it doesn't have anything to say to me as an adult.
I presume that something else must happen. I'm about 75 pages into the book--I mean, something has to happen, right? Alice's brother died mysteriously a few years ago; Quentin doesn't know what kind of magic he'll practice. That's about all I have to go on, other than one of their classmates is gay, everyone's super-competitive, he's got an exclusive little group of friends now.
What it comes down to is that I don't know what this book is about, and I'm not loving it enough to find out. Maybe I'll try again someday, when I'm up for something leisurely, but right now I'm dying to sink my teeth in something.
So: let's see if The Physick Book of Deliverance Dane is what I've been looking for. I'm pretty sure there's a college (Harvard) and some magic in it. Wouldn't it be crazy if this was everything I wanted The Magicians to be?
Friday, January 22, 2010
That Didn't Last Long
PLR, that's right, out the freaking window. I had come to the conclusion that I could work two library books at the same time as a book that I own. But I was not enjoying The Magicians, and so I decided to return it and get something different. And this is where it all spiraled out of control.
Well, first of all, I'm not even sure comics should count. But the next Fables book was definitely something I've been wanting to read, so I grabbed that, and also The Truth-Teller's Tale, by Sharon Shinn, which I have almost inexplicably been panting after for months, mostly because it seems as close as I'm going to come to getting to read The Safe-Keeper's Secret for the first time again. That tells you something about how that book has stuck with me--again, pretty inexplicably--it's a very small, domestic book.
But anyway, those, plus The Mysterious Benedict Society seemed like enough. But then I saw the Flight anthologies on the comics shelf, and if you haven't seen these, they're charming. Each one is just a collection of short comics, loosely based on the theme of flight, and they're exactly the kind of venue for short, simple comic book storytelling that I'm pleased to see. So I got one of those, and I might have to ask for another one for my birthday sometime.
But I'd been thinking, after my wrap-up last year, that I've been reading too much YA, letting myself slide into the easy place of fantasy for a lot time. It occurs to me to kind of forgive myself for that, since finding time to read at all with the baby is pretty impressive, and finding time to read impressive things would be impossible. But I wanted to get a Grown Up book to replace The Magicians. The one I wanted, The Physick Book of Deliverance Dane, was checked out--or so I thought. But the children's room librarians were chatting about it as I watched Adam sprint back and forth between the picture books, and suddenly I was talking to them, and one of them ran upstairs and found me the speed-read copy and here I am, with more books than I can carry.
I'm still reading and loving Candy Freak from my personal shelf, and I still intend to read one of my own books at any given time. But my good intentions--gone. Poof. Kaput.
Up next: why I'm not enjoying The Magicians.
Well, first of all, I'm not even sure comics should count. But the next Fables book was definitely something I've been wanting to read, so I grabbed that, and also The Truth-Teller's Tale, by Sharon Shinn, which I have almost inexplicably been panting after for months, mostly because it seems as close as I'm going to come to getting to read The Safe-Keeper's Secret for the first time again. That tells you something about how that book has stuck with me--again, pretty inexplicably--it's a very small, domestic book.
But anyway, those, plus The Mysterious Benedict Society seemed like enough. But then I saw the Flight anthologies on the comics shelf, and if you haven't seen these, they're charming. Each one is just a collection of short comics, loosely based on the theme of flight, and they're exactly the kind of venue for short, simple comic book storytelling that I'm pleased to see. So I got one of those, and I might have to ask for another one for my birthday sometime.
But I'd been thinking, after my wrap-up last year, that I've been reading too much YA, letting myself slide into the easy place of fantasy for a lot time. It occurs to me to kind of forgive myself for that, since finding time to read at all with the baby is pretty impressive, and finding time to read impressive things would be impossible. But I wanted to get a Grown Up book to replace The Magicians. The one I wanted, The Physick Book of Deliverance Dane, was checked out--or so I thought. But the children's room librarians were chatting about it as I watched Adam sprint back and forth between the picture books, and suddenly I was talking to them, and one of them ran upstairs and found me the speed-read copy and here I am, with more books than I can carry.
I'm still reading and loving Candy Freak from my personal shelf, and I still intend to read one of my own books at any given time. But my good intentions--gone. Poof. Kaput.
Up next: why I'm not enjoying The Magicians.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
GodGrrl
I know you're not going to believe this, but I'm rereading Girl Meets God.
I don't think I've ever reread a book I actively disliked before. I knew it was well-written; in fact, I think one of the reasons I disliked it so passionately before is because I so wanted to like it. I love spiritual memoirs, especially those that come from the type of place that this one comes from: an Orthodox Jew (by conversion; her mother was not Jewish) comes to Christianity. She's an intellectual, with (by now) a PhD in history, who reads voraciously and name-drops the great thinkers of religion and history and really any form of non-scientific thought.
This is the person I want to read a spiritual memoir from, for two main reasons. First, as an academic, I assume that her explanations are going to be clear and well-argued. And she is an excellent writer.
Similarly, secondly, as a convert, something drew her from NOT believing in Jesus to believing. This is the piece I'm often looking for in a book like this. It's why I read C. S. Lewis's Mere Christianity. How do you go from believing that the mythology* of Christianity is false to believing it's true?
These two reasons go together: I think she's going to explain this to me, and I have always assumed that there's some big piece of logic that I'm missing that makes people begin to believe something that goes against my understanding of the world, as based on the observations I've made by living in it.
But yesterday, I found the point in the book that points out my error, and explains why Lauren Winner is not the one to explain this to me. A professor of hers, an atheist, has always been confused about her religiosity--first Jewish and later Christian. "'One day you'll have to explain to me how intelligent people can believe in something that sounds like a Greco-Roman myth,' he says. 'You know: Zeus, Demeter, Jesus.'"
This is the point she makes in the book. This is how she reads that comment. "Admittedly, it is a little crazy. Grand, infinite God taking on the squalling form of a human baby boy. It's what some of the old-timers call a scandal, the scandal of the Gospel." That's what she thinks he doesn't get about Christianity--or at least, that's what she thinks is worth being bewildered about. Not the idea of believing, not just in the idea of an infinite power out there in the world, but that that power cares that you sip wine from a certain cup on Sundays, or who has sexual intercourse with whom, before or after which third party conducts a certain ceremony. And that there was a guy who walked on water one time a few thousand years ago, and now a few thousand years later, we're being foolish if we don't believe that, in spite of everything we know or have ever seen in the world.
Now, I can follow her; her argument about why God cares about our petty lives--if he cares about us at all, the only way or reason to do it would be down in the weeds of our day-to-day experience. But the fact is, she starts out believing that God is there. The whole exploration, argument, transition of the book is not learning to believe in God, in things that don't make 'sense.' It's about finding a shape for that belief. And that's why her book isn't speaking to me.
Having learned that, I'm able to enjoy the book better this time around, because I can read it on its own terms, not mine. Does this mean I've grown up a lot?
*I don't mean to be pejorative when I use the word "mythology." I only want to make the distinction between the detailed parts of belief that are about things that may or may not have happened historically that don't fit with a non-religious view of the world, as distinct from the part of religion that is about believing in things that are beyond the realm of physical experience entirely, and therefore can't be addressed by science at all.
I don't think I've ever reread a book I actively disliked before. I knew it was well-written; in fact, I think one of the reasons I disliked it so passionately before is because I so wanted to like it. I love spiritual memoirs, especially those that come from the type of place that this one comes from: an Orthodox Jew (by conversion; her mother was not Jewish) comes to Christianity. She's an intellectual, with (by now) a PhD in history, who reads voraciously and name-drops the great thinkers of religion and history and really any form of non-scientific thought.
This is the person I want to read a spiritual memoir from, for two main reasons. First, as an academic, I assume that her explanations are going to be clear and well-argued. And she is an excellent writer.
Similarly, secondly, as a convert, something drew her from NOT believing in Jesus to believing. This is the piece I'm often looking for in a book like this. It's why I read C. S. Lewis's Mere Christianity. How do you go from believing that the mythology* of Christianity is false to believing it's true?
These two reasons go together: I think she's going to explain this to me, and I have always assumed that there's some big piece of logic that I'm missing that makes people begin to believe something that goes against my understanding of the world, as based on the observations I've made by living in it.
But yesterday, I found the point in the book that points out my error, and explains why Lauren Winner is not the one to explain this to me. A professor of hers, an atheist, has always been confused about her religiosity--first Jewish and later Christian. "'One day you'll have to explain to me how intelligent people can believe in something that sounds like a Greco-Roman myth,' he says. 'You know: Zeus, Demeter, Jesus.'"
This is the point she makes in the book. This is how she reads that comment. "Admittedly, it is a little crazy. Grand, infinite God taking on the squalling form of a human baby boy. It's what some of the old-timers call a scandal, the scandal of the Gospel." That's what she thinks he doesn't get about Christianity--or at least, that's what she thinks is worth being bewildered about. Not the idea of believing, not just in the idea of an infinite power out there in the world, but that that power cares that you sip wine from a certain cup on Sundays, or who has sexual intercourse with whom, before or after which third party conducts a certain ceremony. And that there was a guy who walked on water one time a few thousand years ago, and now a few thousand years later, we're being foolish if we don't believe that, in spite of everything we know or have ever seen in the world.
Now, I can follow her; her argument about why God cares about our petty lives--if he cares about us at all, the only way or reason to do it would be down in the weeds of our day-to-day experience. But the fact is, she starts out believing that God is there. The whole exploration, argument, transition of the book is not learning to believe in God, in things that don't make 'sense.' It's about finding a shape for that belief. And that's why her book isn't speaking to me.
Having learned that, I'm able to enjoy the book better this time around, because I can read it on its own terms, not mine. Does this mean I've grown up a lot?
*I don't mean to be pejorative when I use the word "mythology." I only want to make the distinction between the detailed parts of belief that are about things that may or may not have happened historically that don't fit with a non-religious view of the world, as distinct from the part of religion that is about believing in things that are beyond the realm of physical experience entirely, and therefore can't be addressed by science at all.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
It Can't Be That Easy
The Checklist Manifesto: How to Get Things Right, by Atul Gawande, is a very short little book about how surgery around the world--in America's best hospitals and the Third World's most overworked--can have improved outcomes with a simple checklist. The frame of the book is the WHO's committee on improving surgery outcomes, given the fact that even simple surgery is statistically more dangerous than it needs to be.
It's such a simple argument, based around two points. 1) Some things are so complex that even the smartest, most talented, best trained people make silly mistakes, because there's so much to hold in your mind at every key moment. 2) Most things (like surgery) are done by a team, but teamwork is often not adequate to meet the group's needs. It's amazingly easy to establish a baseline level of teamwork with a simple, three minute introduction and briefing session before people work together.
That's the book, basically. There are interesting anecdotes about places where checklists are used successfully. (Pilots use huge numbers of checklists, and they make a remarkable difference.) You also get guidelines on putting together a good checklist. (It should be short. It should include things that need to be done and things that need to be communicated. The "pause point," where you stop to use your checklist, should be made explicit.) You get great anecdotes from different fields about places where the checklist can actually make a difference.
In general, this short book is an intriguing read. The thing that really sticks with me, though, and that I'm most glad to have read, is the author's analysis of complexity. Things can be simple, complicated, or complex. He gives examples: simple is making dinner--a few ingredients, a few steps, a few basic skills. Complicated is building a rocket to fly to the moon--lots of in-depth knowledge, lots of working parts that go together and areas of expertise. But once you've built it, you know how to do it and can do it again. The physics is there, and with all the ingredients, steps, and skills, it can be done.
Complex is raising a child. Each one is slightly different. There are no rules or laws, and there are things that affect the outcome that you have no idea are part of the project. You can do the same exact thing with two different children and get different outcomes. It can't be sufficiently broken down. Surgery, he points out, is complex. Two patients going into the same surgery, treated with the same level of skill, can have different outcomes. Their bodies are different; the differences in the surgery itself that will affect the outcome can be so subtle as to be unidentifiable. It's complex.
I can't quite explain why this discussion--why the very idea that skilled, talented surgeons need a checklist, need to run through their to-do list--affects me so strongly. I think it might be that I feel exonerated for a lot of my own failures. I'm a bright person, and when I make "stupid" mistakes, I feel like I'm failing on a really deep level. I should be able to do this, to remember that, to handle it. Sometimes, though, it's really complex. Even the best minds need help. I'm doing okay.
It's such a simple argument, based around two points. 1) Some things are so complex that even the smartest, most talented, best trained people make silly mistakes, because there's so much to hold in your mind at every key moment. 2) Most things (like surgery) are done by a team, but teamwork is often not adequate to meet the group's needs. It's amazingly easy to establish a baseline level of teamwork with a simple, three minute introduction and briefing session before people work together.
That's the book, basically. There are interesting anecdotes about places where checklists are used successfully. (Pilots use huge numbers of checklists, and they make a remarkable difference.) You also get guidelines on putting together a good checklist. (It should be short. It should include things that need to be done and things that need to be communicated. The "pause point," where you stop to use your checklist, should be made explicit.) You get great anecdotes from different fields about places where the checklist can actually make a difference.
In general, this short book is an intriguing read. The thing that really sticks with me, though, and that I'm most glad to have read, is the author's analysis of complexity. Things can be simple, complicated, or complex. He gives examples: simple is making dinner--a few ingredients, a few steps, a few basic skills. Complicated is building a rocket to fly to the moon--lots of in-depth knowledge, lots of working parts that go together and areas of expertise. But once you've built it, you know how to do it and can do it again. The physics is there, and with all the ingredients, steps, and skills, it can be done.
Complex is raising a child. Each one is slightly different. There are no rules or laws, and there are things that affect the outcome that you have no idea are part of the project. You can do the same exact thing with two different children and get different outcomes. It can't be sufficiently broken down. Surgery, he points out, is complex. Two patients going into the same surgery, treated with the same level of skill, can have different outcomes. Their bodies are different; the differences in the surgery itself that will affect the outcome can be so subtle as to be unidentifiable. It's complex.
I can't quite explain why this discussion--why the very idea that skilled, talented surgeons need a checklist, need to run through their to-do list--affects me so strongly. I think it might be that I feel exonerated for a lot of my own failures. I'm a bright person, and when I make "stupid" mistakes, I feel like I'm failing on a really deep level. I should be able to do this, to remember that, to handle it. Sometimes, though, it's really complex. Even the best minds need help. I'm doing okay.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Where Have I Been, You Ask?
Covering my head in shame, dear reader. This whole Personal Library Renaissance--which was supposed to begin in December--is going so, so poorly.
Between reserve books that come in from the library--I've been waiting for months, and I only get three weeks with it; what am I supposed to do?--and the books that are sitting there RIGHT UNDER MY NOSE at the Storefront Library (which is closing in a week, so I have a time limit here, people!), I have not begun this long overdue plunge into my own books. And it's not getting much better--I brought home three new books from the Storefront last week.
But I'm here today to tell you, my loyal readers, that I have a new plan. I'm doing a tandem thing, wherein I read one of my books and one of the outside world's books at the same time. So far it's even working! So hopefully, my goal list of personal books to read might be winnowed down.
Right now, the pairing is all nonfiction. I picked up Covering, by Kenji Yoshino, at the library last week. It was just sitting there on the counter, so I read the chapter that sounded most interesting, and then I had to bring it home to finish it. It's a book by a gay Japanese law professor at Yale, about how, even though our society no longer expects outsiders to convert or pass, there are more insidious demands that you assimilate, or "cover" your unusual identity. That minorities are asked to "act white" to succeed, and that gay people can be out of the closet but can't kiss on the street. Women in high-powered careers who want to stay off the mommy-track need to downplay their kids, and even their nurturing sides.
It's really interesting, and if it's a little overwritten (the author was a poet before he was a lawyer), it's also very clear and analytical (he is a lawyer, after all). A lot of the analysis talks about being gay, but mostly as an example that's both visible and invisible--gay people have been expected to not be gay, or to pretend not to be gay, and now to not be too gay. Few of the other groups he addresses have historically had all three experiences.
The book I own that I'm reading is Candyfreak, by Steve Almond. It was a birthday gift, and I have to say that six months is not a bad lead time for me to pick something up, so I feel that I'm growing. It's not profound or anything, it's just about all the different, crazy kinds of candy we have in the US, by a guy who loves them all. I'm surprised by how much I like it already--he's a good writer.
I just finished a great book, The Checklist Manifesto, that I want to talk about more, but I'm going to save that for another post. I'm back, and I really hope to get back to posting three times a week. Thanks for sticking around and reading!
Between reserve books that come in from the library--I've been waiting for months, and I only get three weeks with it; what am I supposed to do?--and the books that are sitting there RIGHT UNDER MY NOSE at the Storefront Library (which is closing in a week, so I have a time limit here, people!), I have not begun this long overdue plunge into my own books. And it's not getting much better--I brought home three new books from the Storefront last week.
But I'm here today to tell you, my loyal readers, that I have a new plan. I'm doing a tandem thing, wherein I read one of my books and one of the outside world's books at the same time. So far it's even working! So hopefully, my goal list of personal books to read might be winnowed down.
Right now, the pairing is all nonfiction. I picked up Covering, by Kenji Yoshino, at the library last week. It was just sitting there on the counter, so I read the chapter that sounded most interesting, and then I had to bring it home to finish it. It's a book by a gay Japanese law professor at Yale, about how, even though our society no longer expects outsiders to convert or pass, there are more insidious demands that you assimilate, or "cover" your unusual identity. That minorities are asked to "act white" to succeed, and that gay people can be out of the closet but can't kiss on the street. Women in high-powered careers who want to stay off the mommy-track need to downplay their kids, and even their nurturing sides.
It's really interesting, and if it's a little overwritten (the author was a poet before he was a lawyer), it's also very clear and analytical (he is a lawyer, after all). A lot of the analysis talks about being gay, but mostly as an example that's both visible and invisible--gay people have been expected to not be gay, or to pretend not to be gay, and now to not be too gay. Few of the other groups he addresses have historically had all three experiences.
The book I own that I'm reading is Candyfreak, by Steve Almond. It was a birthday gift, and I have to say that six months is not a bad lead time for me to pick something up, so I feel that I'm growing. It's not profound or anything, it's just about all the different, crazy kinds of candy we have in the US, by a guy who loves them all. I'm surprised by how much I like it already--he's a good writer.
I just finished a great book, The Checklist Manifesto, that I want to talk about more, but I'm going to save that for another post. I'm back, and I really hope to get back to posting three times a week. Thanks for sticking around and reading!
Tuesday, January 05, 2010
Not Too Picky
I don't want to nitpick too much about this one, but I think it's interesting not to make note of it.
Last week, I finished Hangman, by Chris Bohjalian. It's one of his earliest books--his second or third, it's kind of unclear. An it was pretty mediocre, to tell you the truth--actually bordering on bad. But there were a few things that were really interesting about reading it. I guess you could put them into two categories: ways in which this otherwise totally different book is similar to his other work, and ways in which it's different.
The different is, of course, the most striking. It's not that startling to find a Chris Bohjalian book that reads like it was written by Chris Bohjalian. It is fascinating, however, to find a book that's written by someone who seems pretty clearly to have sat down at his keyboard and said, "If Stephen King can do it, I can do it."
You can see the skeleton of a Stephen King book here, and maybe a good one. You've got the spooky house, the unexplained suicide, a very King reveal at the end. But he's a realist at heart, and he missed a few beats when dealing with the supernatural. A number of characters buy the "evil house" explanation with way less proof, reluctance, and skepticism than anyone at all would have displayed. The sage old Vermonters who know about the house's history are more overtly credulous than any sage old New Englanders I know.
More surprisingly, though, there are other notes that Bohjalian hits wrong, ones that should be right in his wheelhouse. Most of his books take place in Vermont, and I've never seen him lay on the accents and the countrified talk so heavy-handedly. I have to doubt that a cop--a detective who investigates murders and presumably has been around a good number of grieving people--has actually never seen someone who responded to grief by shutting down, staring into space, having trouble focusing. He claims never to have seen that response.
And I'm sorry, but I don't care how gorgeous she is, or how unusual it is--a good, solid, professional cop does not throw all judgment aside because he's got the hots for the murder (?) victim's widow, the prime suspect. I had a hard time even liking the character after that, even though I was supposed to.
So: not a successful King book, but not a successful Bohjalian, either. I found the resolution to the story to be somewhat satisfying--at least not as unsatisfying as an ending with more realism would have been. It was just a weak story, though, all around.
I almost find it heartening, though. Bohjalian is a polished, skilled writer, a master at what he does. I haven't liked all his books, but I've never found them clunky. It's pretty exciting to see that he didn't spring full-grown into the world with these skills. Early work sucks sometimes. Practice really does make perfect; revision really can improve mediocre work. There's hope for the rest of us.
Last week, I finished Hangman, by Chris Bohjalian. It's one of his earliest books--his second or third, it's kind of unclear. An it was pretty mediocre, to tell you the truth--actually bordering on bad. But there were a few things that were really interesting about reading it. I guess you could put them into two categories: ways in which this otherwise totally different book is similar to his other work, and ways in which it's different.
The different is, of course, the most striking. It's not that startling to find a Chris Bohjalian book that reads like it was written by Chris Bohjalian. It is fascinating, however, to find a book that's written by someone who seems pretty clearly to have sat down at his keyboard and said, "If Stephen King can do it, I can do it."
You can see the skeleton of a Stephen King book here, and maybe a good one. You've got the spooky house, the unexplained suicide, a very King reveal at the end. But he's a realist at heart, and he missed a few beats when dealing with the supernatural. A number of characters buy the "evil house" explanation with way less proof, reluctance, and skepticism than anyone at all would have displayed. The sage old Vermonters who know about the house's history are more overtly credulous than any sage old New Englanders I know.
More surprisingly, though, there are other notes that Bohjalian hits wrong, ones that should be right in his wheelhouse. Most of his books take place in Vermont, and I've never seen him lay on the accents and the countrified talk so heavy-handedly. I have to doubt that a cop--a detective who investigates murders and presumably has been around a good number of grieving people--has actually never seen someone who responded to grief by shutting down, staring into space, having trouble focusing. He claims never to have seen that response.
And I'm sorry, but I don't care how gorgeous she is, or how unusual it is--a good, solid, professional cop does not throw all judgment aside because he's got the hots for the murder (?) victim's widow, the prime suspect. I had a hard time even liking the character after that, even though I was supposed to.
So: not a successful King book, but not a successful Bohjalian, either. I found the resolution to the story to be somewhat satisfying--at least not as unsatisfying as an ending with more realism would have been. It was just a weak story, though, all around.
I almost find it heartening, though. Bohjalian is a polished, skilled writer, a master at what he does. I haven't liked all his books, but I've never found them clunky. It's pretty exciting to see that he didn't spring full-grown into the world with these skills. Early work sucks sometimes. Practice really does make perfect; revision really can improve mediocre work. There's hope for the rest of us.
Monday, January 04, 2010
Kristy Thomas Rules The World
They are reissuing the Babysitter's Club!
To be honest, this didn't hit me as hard as it might have, since a) they published new ones up until 2000, and b) I had no idea that they had stopped. I mean, I knew they were up near 150 or so in the series--who am I to say when that happened?
Can I just say that my Dream Job Ever In Life would be ghostwriting Babysitters Club books? I want to be Kristy Thomas. She's freaking awesome. She's got ideas, she makes them happen. She's a CEO at the age of 13, and she's got the babysitting game in Stoneybrook, Connecticut sewn up. She runs a softball team in a league she started herself. Her stepfather is filthy rich, so she lives in the lap of luxury, but she keeps it real, yo, wearing jeans, a turtleneck and a sweater every day. Some things never go out of style.
So by now you may have guessed that BSC books are a serious addiction for me. They're like Pez, or maybe cocaine--once I start on a binge, I go through a ton of them in a weekend. I mean, if you skip the first chapter (where each character is described, including the preteen clothing and hairstyle porn, and the business is outlined, including the definition of KidKits and the fact that they have auxiliary members--seriously, I know my stuff). Sometimes I'll go to the library and check out six or so, and read them all in one day. It might not be completely healthy.
They're making some minor updating changes--most people no longer get perms and listen to portable cassette players. I'm curious how much they'll change the clothes--there are elaborate clothing descriptions that are used to communicate to the savvy reader who's cool and who's not, but I suspect that jumpsuits and sweaterdresses don't mean the same things now that they did then. Fingerless gloves have come back in, but they're less black-lace-Madonna than knitted-hobo-chic. So who knows?
All I know is, as soon as I'm allowed back in the library, I'm heading over stat. I'm pretty sure there's a run between 100 and 114 that I've never read that have promising titles (Stacey's Secret Friend and Claudia Kishi, Middle School Dropout). I love it!
To be honest, this didn't hit me as hard as it might have, since a) they published new ones up until 2000, and b) I had no idea that they had stopped. I mean, I knew they were up near 150 or so in the series--who am I to say when that happened?
Can I just say that my Dream Job Ever In Life would be ghostwriting Babysitters Club books? I want to be Kristy Thomas. She's freaking awesome. She's got ideas, she makes them happen. She's a CEO at the age of 13, and she's got the babysitting game in Stoneybrook, Connecticut sewn up. She runs a softball team in a league she started herself. Her stepfather is filthy rich, so she lives in the lap of luxury, but she keeps it real, yo, wearing jeans, a turtleneck and a sweater every day. Some things never go out of style.
So by now you may have guessed that BSC books are a serious addiction for me. They're like Pez, or maybe cocaine--once I start on a binge, I go through a ton of them in a weekend. I mean, if you skip the first chapter (where each character is described, including the preteen clothing and hairstyle porn, and the business is outlined, including the definition of KidKits and the fact that they have auxiliary members--seriously, I know my stuff). Sometimes I'll go to the library and check out six or so, and read them all in one day. It might not be completely healthy.
They're making some minor updating changes--most people no longer get perms and listen to portable cassette players. I'm curious how much they'll change the clothes--there are elaborate clothing descriptions that are used to communicate to the savvy reader who's cool and who's not, but I suspect that jumpsuits and sweaterdresses don't mean the same things now that they did then. Fingerless gloves have come back in, but they're less black-lace-Madonna than knitted-hobo-chic. So who knows?
All I know is, as soon as I'm allowed back in the library, I'm heading over stat. I'm pretty sure there's a run between 100 and 114 that I've never read that have promising titles (Stacey's Secret Friend and Claudia Kishi, Middle School Dropout). I love it!
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