Tag: 1 Star

How It All Began by Penelope Lively
Hardcover, 240 pg.
Viking Adult, 2012
Read: May 2-3, 2012

Humbug. What a poorly-written, pretentious little thought-experiment disguised as a novel. In case you haven’t been beaten over the head with it in books, TV and film there’s this thing called Chaos Theory–usually explained by the Butterfly Effect; Lively starts off with one event and then examines how the butterfly of an elderly woman’s mugging effects the lives of 20 or so others.

As far as that goes…a decent setup. But we have to keep revisiting the conceit, every few chapters we have to have a recap that all of the things going on are because of this mugging. Over and over again. And about halfway through (minor spoiler), we get this big lecture about Chaos Theory. Juuuust in case we haven’t got it yet.

When she’s not browbeating us with that, Lively tells some okay stories. With the stress on “tells”, rarely, if ever, showing.

The best thing I can say is that at least Lively doesn’t interrupt really appealing characters in the middle of fun, compelling stories with this application of Chaos Theory.

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Murder in the Ball Park by Robert Goldsborough

By HCNewton

On January 28, 2014

In Authors, Fiction, Mystery/Detective Fiction/Crime Fiction/Thriller, Nero Wolfe/Archie Goodwin, Rex Stout

Murder in the Ball Park

by Robert Goldsborough
Paperback, 228 pg.
MysteriousPress.com/Open Road, 2014
Read: Jan. 25, 2014

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Fool me 5 times? You’re writing Nero Wolfe/Archie Goodwin novels and I just can’t help myself. When I was on page 19, I actually put in my notes, “if this book wasn’t about Wolfe and Archie, I wouldn’t read another word.” But it was about them, so I read the whole thing.

There’s no attempt at all to mimic Stout, his voice, pacing, etc. And this is a good thing — if you can’t do it successfully, it just comes across as bad (a recent example in another medium is the Dan Harmon-less season 4 of Community). Goldsborough came close with Murder in E Minor, which is why it’ll always be the book least likely to get him pilloried by anyone. But here he doesn’t even try — this is someone using familiar characters in his own voice, and that’d fine. I figure it’s like when Sammy Hagar got to stop singing songs written for David Lee Roth and instead focus on songs written for him — same band, but it came across very differently. When I was able to think of this as a Goldsborough novel rather than a non-Stout, it was a better experience. Not good, really, but better.

You read series to spend time with characters you like/love. That’s a given — and even when someone other than their creator is doing the telling, you can still enjoy them (see: most TV and comic series). But when they really don’t seem like themselves, it’s really not that fun to hang out with them. And that’s the biggest problem here — another voice, I think I could handle. If that voice got the characters right. And Goldsborough falls flat here (flatter than ever before, I think)

The book starts off with Archie and Saul at a ball game, when an important looking fellow comes in and sits a few rows ahead of them. Archie doesn’t know who he is, so Saul dumps a whole bunch of information on the gentleman — a state senator of some repute. Here I called foul for the first of many times — Archie reads, what, two papers every morning? Or is it three? (I don’t care enough at this point to do the five minutes of research it’d take to verify this). He doesn’t need for Saul “The Expositor” Panzer to fill him in on all these details in an uncharacteristically verbose way. Just a shameful way to use Saul, anyway.

The middle hundred (give or take) pages were so hard to get through. Archie and Wolfe talk to the three main suspects as well as five people close to the case and Inspector Cramer. Each and every one of them gave the exact same list of suspects (obviously the suspects left themselves out) — in the same order of likelihood — and then each of them (including the suspects) gave nearly identical reasons why each suspect should and shouldn’t be considered. It was just painful, you could practically sing along with the characters by the end. “Second verse, same as the first.”

I don’t want to get into specifics here, but I was less than a quarter of the way through the book when I saw the hinge on which everything turned. It was so obvious, it was annoying. I don’t expect Goldsborough to be as good as Stout (rarefied company anyway), but someone who’s read as many mysteries as this guy seems to have should’ve been better at hiding the solution.

Lastly, the dialogue was simply atrocious.

After said VIP is killed, Archie tells Saul.

I don’t want to be here when Inspector Cramer or, heaven forbid, his dull-witted, stuttering underling, Lieutenant George Rowcliff, shows up. Each of them would try to pin this on me somehow

What’s wrong with this? Sure, Archie might say “Inspector Cramer” here, rather than simply “Cramer,” but I doubt it. But there’s no way he rambles on with full name and rank of Rowcliff — period. And that lumbering “dull-witted, stuttering underling”? Pfui. Saul knows Rowcliff. Archie might put that in his narration, but he’s not going to do that in dialogue with his old pal.

Later, when asking how Archie learned something, Lily says,

Your old friend and poker-playing adversary Lon Cohen, no doubt.

No. No. No. Lily’s lines should sing. The banter between she and Archie should have zip. Not this tin-eared nonsense.

I could go on, but I won’t. Just one other way that Goldsborough refuses to respect the characters that made this series what it is.

When I was about halfway done with this book, I posted this to Facebook, and I think it sums things up pretty well:
Next time a Robert Goldsborough book comes out, I need as many of you as possible to whack my nose w/a rolled-up newspaper and tell me, “no.”

Probably won’t do any good, but it’s still the humane thing to do.

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Blackbirds by Chuck Wendig

By HCNewton

On January 24, 2014

In Fiction

Blackbirds

by Chuck Wendig
ebook, 264 pg.
Angry Robot, 2012
Read: Jan. 4-6, 2014

Over the last couple of years, I’ve really enjoyed — and learned a few things — from Chuck Wendig’s blog posts about writing, and have seen nothing but raves for this series from people and writers whose taste I respect and frequently agree with. But, when reading descriptions for Mockingbird it seem all that interesting to me. When the publisher was giving away e-copies last month, I figured I’d roll the dice and hope to be pleasantly surprised.

I should’ve stuck with my gut. This was not a book for me.

There are a lot of positives to Mockingbird. It’s told with imagination, humor, style, verve, panache and skill. Everything that Wendig’s blog tells you to do, he does. I don’t think there was a single dud sentence in the 264 pages, and there were several spectacular ones.

However…

Miriam Black’s power is fairly lame. Like Deanna Troi’s — it’s a neat parlor trick, but there’s not much use to be made of it.

As is the case 99% of the time a book doesn’t work for me, it ultimately comes down to the characters. I’ll put up with a lot for characters I like — and I don’t think I’m alone. I never cared about Miriam, Louis, or anyone. The villains were a little too villain-y for my taste — which, oddly, made them less threatening or interesting. If I don’t care about the characters, how can I care about what happens to them?

Lastly, there were some formatting troubles with the ePub. This isn’t damning or anything (or all that novel a problem) but when you’re not particularly enjoying a book, minor annoyances are less minor — almost feeling like a deliberate attempt to lessen the experience.

I do want to read more by Wendig, just not in this particular world.

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Dusted Off: Mansfield Park by Jane Austen

By HCNewton

On October 14, 2013

In Fiction, General Fiction/Literature

Mansfield 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.

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Dusted Off: The Girl Who Played With Fire by Stieg Larsson

By HCNewton

On July 29, 2013

In Fiction, Mystery/Detective Fiction/Crime Fiction/Thriller

The Girl Who Played With Fire by Stieg Larsson
My rating: 1 of 5 stars

ugh. Really? Really world? This is the kind of thing you buy by the dozen? (or so it seems)

Okay…let’s go with the positives. This was better than The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. The way that Police Academy 4: Citizens on Patrol was better than Police Academy: Mission to Moscow.

I like Lisabeth Salander — yeah, in many ways she’s cliched…but in enough ways she isn’t. The parts of the book that focused on her — not the investigation into her, but her, are far and away the best parts of the novel. Actually, if you cut away the rest of it — which is almost wholly dead weight, it’d be readable.

Now, the problems…well, some of them.

There are just too many characters. Well, there are too many names tied a quick description and some sort of quirk which supposed to equal characters. You could eliminate 30-50% of them and not do a darn thing to the plot.

There are plot lines that do nothing other than chew up space. The whole new job for Berger thing, for instance. Sure, this might come back to mean something in book 3, but I can’t see how.

There’s just too much wasted ink. We don’t need three paragraphs describing someone leaving the house to go get a hamburger and that’s it. Doesn’t advance the plot, doesn’t reveal anything about a character (other than to buttress the theory, based solely on this work, that all Swedes eat McDonald’s obsessively).

I had a laundry list of things to whine about–but who wants to read that (much less write it)? Let’s just leave it as, an over-written, over-long, dull book with one heckuva good, mostly wasted, character.

Dusted Off: The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo by Stieg Larsson

By HCNewton

On July 29, 2013

In Fiction, Mystery/Detective Fiction/Crime Fiction/Thriller

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo by Stieg Larsson
My rating: 1 of 5 stars

I honestly don’t know why it took me so long to get around to reading this little international phenomenon, it wasn’t because I didn’t have access, my sister loaned it to me months ago. Something just kept me from it, maybe it was fear of the bandwagon, who knows. It certainly has a strong following, almost Tha Da Vinci Code-like, more than one person saw me carrying it and had to talk about it, which never happens to me.

The one thing that we all agreed on was that it started slowly. Like cold molasses slow. It was either brave or foolhardy of Larsson to start off his book with a detailed and plodding description of a financial crime. Hardly the kind of thing that sucks you in. Not only that, that type of crime doesn’t seem to match up with the cited statistics about assaults on females in Sweden that are so prominent. When, after more than 200 pages into the novel, when we finally do get our first assault on a female, it comes across as perfunctory.

The book follows the path of 2 protagonists–Mikael Blomkvist, a financial reporter with a superiority complex, and Lisbeth Salander, a young investigator for a security company whose talents far exceed her appearance and age. Blomkvist is in the middle of some legal trouble, which has forced him out of the news biz for awhile, so he takes a job researching a decades-old missing-persons case for an aged, reclusive industrialist. Salander’s dealing with her own legal and personal issues, and apparently the near universal belief that horribly thin girls with tattoos and piercings are stupid and unreliable.

The book plods along, almost but not quite capturing my interest until soon after obligatory (yet unnecessary for either plot or character development) assault that the two finally meet, and then–finally the plot begins to pick up. The two join forces and quickly uncover clues that lay hidden in plain sight since the fateful day when the industrialist’s niece disappeared. These lead them to the trail of a serial killer.

Larsson gets both the investigator and the reporter to discover the killer’s identity at about the same time, when, naturally they are miles away from each other. This leads to both being in some kind of jeopardy. But honestly, I didn’t once feel any tension, it was clear that the jeopardy would be thwarted without permanent damage of any kind being inflicted.

Things were tied up in a tidy, and somewhat satisfactory bow, and the further along in the novel, the better things moved. But there’s really little to recommend the book on. Blomkvist reads a lot of detective fiction, usually dropping the name of the author and title along the way. There are at least two mentions of a Val McDermid novel. And as many problems as I have with her stuff, it’s a darn shame that Larsson didn’t pay more attention to her, he could’ve learned how to make even an obvious conclusion not seem entirely forgone, and with enough tension and suspense to spare. The “Thriller” label that’s applied to this book is very misplaced.

Why bother to finish it? Curious to see what all the fuss was about, really. Also, the Salandar character was intriguing enough. Which is why, incidentally, I started the sequel.

Dusted Off: Rabbit, Run by John Updike

By HCNewton

On June 29, 2013

In Fiction, General Fiction/Literature

thanks to yesterday’s Final Jeopardy clue, a friend and I have been talking about this book. So, figured I’d throw this one up

—–

Rabbit, Run by John Updike

My rating: 1 of 5 stars

This has to be subtitled “Portrait of a Scumbag as a Young Man” or something like that, right? I cannot remember a protagonist I despised more than Harry Angstrom. And I guess that was the point, but it’d have been nice if we’d been given at least one character worth spending time with.

Updike is clearly attacking/critiquing several things there…love, God, the Chuch, family, marriage. I don’t know, everything? Almost everything, anyway. He clearly likes the sound of his own voice (and female anatomy), but that’s the only thing I can think of.

Miserable book filled with miserable people and I can’t see why anyone would bother to read this in the first place, much less elevate it to the status it has in contemporary lit. The worst of it all is that I’m going to have to read more, just to see if I can understand what it is about this loser that inspired four sequels.

Dusted Off: Hello Kitty Must Die by Angela S. Choi

By HCNewton

On June 27, 2013

In Fiction, Mystery/Detective Fiction/Crime Fiction/Thriller

Having one of those days — have three new reviews partially done, and no time this morning to finish. So . . .

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Hello Kitty Must Die by Angela S. Choi

My rating: 1 of 5 stars

I’ve often felt conflicted about my appreciation for protagonists/leading characters who are murderers–professional hitmen (Peter Brown, Jimmy the Tulip, Martin Blank, Hawk, Jules Winnfield) or serial killers (Dexter Morgan, early Hannibal Lecter), but I can usually get over it because of what their creators do with them. But Angela S. Choi’s Fiona Fi Yu, from Hello Kitty Must Die, doesn’t get to join their ranks in my book. There’s little to commend her, or the book, if you ask me (which is sort of implied if you’ve read this far).

Fi is a successful, thirtysomething Chinese-American lawyer, living with her parents, who stumbles into serial killing (I’ll leave the details to those who read it). An unpleasant childhood, filled with overbearing parents, a strict Catholic school, and one sociopathic friend primes this perpetually single (and proud!) woman for an adulthood that’s even more unpleasant. Until the aforementioned stumbling, anyway. She’s a whiny, selfish, me-first person all the way, with a personality only a parakeet could love. Essentially, she’s a very unpleasant person–beyond the murdering. Sure, she can mix pop culture references into her narrative like Dennis Miller in his prime, but in a post-Tarantino/Whedon/Apatow/Abed Nadir age, is that really so noteworthy? Besides, if Humbert Humbert taught us nothing at all, he taught us that “You can always count on a murderer for a fancy prose style.”

What about the story itself? It starts off semi-promising, and then goes straight downhill from there. Well, let me amend that. It starts off offensively, but it’s a staged, calculated offensiveness. Choi trades in an actual narrative hook for a hook constructed of shock value. But a few pages later, it gets semi-promising. There’s no redemption of the character–not even growth. Nothing commendable about the events, characters, or cultural commentary.

On the other hand, it was a quick read.

Dusted Off: An Underachiever’s Diary by Benjamin Anastas

By HCNewton

On May 29, 2013

In Fiction, General Fiction/Literature

An Underachiever’s Diary by Benjamin Anastas

My rating: 1 of 5 stars

The recommendation I read for this called said it “may have been the funniest, most underappreciated book of the 1990s”. Really? I remember the 90’s having better taste. This is the very colored reminiscences of the lesser of two twins. William is constantly outshone by his brother Clive (despite testing as well as, if not better than) from the cradle onward. Clive’s more successful in school, socially, athletically, etc. He’s better looking, healthier…better in ever conceivable fashion. William sees this from an early age and determines to keep things that way–to basically excel at not being as good as his brother (or anyone else for that matter). And in that, and in that only, does he find success. There are sentences/paragraphs scattered throughout the novel that almost make it worth the effort, like:

universal LOVE, the failing panacea of my parents’ generation: flower children, baby boomers, whatever name you’d like to use. Exactly what had the sexual revolution gained them, after all? Some measure of bodily happiness, a sex instinct unfettered, the herpes virus, the social acceptability of T-shirts and cutoff shorts, but what else? Had they really changed our values and attitudes?

Aside from those momentary displays of authorial talent, there’s no profit from spending time with this determinedly miserable character.

Dusted Off: A Stained White Radiance by James Lee Burke

By HCNewton

On January 13, 2011

In Fiction, Mystery/Detective Fiction/Crime Fiction/Thriller

A Stained White Radiance by James Lee Burke

My rating: 1 of 5 stars

Elmore Leonard famously quotes Steinbeck saying, “Sometimes I want a book to break loose with a bunch of hooptedoodle. . . . Spin up some pretty words maybe or sing a little song with language. That’s nice. But I wish it was set aside so I don’t have to read it. I don’t want hooptedoodle to get mixed up with the story.”

I sincerely wish Burke would follow Leonard’s urging to get rid of the hooptedoodle, or as he puts it later, “If it sounds like writing, I rewrite it.”

There’s a whole lot in here (and most of this series) that sounds like writing. Once you take all that away, there’s not a lot in this book. Horribly thin plot, from the get go everyone knows who did what and pretty much why, there’s just a few hundred pages of wheel spinning, hooptedoodle, and moments intended to be tense that really aren’t.

Not sure if I’ll keep going with Burke.