Category: General Fiction/Literature Page 46 of 49

Dusted Off: Beauty Queens by Libba Bray

Beauty QueensBeauty Queens

by Libba Bray
Hardcover, 396 pg.
Scholastic Press, 2011

This book is just fun. Are the characters over the top? Yup. Is it too preachy at times? Oh yeah. Does Bray hit the same target over and over and over again? Yup. But usually those targets have it coming.

There are plenty of flaws in this book, but Bray’s style, tone and message(s) work so well that you ignore them easily and forgive them all even more easily. A great, fun read–even for a guy like me who is nowhere near the target audience.

—–

4 Stars

Dusted Off: I Just Want My Pants Back by David Rosen

I Just Want My Pants BackI Just Want My Pants Back

by David Rosen
Paperback, 240 pg.
Broadway Books, 2007

This is a Coming of Age novel by a would-be Nick Hornby. Frequently amusing, but fairly paint-by-numbers. There’s virtually no plot point that couldn’t be predicted the instant a character is introduced.

There are plenty of fun turns of phrase, and Rosen definitely has a knack for this thing–I just hope that next time out the story is as good as the writer telling it.

—–

2 Stars

Dusted Off: Mansfield Park by Jane Austen

Mansfield ParkMansfield Park

by Jane Austen
Original Publication: 1814

This is my third foray into the works of Austen in my resolution to read her collected works this year, and it’s as disappointing as the first two–maybe more.

Once again, we have a collection of mostly empty-headed young women who fawn over largely unworthy men with healthy inheritances/incomes. There are two of these women who are capable to some thought, of being almost well-rounded, and they’re both in love with the same man (who, other than being utterly clueless about this fact for the entire novel is the only single guy worth bothering with). But there’s a twist this time–the protagonist doesn’t come from the same social class as everyone else, she’s been taken in and raised by her wealthier uncle. Hardly a Dickensian orphan, but still, not “worthy” of being in the company with these people.

Everyone else gets married and whatnot, leaving the triangle socially isolated until things finally come to the only just (and entirely predictable) conclusion for all involved, and they all lived happily ever after.

There was nothing real here–no real heart, no soul, just a bunch of cardboard cutouts going through the motions. Once again, I have to ask–how did Austen get the rep she has? I want to fall under her spell, I want to like her stuff, but I just can’t. Not yet anyway. Here’s hoping Emma‘s better.

—–

1 Star

Dusted Off: Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen

Sense and SensibilitySense and Sensibility

by Jane Austen
Original Publication: 1811

I honestly don’t know what to say about this, my first exposure to Jane Austen (other than it’s far overdue).

I don’t see the appeal, I don’t see why this one has endured. That’s not to say I hated it. It’s just that I don’t get it. Yes, there were amusing turns of phrases here and there, and I can see where it might be seen as a template for romantic comedies since then. But..meh.

—–

2 Stars

In Medias Res: Islands in the Stream by Ernest Hemingway

as the title implies, I’m in the middle of this book, so this is not a review, just some thoughts mid-way through

—–

Islands in the Stream
Islands in the Stream

by Ernest Hemingway

Part 1 of this had some of the most enjoyable passages (for me) in Hemingway’s works, some things I just didn’t see the point of, but overall I really liked this.

Part 2? Now, that I’m only getting through because I’m stubbornly persisting, that’s all.

I hope Part 3 turns this around.

Dusted Off: In Zanesville by Jo Ann Beard

In ZanesvilleIn Zanesville by Jo Ann Beard

The 1970’s weren’t the easiest time for a couple of 14 year old girls to grow up–just ask In Zanesville’s unnamed narrator and her best friend. In this coming of age novel, we see the two of them deal with odd babysitting gigs, clothes, strange teachers, annoying/horrible family situations, self-awareness, friends, brushes with popularity, and (of course) boys at that awkward and vital time of life. Jo Ann Beard depicts their struggles, failures (and even a success or two) in a well-written (sometimes wonderfully so), moving way.

My problem with this book is that the narrative doesn’t go anywhere, the narrator’s story doesn’t end, there’s no conclusion, it just stops. I’m not sure the narrator comes of age, she rather comes right up to the border of it and looks across. That’s more than dissatisfying, it ends up cheapening the whole experience.

Even so, Beard’s writing makes In Zanesville worth the time.

—–

3 Stars

Dusted Off: How to Talk to a Widower by Jonathan Tropper

How to Talk to a WidowerHow to Talk to a Widower by Jonathan Tropper

this isn’t the review the book deserves, but it’s all I can come up with at the moment…

Twentysomething Doug Parker, after two years of marriage to a woman with a teenage son, becomes a widower who can’t let go of his grief (and doesn’t want to anyway). He withdraws from life, from work, from family, and from the angry stepson who lost as much as he did.

Events–and overly-amorous neighbors–conspire to drag him, kicking, screaming and swearing, back to the land of the living (with all its attendant glories and problems).

I’m fairly certain this isn’t Tropper’s best novel, but it’s probably his most effective–he can bring you from the verge of tears (or over the verge) to laughing out loud and back again in less than 5 pages. That’s true even on a re-read like this was for me. I love this book.

—–

5 Stars

A Working Theory of Love by Scott Hutchins

A Working Theory of Love
A Working Theory of Love by Scott Hutchins
My rating: 1.5 of 5 stars

What is there to say about this disappointing mess? Well, I guess there’s that. Hutchins had aspirations, clearly, there was a lot of ambition behind the various storylines surrounding Neill Bassett here, and I really don’t think he lived up to them.

To really get into my problems with the book would take 1. Spoilers, and I really hate giving those kind of reviews. 2. Effort, and I simply cannot bring myself to care enough to put in the effort.

I couldn’t care about any of these characters — they just weren’t that interesting, developed or sympathetic. There were a couple I was tempted to care about, but he just didn’t give anyone enough depth to be invested in. A lot of plot issues could’ve been overcome with a couple of characters I could give a rip about.

The family storyline had the most promise, and fell the furthest short — well, at least the mother storyline. I don’t believe his mother, and everything seemed too pat at the end of the book regarding her story.

None of the romance stories worked for me — even the resolution Neill came to at the end seemed more like something imposed on the character by the author than anything that came naturally from the novel. The only evidence we really have to support any feelings Neill has for any of the women here comes from his narration — and doesn’t ring true. The evidence isn’t to be found in the story, or his action.

The A.I. test story is the most interesting — for the “father”-son interaction. Not for any of the philosophical questions it tries to raise about the nature of humanity, or love, etc. But it’s not enough to save this novel.

Not funny, not moving, not terribly interesting. Spare yourself, you have better things to do with your time.

Wisp of a Thing: A Novel of the Tufa by Alex Bledsoe

Wisp of a Thing: A Novel of the Tufa
Wisp of a Thing: A Novel of the Tufa by Alex Bledsoe
Series: Tufa, #2
My rating: 4.75 of 5 stars

Back in 2011, I tried a new book by Alex Bledsoe with a bit of trepidation — it clearly wasn’t the same kind of thing as his Eddie LaCrosse novels that I’m a big fan of, and what I’d read about the book as a whole seemed kind of vague. But I gave it a shot, and ended up reading one of the best books I’ve read this decade (no review on my part to link to here, I couldn’t come up with anything to say that seemed to rise to the level of the book). So when I saw that Bledsoe was releasing a sequel, I was excited and filled with a new sense of trepidation, tinged with dread. I just didn’t see how he could equal The Hum and the Shiver, much less top it.

And honestly, he didn’t. But he got close — so, so, close. A Herculean feat unto itself, so I count that as a win.

In this novel, we see what happens when real outsiders come into the land of the Tufa*. There’s the honeymooning couple — the husband who finds out a bit more about his heritage than he bargained for, and his wife who has other things on her mind than genealogical research. The central figure this time is the other outsider, Rob Quillen, a reality television star trying to recover from a very public, heartbreaking tragedy. So desperate for healing, he comes in search of a song that will erase his pain — as difficult as that is to believe, he has to take the chance.

Sadly for Rob, his search puts him in the middle of a struggle that goes back centuries — if not longer. He has to risk his life, his sanity, and that of others to find his song — and then just to survive.

The characters and conflicts that shaped The Hum . . . are still there, this is just a few months later, but they’re not quite as prominent while Rob and his new friends and foes settle their business.

There’s beauty here, determination, battling against (and trying to understand) fate and destiny. And ultimately, hope. Hope tainted with real loss and real pain, but hope and healing nonetheless.

Do yourself a favor and grab this one.


* Don’t know what a Tufa is? That’s fine. Go put down whatever you have in your hand, get a copy of The Hum and the Shiver. Go ahead, I’ll wait. It’s about music, and magic, and community, and place, and tradition, and family, and the magic of music . . . and it’s just good.

YOU by Austin Grossman

You
You by Austin Grossman
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Let’s admit something about video games. They are boring. They induce a state of focus that is totally absorbing but useless — like the ghost of work or creative play, but without engaging the world in any way. They are designed to focus attention but don’t train you to overcome the obstacles to being focused. They are fun but don’t tend to make a person more interesting. The rewards are false coin — they are rarely satisfying or moving. More often, the offer something like a hunger for the next game, promising a revelation or catharsis that they never quit fulfill, that they don’t even know how to fulfill. They work in a single small corner of the emotional world, stirring feelings of anger or fear or a sense of accomplishment; they don’t reach for any kind of fuller experience of humanity.

But when I thought about story, I felt I couldn’t really be wrong.

Because when I lay awake at night I wanted to be in a story; I wanted it so badly it was an ache in my bones. Anything story but the story I was in, of early disappointment and premature world-weariness. I wanted to feel like I was at the start of a story worth being in, instead of being twenty-eight and feeling like my story was already over, like it was the most boring, botched story imaginable.

I used to love books in which somebody from our reality got to go to another world. The Narnia books, the Fionavar books. Isn’t that what we could do, take people into another world? If not, why not? Why couldn’t that be what we did?

There’s the central focus of YOU: A Novel. Can someone — genius programmer or rookie game designer — take this difficult-to-vocalize aim for video games and run with it? What stands in the way — technology or human ability or maybe human frailty?

If you take the love of video games and late 20th Century American pop culture from Cline’s Ready Player One; the ability of Michael Chabon in The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay to tell a compelling story while also giving a history of a creation of a medium; and mix them with Lev Grossman’s Magician series’ sense of disillusionment that comes from childhood loves and obsessions meeting with the real world — you might get something like this.

One word kept popping up in my notes: bittersweet. And in checking around on the Internet a bit, I saw that I’m not the only one who thought that way — on the one hand, nice to see that I got the same read on the book as many/most. On the other hand, it would’ve been nice to have an insight all to myself. Whether it was in the flashbacks, or the contemporary plot — none of the successes where wholly positive, there was always something wistful about it. Very few of the losses were without some measure of victory, either, it should be said. But the measures were typically small. There’s a lot of missed opportunities — years’ worth — a lot of regret and sadness over them, especially the ones that can’t be recreated.

The other novels I mentioned earlier all share a thread with YOU about friendship — particularly that kind of friendship that develops early in life, the kind that continues through the years, and really shapes your future: your personality, loyalties, loves — for good or ill. How in many cases your adult life is a reaction to, or development of, these friendships. And that’s where Grossman is his sweetest, and probably his woeful.

That’s not to say this is a depressing book — there’s a lot of fun, there’s a challenge, there’s personal growth, and an element of hope throughout. The protagonist, Russell, finds his roots, finds comfort and a place to grow. Other characters do, too. There’s a sense of history being made here, looking at the rise of FPS games, the early days of E3, remembering the first computers introduced in public schools and the general lack of ability of the faculty to know what to do with them. The nostalgia factor, for even people like me that were on the fringes of this culture is high. I’m not much of a gamer (though I’d like to be — just don’t have the time), but the game — or the series of games — is as incredible as it is impossible (especially given the technology available at the time, but I think even if the first installment came out now, it’d be impossible.) I’d play this — or I’d watch my 15 year-old son play it/obsess over it.

There are little observations and asides sprinkled throughout the text that add so much personality and flavor to the narrative — like this in the middle of this paragraph:

After ten weeks of work, we could play out an altercation between an eighteenth-century French mercenary with a short sword and buckler (a saucer-size shield with a pointed spike — as Eskimo language is to snow, so archaic English is to “metal objects designed to cause harm”) and a Roman legionnaire from the age of Marius, with his gladius, Vae victis!

That made me chuckle aloud, showed me a lot about these characters and the game. Passages like this are what elevate this book.

Page 46 of 49

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