The jacket cover of this novel compared the author to Carver, 'nough said. I have to say, it did not disappoint. This book is a hell of a lot of fun.
gwom is sci-fi noir in a dystopic future setting where Kangaroos carry guns and work as mob henchman, and sheep are kept as lovers. In the middle we have Metcalf, a PI with a mild drug addiction, not many karma points, and a mystery that's leading him nowhere good. When one of his clients gets accused of murder and then ends up dead it sets the authorities on his path. He's not the type that can walk away to save his own hide, no matter how bad it gets so he investigates even when he knows he doesn't want the answer.
The dialogue is fantastic. Metcalf remains true to character throughout and working through the other characters' response to him is half the fun. The world Lethem creates drips off the page. The (mostly) subtle commentary on where we're headed isn't as off-putting as it could be and the imagination behind some of the ideas is pretty inspired. I really enjoyed this novel and will definitely read more.
The Emporer of the Ocean - Stephen L Carter
The Emperor of Ocean Park took a little while to grab me, but eventually I got into it.
The story is a mystery, which isn't normally my kind of thing. It starts out slowly with the protagonist, Talcott Garland, with is wife and child getting the news that his father, a once famous, then controversial, and ultimately humiliated former judge has died. The novel spends some time establishing the kind of marriage Talcott has, his love for his son, and the difficulty of having been the child of the once lauded, conservative, African American judge, who was publicly disgraced. Cleary, there is a lot going on. Not only that, Talcott is a law professor and his wife is up for a judge appointment. One can only assume that now that the judge is dead, more about the circumstances that ended in his disgrace will come to light, and they do. However, they are not what you would expect.
One of the things that seemed funny to me is how dense Talcott sometimes seemed in this novel. Clues are dropping all over him about what might be going on and what might be at stake and generally speaking he has to be hit over the head with it before he gets it, but then I remembered he's not a super spy. He is just a guy, a law professor with a struggling marriage and a once famous, now dead father. He isn't suppose to know how to deal with intrigue and drama outside of his little academic nest.
Eventually, the mystery starts to unravel and little is as it seems. Although Talcott's father appears to have died of a heart attack, his sister believes there has been foul play. Talcott asks a few questions trying to appease his sister and suddenly finds himself wading in a much deeper pool than he expected. It starts to drive him a little nuts. He gets a little paranoid and takes unnecessary risks in a way that seemed to me to be totally believable. His ruminations on race and gender issues as he muddles his way through are interesting and not too preachy.
Ultimately, the novel is longer than it needed to be. There are ideas repeated that don't have to be and sometimes the build up takes longer than it needs to on the way to the next clue. Once in a while you want to shake Talcott and say COME ON, but I liked the novel on the whole.
The story is a mystery, which isn't normally my kind of thing. It starts out slowly with the protagonist, Talcott Garland, with is wife and child getting the news that his father, a once famous, then controversial, and ultimately humiliated former judge has died. The novel spends some time establishing the kind of marriage Talcott has, his love for his son, and the difficulty of having been the child of the once lauded, conservative, African American judge, who was publicly disgraced. Cleary, there is a lot going on. Not only that, Talcott is a law professor and his wife is up for a judge appointment. One can only assume that now that the judge is dead, more about the circumstances that ended in his disgrace will come to light, and they do. However, they are not what you would expect.
One of the things that seemed funny to me is how dense Talcott sometimes seemed in this novel. Clues are dropping all over him about what might be going on and what might be at stake and generally speaking he has to be hit over the head with it before he gets it, but then I remembered he's not a super spy. He is just a guy, a law professor with a struggling marriage and a once famous, now dead father. He isn't suppose to know how to deal with intrigue and drama outside of his little academic nest.
Eventually, the mystery starts to unravel and little is as it seems. Although Talcott's father appears to have died of a heart attack, his sister believes there has been foul play. Talcott asks a few questions trying to appease his sister and suddenly finds himself wading in a much deeper pool than he expected. It starts to drive him a little nuts. He gets a little paranoid and takes unnecessary risks in a way that seemed to me to be totally believable. His ruminations on race and gender issues as he muddles his way through are interesting and not too preachy.
Ultimately, the novel is longer than it needed to be. There are ideas repeated that don't have to be and sometimes the build up takes longer than it needs to on the way to the next clue. Once in a while you want to shake Talcott and say COME ON, but I liked the novel on the whole.
Seabiscuit - Laura Hillenbrand
I know it's old, but I just got around to it and I'm glad I've never seen the movie. Seabiscuit is a fantastic read. My only complaint is that it slides into moments where it felt like an academic project converted to a novel, but those moments are few and far between and the research ultimately worth it.
Hillenbrand brings her characters to life. Alcoholic jockey, stern silent trainer, flamboyant owner. You root for all of them, everytime. If her version isn't the truth, I would rather not know. The true coup of this novel though, is Seabiscuit. Hillenbrand's protrayal of the horse is so incredible it's hard to explain. I am a person who is loathe to use the word spirit, but the kind of spirit she infuses into this horse and his relationships with the people around him is awe inspiring.
There are moments that I don't want to ruin for anyone who hasn't read it, but racing moments where you actually feel like you know how this horse felt. How he did the things that he did and why. I will be honest, I cried a LOT in the last chapters of this book and then handed it over to my husband to read. Right now.
Hillenbrand brings her characters to life. Alcoholic jockey, stern silent trainer, flamboyant owner. You root for all of them, everytime. If her version isn't the truth, I would rather not know. The true coup of this novel though, is Seabiscuit. Hillenbrand's protrayal of the horse is so incredible it's hard to explain. I am a person who is loathe to use the word spirit, but the kind of spirit she infuses into this horse and his relationships with the people around him is awe inspiring.
There are moments that I don't want to ruin for anyone who hasn't read it, but racing moments where you actually feel like you know how this horse felt. How he did the things that he did and why. I will be honest, I cried a LOT in the last chapters of this book and then handed it over to my husband to read. Right now.
A Biagmist's Daugher - Alice McDermott
I cannot describe how much I loved Charming Billy . I love sad books. I love dark books. I love reading any writer who handles the language well so Alice McDermott is a safe bet most of the time.
ABD is about 20 something Elizabeth, who works for a vanity press in NYC. She spends her days filling the heads of would be writers with big dreams of best sellers she never read. It's her job to get them to believe that despite the rejections they've received to date, there is an audience for their work and if they just get it out there - on their own dime of course. She whips em up into a frenzy and then cashes their check. It's a pretty morally bankrupt job, enough so that even her assistant doesn't want to be promoted to it. Add to that Elizabeth's hopeless nights in an empty bed ever since she swore off sex without love over a year ago and you have a woman in need of something.
Enter Tupper Daniels, author extraordinaire. He bring his novel to Elizabeth to get it published. He's so charasmatic she almost reads his book, but in the end settles for a basic skimming just to get the contract signed. The next day he seduces her. Not just sexually, but intellectually as well. His novel is unfinished. It's about a bigamist from his hometown but since he doesn't know what happened to him he doesn't have an ending to the book. Oddly enough, Elizabeth's father spent his life traveling, so much so that she's convinced he was a bigamist, what are the odds?
It turns out the odds don't matter. The rest of the novel plays itself out as Elizabeth re-examines her memories of her father and family experience in an attempt to help Tupper finish his novel. She becomes far more compelling than the whiny, morally bankrupt girl we first meet although no less mercenary and still a tad melodramatic. Tupper for his part is the self-obsessed would be writer you can like even as you hate him. This is McDermott's first novel, I think, and you can see how her style has developed and grown over time. And this novel leaves the same kind of pang, dead center in your chest that Charming Billy does. It's not as pronounced and the recovery is quick but the impact is still there.
ABD is about 20 something Elizabeth, who works for a vanity press in NYC. She spends her days filling the heads of would be writers with big dreams of best sellers she never read. It's her job to get them to believe that despite the rejections they've received to date, there is an audience for their work and if they just get it out there - on their own dime of course. She whips em up into a frenzy and then cashes their check. It's a pretty morally bankrupt job, enough so that even her assistant doesn't want to be promoted to it. Add to that Elizabeth's hopeless nights in an empty bed ever since she swore off sex without love over a year ago and you have a woman in need of something.
Enter Tupper Daniels, author extraordinaire. He bring his novel to Elizabeth to get it published. He's so charasmatic she almost reads his book, but in the end settles for a basic skimming just to get the contract signed. The next day he seduces her. Not just sexually, but intellectually as well. His novel is unfinished. It's about a bigamist from his hometown but since he doesn't know what happened to him he doesn't have an ending to the book. Oddly enough, Elizabeth's father spent his life traveling, so much so that she's convinced he was a bigamist, what are the odds?
It turns out the odds don't matter. The rest of the novel plays itself out as Elizabeth re-examines her memories of her father and family experience in an attempt to help Tupper finish his novel. She becomes far more compelling than the whiny, morally bankrupt girl we first meet although no less mercenary and still a tad melodramatic. Tupper for his part is the self-obsessed would be writer you can like even as you hate him. This is McDermott's first novel, I think, and you can see how her style has developed and grown over time. And this novel leaves the same kind of pang, dead center in your chest that Charming Billy does. It's not as pronounced and the recovery is quick but the impact is still there.
Juliet Naked - Nick Hornby
I love reading about people who love obsessively. There is something about they way obsession fills a page that thrills me. In Juliet Naked, the obsession is music - double bonus.
In this case, the obsession is doubly impressive because the obsessive, Duncan, is a truly intolerably prig without it. He is the worst kind of academic. The kind that knows more than you do and assumes it's a mark of your character how much you care about the subject of his obsession - no matter how obscure. And we've all met this guy right? There's a reason the obsession has to be so obscure, they can't risk any real competition and if too many people know about their topic they're bound to get it. The fact that Duncan seems periodically aware of the ridiculousness of his obsession only made him seem more pathetic, and yet still somehow compelling.
Obsessive Duncan lives with bored Annie. She has shared lodgings and an uneventful life with him for 15 years; the good fifteen years. She's frustrated and tired and feeling like she's missed so much it's probably not worth chasing anything new. So, clearly, they're equally intolerable on their own. Annie is not obsessed, but she tolerates and enables Duncan's obsession, all the while laughing a little behind his back.
The subject of Duncan's obsession is a singer songwriter, Crow, who went to the bathroom 25 years ago while in a club watching another band. Afterwards, he went home and never wrote another note or sang in public again. The mystery of the event has taken him to cult status, (that and the internet) for a couple hundred people who call themselves "Crowologists". Duncan is their leader.
Hornby establishes the obsession with a brief trip to the states where Duncan is visiting all things related to Crow, including the toilet where he apparently had an epiphany that lead him to leave music forever. One afternoon soon after Annie opens Duncan's mail and finds a disc he's overlooked in his busy, academic, pretention. Turns out it's an early recording of Crow's best ever album, Juliet. It's the pared down version, the basics: it's Juliet Naked. Annie listens to it without Duncan (causing an even bigger fight) and for the first time forms her own opinion of Crow's work. It's not a good one. Duncan of course thinks it's fantastic and writes all about it on his Crow website from which he leads the Crowologists. Two days later he agrees to post Annie's review of the album, which is the polar opposite of his. Duncan warns her about the crazy responses she'll get and to be tough skinned. Instead, she gets a thank you note from Crow himself.
The rest of the novel is an entertaining look at the difference between the idols we worship and reality. Crow is, of course, not the kind of man many would look up to. He is laid bare on the page for everyone to see. He is however likable and this reader anyway was rooting for him a little. Annie of course now has the bestest secret ever (even better than the one Duncan confesses about 1/3 of the way through) and her relationship to that secret and Crow himself alter her in more profound ways than Duncan's obsession seems to have altered him.
Ultimately, it all unfolds with less drama and romance than one might expect. Hornby's style strips everything down, where we expect romance we get conversations about safety issues concerning sex after a heart attack. Where we expect bitter battles we get quiet acceptance of the mundane. Although we expected something different, somehow we knew what was coming all along, didn't we?
In this case, the obsession is doubly impressive because the obsessive, Duncan, is a truly intolerably prig without it. He is the worst kind of academic. The kind that knows more than you do and assumes it's a mark of your character how much you care about the subject of his obsession - no matter how obscure. And we've all met this guy right? There's a reason the obsession has to be so obscure, they can't risk any real competition and if too many people know about their topic they're bound to get it. The fact that Duncan seems periodically aware of the ridiculousness of his obsession only made him seem more pathetic, and yet still somehow compelling.
Obsessive Duncan lives with bored Annie. She has shared lodgings and an uneventful life with him for 15 years; the good fifteen years. She's frustrated and tired and feeling like she's missed so much it's probably not worth chasing anything new. So, clearly, they're equally intolerable on their own. Annie is not obsessed, but she tolerates and enables Duncan's obsession, all the while laughing a little behind his back.
The subject of Duncan's obsession is a singer songwriter, Crow, who went to the bathroom 25 years ago while in a club watching another band. Afterwards, he went home and never wrote another note or sang in public again. The mystery of the event has taken him to cult status, (that and the internet) for a couple hundred people who call themselves "Crowologists". Duncan is their leader.
Hornby establishes the obsession with a brief trip to the states where Duncan is visiting all things related to Crow, including the toilet where he apparently had an epiphany that lead him to leave music forever. One afternoon soon after Annie opens Duncan's mail and finds a disc he's overlooked in his busy, academic, pretention. Turns out it's an early recording of Crow's best ever album, Juliet. It's the pared down version, the basics: it's Juliet Naked. Annie listens to it without Duncan (causing an even bigger fight) and for the first time forms her own opinion of Crow's work. It's not a good one. Duncan of course thinks it's fantastic and writes all about it on his Crow website from which he leads the Crowologists. Two days later he agrees to post Annie's review of the album, which is the polar opposite of his. Duncan warns her about the crazy responses she'll get and to be tough skinned. Instead, she gets a thank you note from Crow himself.
The rest of the novel is an entertaining look at the difference between the idols we worship and reality. Crow is, of course, not the kind of man many would look up to. He is laid bare on the page for everyone to see. He is however likable and this reader anyway was rooting for him a little. Annie of course now has the bestest secret ever (even better than the one Duncan confesses about 1/3 of the way through) and her relationship to that secret and Crow himself alter her in more profound ways than Duncan's obsession seems to have altered him.
Ultimately, it all unfolds with less drama and romance than one might expect. Hornby's style strips everything down, where we expect romance we get conversations about safety issues concerning sex after a heart attack. Where we expect bitter battles we get quiet acceptance of the mundane. Although we expected something different, somehow we knew what was coming all along, didn't we?
Winged Creatures - Roy Freirich
Carla, Anne, Jimmy, and Charlie are all survivors of a shooting spree in a hamburger joint in their little town. Anne and Jimmy are teenagers, who were having lunch with her father when the shooter shot him. Carla is the waitress who hid in the back, near the kitchen, trying to get her cell phone to make an outbound call as she watched the shoot kill her customers. Charlie is a driving teacher who grazed by a bullet survives almost perfectly in tact. Dr. Laraby, ER doctor and son of a now deceased medical legend had just left the store on his way to the emergency room as is attending when the victims are brought in minutes later. None of them survive.
The novel unfolds in sections named by character. Each person's life just before and in the week or so after the shooting is explored intermittantly with italicized descriptions of their experience of the shooting. The reader never gets the full picture of why each person was there and what they saw until the end of the novel. That's because the novel is about what it does to them. How do these completely disparate people react in the face of this tragedy and what about their lives to then led them to those reactions?
At first all we know is Anne found God; Jimmy went mute; Charlie ran; and Carla, at first, seems to be holding it together. What slowly unfolds is far more complicated. The teenagers have a secret and Anne deals with it by preaching the good word. Jimmy, afraid to speak lest he tells, refuses to speak at all. Charlie, feeling lucky, runs to Vegas capitalize on that luck and finally make a difference for his young family. Carla slowly loses her hold on her life and her small child, and finally, Dr. Laraby risks everything trying to atone for his failures in the operating room.
The pace of the novel is great. It moves you along, if not pulling you sometimes. The exploration of the psychological toll on each of these characters is equally riveting. How does one deal with jealousy in the aftermath of tragic events? How horrible is it to realize there is some possible gain to be had from having been there? These questions are dealt with contextually - not just as the result of one event. For instance, when the unpopular girl at school is suddenly a celebratory because her father didn't survive the shooting but she did, what does that do to a teenager? How is she suppose to process that? How is her mother?
Freirich does amazing work with each of the survivors and their post trauma pathos. He wonderfully manages to not tie up every loose end, which is entirely satisfying in this case.
The novel unfolds in sections named by character. Each person's life just before and in the week or so after the shooting is explored intermittantly with italicized descriptions of their experience of the shooting. The reader never gets the full picture of why each person was there and what they saw until the end of the novel. That's because the novel is about what it does to them. How do these completely disparate people react in the face of this tragedy and what about their lives to then led them to those reactions?
At first all we know is Anne found God; Jimmy went mute; Charlie ran; and Carla, at first, seems to be holding it together. What slowly unfolds is far more complicated. The teenagers have a secret and Anne deals with it by preaching the good word. Jimmy, afraid to speak lest he tells, refuses to speak at all. Charlie, feeling lucky, runs to Vegas capitalize on that luck and finally make a difference for his young family. Carla slowly loses her hold on her life and her small child, and finally, Dr. Laraby risks everything trying to atone for his failures in the operating room.
The pace of the novel is great. It moves you along, if not pulling you sometimes. The exploration of the psychological toll on each of these characters is equally riveting. How does one deal with jealousy in the aftermath of tragic events? How horrible is it to realize there is some possible gain to be had from having been there? These questions are dealt with contextually - not just as the result of one event. For instance, when the unpopular girl at school is suddenly a celebratory because her father didn't survive the shooting but she did, what does that do to a teenager? How is she suppose to process that? How is her mother?
Freirich does amazing work with each of the survivors and their post trauma pathos. He wonderfully manages to not tie up every loose end, which is entirely satisfying in this case.
The Story Sisters - Alice Hoffman
There is something insidious at the heart of all faerie tales. That's part of their appeal. In The Story Sisters Hoffman gives us three beautiful daughters living with their single mother in Long Island. The eldest Daughter Elv, has invented, for her two younger sisters, a magical world so intense that they speak their own language. They long for this world over the one in which they live daily. In their faerie tale, buried in the woods in a secret land is where all the good in the world exists. Except that, their real life ain't so bad either. The girls grandparents live pretty well in Manhattan, and they reap the benefits of wealthy benefactors. Not only that, grandma also keeps a place in Paris where the girls go each Spring. Their lives are filled with the kind of parties and events of princesses. In addition, as I mentioned, the girls are each extraordinarily beautiful and accomplished. Both worlds would seem to be a fairy tale. Except...
Semi, not-really spoiler
The underside of the fairy tale is hinted at in the opening of the story, and it's not good. The youngest sister is almost snatched on afternoon walking home from school, her older sister intervenes only to be snatched herself. The details aren't necessarily spelled out, but your imagination will fill in those gaps pretty easily. The middle sister, having been no where nearby when the events took place, has no idea. Claudine, the youngest, stays on the spot where Elv was snatched until miraculously she returns and they rush home together. Elv and Claudine keep there horrible secret for the entirety of the novel, never even speaking of it among themselves.
As adolescence kicks in, Elv becomes more and more rebellious: wearing black, keeping all hours, and having sex. Her mother loses total control over her monster of a teenager, who wreaks irreparable damage on the family, and extreme measures are eventually taken. Elv is locked away in an institution. At the institution, she meets a prince, who is anything but. They spiral together to rock bottom. Meanwhile, Elv's remaining family members do what the can to recover from the events that lead to Elv's incarceration. The family is broken and although there is a suggestion at the end that they are finding their way back there is along road to go.
Hoffman is brilliant, as always, in moments. Tying details about the girls' young life to tales from their faerie world informed - you eventually learn - by Elv's experience during the day she was lost to them. Those details become almost excruciating. The problem is, ultimately, the novel, intentionally or not, is such a heart wrenching illustration of how children get lost and more importantly how grown ups fail them that all the beautiful language can't save it from the ick. Faerie tales have always been about teaching a lesson, told by grown ups, to help children to understand things. This novel is a faerie tale in reverse, except none of the grown ups were listening and that failure eradicates much of the beauty of the novel for this reader.
Semi, not-really spoiler
The underside of the fairy tale is hinted at in the opening of the story, and it's not good. The youngest sister is almost snatched on afternoon walking home from school, her older sister intervenes only to be snatched herself. The details aren't necessarily spelled out, but your imagination will fill in those gaps pretty easily. The middle sister, having been no where nearby when the events took place, has no idea. Claudine, the youngest, stays on the spot where Elv was snatched until miraculously she returns and they rush home together. Elv and Claudine keep there horrible secret for the entirety of the novel, never even speaking of it among themselves.
As adolescence kicks in, Elv becomes more and more rebellious: wearing black, keeping all hours, and having sex. Her mother loses total control over her monster of a teenager, who wreaks irreparable damage on the family, and extreme measures are eventually taken. Elv is locked away in an institution. At the institution, she meets a prince, who is anything but. They spiral together to rock bottom. Meanwhile, Elv's remaining family members do what the can to recover from the events that lead to Elv's incarceration. The family is broken and although there is a suggestion at the end that they are finding their way back there is along road to go.
Hoffman is brilliant, as always, in moments. Tying details about the girls' young life to tales from their faerie world informed - you eventually learn - by Elv's experience during the day she was lost to them. Those details become almost excruciating. The problem is, ultimately, the novel, intentionally or not, is such a heart wrenching illustration of how children get lost and more importantly how grown ups fail them that all the beautiful language can't save it from the ick. Faerie tales have always been about teaching a lesson, told by grown ups, to help children to understand things. This novel is a faerie tale in reverse, except none of the grown ups were listening and that failure eradicates much of the beauty of the novel for this reader.
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