A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius by Dave Eggers

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tumblr_l7tef8fihn1qaouh8o1_400As I’m sure it was designed to do, the title of this book caught my eye. It stood out among the myriad titles on the reading list, written in pink ink on notebook paper, that I have tacked up in my cubicle. A heartbreaking work, it claimed to be, not just of regular, run-of-the-mill genius, but of staggering genius. I had no idea what it was about, just that the title made it out to be something amazing. But “heartbreaking” and “staggering genius” can describe a lot of genres. Was it a transcendent romance for the ages? Was it a tale of atrocious abuse and neglect overcome by unwavering optimism? Did it follow the lives and trials of the sentient roundworms inhabiting a planet in the Mintaka solar system? Whatever it was, I was ready to be forever changed by reading it.

Turns out that it’s a memoir. Sort of. It covers actual events that happened in Eggers’ life — the loss of his parents to cancer, becoming the guardian to his younger brother, their move to San Francisco — but it’s clear that the author has exaggerated or fictionalized certain parts of the story. Dave chronicles his (often feeble) struggles to have an impact on the world, balancing his ambition with his new parental responsibilities. It is a blend of humor, philosophy and self-reference that makes for a compelling read.

Having finished it, I can definitively say that I don’t know what to make of this book. On the one hand, it was beautifully written. Eggers shows a prodigious command of the English language, and his writing is a true pleasure to read. The narrator speaks intimately to the reader, as if confiding in a friend — a mix of gritty truths, ridiculous exaggerations and deep personal insights. By the end, I felt like he was someone I knew.

On the other hand, the fact/fiction blend blurred the storyline and sometimes made it difficult to follow. Eggers often exaggerates events or dialogue or makes them up. Which is cool. The book does not claim to be completely true, and sometimes alludes to the fact that certain parts are indeed made up. This creates an interesting reader-narrator relationship. The reader recognizes that the narrator is unreliable, but the narrator admits that he is unreliable, so that, I guess, makes him reliable in his unreliability? If that sentence is confusing, then you’ve gotten a taste of how I felt the whole time I was reading.

Eggers often takes breaks from exposition in order to wax poetic on subjects such as his (or his character’s) personal insecurities and where to draw the line between personal and public life. It’s all very honest and self-referential, but can seem a bit masturbatory at times. The book is very self-aware, admitting its self-awareness, and then admitting the admission of its self-awareness. It got (for me) tiresome after a while. I get it, dude. You’re so meta it’s killing me.

So while I enjoyed reading A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, it was not the life-changing experience I expected from the title. Was it heartbreaking? Not particularly. The characters were appropriately tragic and identifiable, but never vulnerable enough to elicit an emotional response anywhere close to “heartbreaking”. Is Dave Eggers a genius? It’s very possible. His writing is very good. That writing an entire book which basically screams “recognize me for my genius!” won him a bunch of awards is pretty genius in and of itself. But I’m not entirely sure I buy it.

White Teeth by Zadie Smith

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3711Zadie Smith, I should start out by saying, is a good author. A really good author. I was skeptical reading the first couple chapters of this book, which follows characters so unlikely, so far from the archetypal “everyman,” that I didn’t think I could find their stories interesting at all — people so dramatically removed from my demographic that I wasn’t sure there was anything I could gain from reading about them. I was proven wrong; I did become quite interested, enough so that I came back late from several lunch breaks, frustrated that I didn’t have time to stay and see the characters through to the end.

White Teeth is about a lot of people living in late 20th-century England. First it’s about Archie Jones, a painfully average man and World War 2 veteran, whose suicide attempt is averted by what he sees as forces of fate. It’s about his young wife Clara, a former Jehovah’s Witness from Jamaica with a desire to leave her roots behind. It is about his best friend and army comrade Samad Iqbal, a pious Muslim and former intellectual, disappointed in his own inability to leave a mark on the world. It’s also about the children of these people, Samad’s twins Magid and Millat, and Archie and Clara’s daughter Irie. The second half of the book in particular deals with the dreams and struggles of these young people. The book is about identity — what does it mean to be Jamaican? Bengali? Mixed-race? Muslim? English? Or any combination of these things? Which of these identities should be first, and why is it shameful to believe otherwise? It’s about duty to one’s family, one’s country, one’s religion. This novel covers a lot of ground and it does a beautiful job, weaving the lives, dreams and tribulations of its characters together with magnificent and engaging prose.

That said, I felt thoroughly blue-balled by this novel. Such a gorgeously-crafted story that spans demographics and generations, I thought, must have an equally beautiful ending. I wanted to get there, to find out the final destination of this captivating journey. However, I felt like I’d made a cross-country trip to Disneyland, only to be met by a “closed for renovations” sign. Or maybe it’s more like establishing a long and fulfilling pen-and-paper relationship with a penpal and right before you’re about to meet for the first time, you get a letter from his mother saying that you won’t be hearing from him anymore with no further explanation. Maybe I should stop trying to come up with similes.

I certainly can’t presume to tell anyone how to write. I need tips myself. And Zadie Smith is undoubtedly a million times better at it than I am. I do happen to be a pretty avid reader, though, and as such I’ve developed certain expectations from a novel. Is it horrible if those expectations are shattered now and then? No, in fact sometimes it’s really good. But at the bare minimum I expect a story to have a goal. And I can’t for the life of me figure out what the goal of this novel was. In fact, the last page and a half pretty much says to the reader, “I bet you want to know what happens. Fuck off, this story doesn’t work that way.” There is a climax of sorts, but no resolution.

So I have to wonder, what story were you trying to tell, Zadie? All these characters who I’ve come to care about are brought together, all the energy of their conflicts coming to a head at one pinnacle event, and then the story ends. It seems like a self-indulgent “fuck you” to the reader. And why write a novel if that’s where you want to go with it? I’m really baffled and disappointed.

I know, the destination doesn’t matter as much as the ride. And that seems to be the “moral” of the whole book — that the destination is never the utopia we imagine it to be, and real life doesn’t always have resolution. But I think it does matter, and I think that such a great story at least deserves a decent resolution. Maybe I’m being too entitled as a reader, but a lifetime of escapist reading has given me that expectation. I feel cheated.

Read this if you enjoy great character development and superior prose, but definitely don’t expect any payoff at the end. If the destination doesn’t matter, if the ride itself is good enough for you, then this might be your novel.

You Might Notice We’ve Changed Some Things

And by we, I mean I.

I mean, what was I thinking with that old layout? It was like reading by a dim light in a small room. Which isn’t a terrible thing if that’s how you like to get your reading done, but it’s no good for a blog. This theme seems to me to be much more friendly and welcoming.

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Anyway, things are a little more reader-friendly here. Also, I’ve linked in the side bar to my Facebook fan page. I think I have, like, four whole fans now! Like it if you want to be notified of updates. I only ever post there when I’ve actually updated my blog, and even then only when it’s an update I think people will actually be interested in. So I won’t spam you with a bunch of bullshit. Customer satisfaction guaranteed.

I thought about updating my About page, but when I wrote it six years ago, it seems I was vague enough that pretty much everything still applies.  So I’m leaving it!

What She Saw… by Lucinda Rosenfeld

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105778I was misled by the seemingly ominous ellipsis in the title of this book. It annoyed me that it was there, mainly because I interpreted it as ominous in the first place. I took it as “She has seen some shit,” with the ellipsis meant to emphasize that it was some serious shit. I envisioned a gritty novel about a promising young girl suffering sexual abuse and coping with its consequences as she came of age. Taken that way, I thought it was completely unnecessary. That’s not how one uses an ellipsis. It continued to bug me as the book sat on my kitchen counter waiting to be read. The title would just feel so much better without that punctuation hanging there.

I guess I gave the author too little credit, because the ellipsis made a lot more sense once I actually opened the book. It was about a girl/young woman’s (non-abusive) relationships with men. The title corresponses to the chapter names so that, together, they read “What she saw…in [guy’s name].” Okay, that works. It made me feel a little better. Now I could get on with my reading in relative peace.

What She Saw… follows Phoebe Fine from middle school to her mid-twenties, and mostly deals with her relationships across this time period. An intelligent girl with a gift for language and the violin, it seems like she has a bright future ahead of her. But beneath her privledged upbringing and educated mannerisms lurks naivete and a host of self-image issues that lead her down a destructive path as she looks to a series of questionable male influences to validate her as a person. In a tale of middle-class dreams gone wrong, Phoebe’s story is often funny, sometimes sad and sometimes cringeworthy.

As a character, Phoebe seems to have a lot of issues for someone so average. Her parents are musicians and lovers of classical music, but still manage to send their children to a prestigious prep school. She takes on multiple extracurricular activities, has a penpal and gets her parents to drive her to the roller rink on the weekends. However, it seems that, from an early age, Phoebe measures her worth in terms of her relationships with boys. Her female “best friends” play disposable, minor roles, and she has a new one every chapter or so. Where she feels it’s necessary, she tells lies to make herself seem more attractive to prospective dates. In an attempt to remain thin and “attractive,” she develops bulemia. She seems to continually be drawn to the “wrong” guys, from the class clown to the out-of-her-league lacrosse star to the married sociology professor. And whether she actually loves any of these guys is debatable. She seems to achieve every conquest she sets out to make, and those conquests make her feel good. Yet when she finds that the relationships aren’t all that she wishes, she tries to “punish” these men, often by behaving in self-destructive ways.

So what happened? What wires got crossed, damaging Phoebe to the point of being unable to maintain a healthy relationship with herself or others? Phoebe’s sister, who has a very minor role in the novel, seems to play a big part in Phoebe’s constant need for validation. She’s mentioned only a few times, briefly, but it’s always in the context of Phoebe’s resentment toward her success — her ivy-league degree, her successful career, her fantastic marriage. Phoebe perceives her parents’ disappointment in their younger daughter, even though they never voice it. Never feeling that she can measure up, she seeks approval from the opposite sex, because if she can’t be successful then at least she can be lusted after.

But does she grow over the course of the novel? It’s not really clear. At the end, it almost seems like she’s achieved a sort of experienced wisdom about relationships. But since it ends on a new beginning, the reader can’t really be sure if this is the start of something better and more fulfilling for Phoebe, or if it’s the entrance to a road that leads to more of the same. It leaves the reader hopeful, I suppose, but it doesn’t feel like any resolution has been reached.

Prose-wise, I thought that What She Saw… was done very well. Rosenfeld’s language was natural and captivating, and that’s mainly what kept me reading this book. Phoebe’s character was pretty unnerving at times, but the story was written well enough that I decided to stick around to see what she did next. Was it worth it? I don’t really know. This is one of those books that I don’t feel I can form a strong opinion about. My feelings on this novel extend to, “Yep, I sure did read it.”

Was it a valuable read for someone in their twenties? I suppose it shows that people’s mistakes don’t have to define them. People can change. People can grow up. For some of us, it takes a little longer. It also shows the dangers of placing too much emphasis on what others think — when you base your sense of self-worth on the opinions of others, you’re going to have a bad time. Maybe I wasn’t too thrilled with this read because these are things I feel I’ve already learned.

And for what it’s worth, I would have chosen a title without an ellipsis.

Pushing 30 Reading Challenge (Part II): The Emperor’s Children

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The_Emperor's_Children_book_coverComing off of reading His Dark Materials, I was a little angry when I started reading this book. I didn’t want to read about REAL people, I wanted to stay in my fantasy world of moral black and white. I found it so jarring to switch from a story with characters so lovable and blameless to a realistic fiction piece about obviously flawed people operating in moral gray areas. So I began reading The Emperor’s Children in the lobby of a Hyundai dealership (I happened to be getting an oil change that day) with a really pessimistic attitude.

This novel is mainly about three friends in their early thirties (and one chunky, awkward college-age boy) and their attempts to do something meaningful with their lives, mostly in terms of romance or career. They all live in New York. They all think all of the others have “issues”. None of these characters is particularly likable. Marina, who promises she’ll one day finish her book about how children’s clothes reflect social issues, is the daughter of a celebrated journalist. Danielle is a documentary film producer who seems to be sensible about everything except love. Julius is a freelance reviewer who is desperately trying to throw off his rural Michigan roots and live a more extravagant lifestyle than his writing can really pay for. Marina’s unfortunately-named younger cousin, Frederick “Bootie” Tubb, fancies himself an intellectual beyond his years and moves to New York hoping to find a like-minded mentor in his successful uncle. These four find that their best-laid plans don’t tend to work out quite like they’d hoped. This novel is also loosely about 9/11, which blindsides everyone near the end of the book (spoiler? Though in a book about early-00s NYC, what else is it going to be about?), making all their struggles and wishes seem petty and irrelevant. Yeah, this book seemed like it was going to be a bit of a downer.

During the first chapter, which follows Danielle as she muddles through a dinner party while inwardly scoffing at all the other attendees, I decided that I wasn’t in the mood for this kind of book. The judgmental attitude, cynical inner voice and forced interest that Danielle presented at the beginning of the book — well, it perhaps hit a little too close to home for my liking. But realizing that was probably the reason I kept on reading.

It didn’t help my optimism when I discovered that the sentence structure was often extremely convoluted. All the commas and nested statements, sometimes going for half a page before encountering a single period, was really unnerving at first. You give me characters with false facades and scathing inner monologue thinly concealing their own self-loathing AND ridiculously longwinded run-on sentences on top of that? If I hadn’t been stuck at the dealership for an hour and a half, I would have given up in the first chapter. But I was surprised at how quickly I got used to the writing style. I by the third chapter in, I didn’t even blink at a half-page sentence.

Despite my initial cynicism, though, The Emperor’s Children managed to change my mind. I began to feel for the characters and their struggles, even if I didn’t agree with their decisions (and there were a lot of parts during which I shouted at the page something akin to “WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?” — in my head, of course, I don’t typically emote to the level of screaming at inanimate objects). It’s a credit to the author that she could make me sympathize with each and every character in the book, even Marina, who I found particularly irritating. I saw a bit of myself in Bootie whose ridiculous self-righteousness was only apparent to himself in retrospect, and in Julius who couldn’t seem to reconcile his desire for a committed relationship with his distaste for stagnancy. There’s this expectation that a person should have their life figured out by thirty, and admitting that you don’t — that you’re faking it just as much as you were in high school — is tough to do. I could sympathize with that, even if I didn’t exactly agree with the characters’ ways of dealing with that difficulty. By the end they all seem to reach, if not a resolution, then an uneasy peace with their respective situations. In the face of a terrorist attack, certain pills just seem easier to swallow. Pretty much everyone’s arc ends with a spark of hope in the face of personal tragedy.

Will I ever re-read this book? Probably not. It was a little too depressing, and I’m a sucker for a happy ending. I think it’s an insightful look into quarter-life crisis — which appears to be becoming more of a thing for millenials who are spending more years living at home and maybe not having such a good time coping with that. The Emperor’s Children shows that maybe some of us adults are not as well-adjusted as people think we are (or as we’d like others to think we are). That can be a tough truth to come to terms with, which is maybe why this wasn’t the most fun read for me. But it also shows that it’s never too late to turn things around.

Pushing 30 Reading Challenge — His Dark Materials

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I really dislike Buzzfeed, so I want to make it clear that this post (or series of posts, we’ll see how far I get) is in no way condoning Buzzfeed or their clickbait articles. But a friend referred me to an article of theirs (not an article, actually, a list is more accurate) boasting “65 Books You Need to Read in Your 20s.”  (Not including a link, because suck it BF.)

Well, I’M in my 20s, I thought. Let’s see how well I’ve done on this OH SO ESSENTIAL list of literature. Turns out, not very. I’ve read maybe three books on the list, and most of them I’ve never even heard of. I consider myself pretty well-read, so this made me a little angry. Why did I need to read these books? What was so special about them? I’ll show you, Buzzfeed, I thought. I’ll read all those goddamn books, you just watch, and they’ll probably be stupid anyway.

Yeah, I’m really not sure what I’m trying to prove with this one, but I’ve been cruising through books lately and continually looking for suggestions on what to read.  With a year and a half left in my 20s, it seems like an interesting challenge to take on, at least to see how far I can get.

It just so happened that at the time I perused this list, I was actually re-reading one of the books (a trilogy, actually) that was on it. So if I’m going to document my journey, that seems like a good place to start.

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I read Philip Pullman’s His Dark Materials trilogy for the first time when I was about 14/15. It pulled me in from the first chapter and kept me captivated all the way through to the last sentence. It made me feel emotions I’d never felt before, bringing me the greatest happiness I’d ever gotten from literature while simultaneously breaking my heart into little pieces that I struggled to make sense of in the days and weeks after I finished it. It’s been a favorite of mine since, and I’ve had to rebuy all three books multiple times when they’ve been lost to roommates, friends or relatives with whom I wanted to share the complex joy the story brought into my life.

The narrative of the first novel, The Golden Compass (originally titled Northern Lights when it was published in the UK), follows Lyra, an orphan from a universe much like our own yet notably different in several ways. When her best friend is abducted by a group rumored to be doing terrible experiments on children, she goes to great lengths to rescue him. She befriends gypsy sailors, witches and armored polar bears in a quest that takes her into the secretive, bitter cold of the icy North. On her journey she ends up involved in plans and politics far beyond her comprehension, yet in which she is destined to play an important role. She leaves her own universe in search of answers and (Book #2, The Subtle Knife) ends up meeting Will, a boy who hails from our own world and finds himself in trouble as he searches for clues to the whereabouts of his missing father. The children agree to help each other and find that their objectives have more in common than they ever would have guessed. When Will inadvertently becomes the bearer of a knife that can cut portals into other universes, they gradually come to realize that their actions may have great consequences across many worlds. Book #3 (The Amber Spyglass)…well, a lot happens and I really have no idea how to summarize it without giving spoilers, but it involves journeying to the world of the dead, a mysterious substance colloquially referred to as Dust which has some unknown connection to human consciousness, and a war against (or to liberate) Heaven itself.

I thought, perhaps, that reading it as an older adult (I did read it another time at about 20/21) might not have the same effect it had when I was young. Perhaps my raging hormones and anger at the world caused these novels to affect me much more then than they would now. I was wrong. It was just as heartbreaking this time around, leaving me, as I turned the last page, feeling like I was saying goodbye to my greatest friends.

This is not to say that the books are without flaws. Particularly in the third book, some characters just seem too pure to believable, and their adversaries seem too willing to be bowed by that purity. Plans seem to go too perfectly and dialogue seems, at certain points, too forced or elegant to be genuine. But at no point did these flaws take me out of the story, and they didn’t bother me enough to sully my love for the trilogy as a whole. I really can’t say enough how much I love this story.

Perhaps it seems that I’m ignoring the elephant in the room. The name of said elephant is Religion. These books received quite a bit of criticism for allegedly promoting an atheist, or even anti-theist, agenda. The outrage over this went so far as to have religious groups picketing screenings of the film adaptation of The Golden Compass. It’s true that Philip Pullman is an outspoken atheist and his trilogy contains strong atheist undertones — after all, one of the supporting characters literally sets out to kill God. The church and its priests are constantly working against the protagonists, and their aims and beliefs are portrayed as misguided at best, malicious at worst. Where the main characters are almost too pure, the agents of the Magisterium (thinly-veiled portrayal of the Catholic church) are almost too one-dimensionally evil. Is it still a great story? Absolutely yes. I would say that this is not a book to have your kids read if you’re raising them to be religious, but I think it’s a worthy flip-side to the coin of beloved Christianity-heavy fiction like The Chronicles of Narnia — which I also really enjoyed as a kid. (As a side note, yes I am an atheist, and no that’s not because an impressionable, young version of me read these books — that decision didn’t happen until college and was the result of a lot of study and careful consideration.) More than anything, I think that His Dark Materials encourages the reader to live a good and enriching life, rather than slogging along in anticipation of what might come after.

These books span a lot of time, space and action. They’re about a lot of things, and different aspects of the story evoke different emotions from different people. Some people will say that it’s about vanquishing religion or about finding love in an unlikely place or overcoming your flaws to do what’s right. None of those answers are wrong. I think that for me, at its core, this trilogy is about following your instincts. It’s about friendship, trust, the purest love and the consequences of those absolutely essential things. It’s about living your life with kindness and curiosity, giving it meaning through your own actions. Those are the lessons that I carry with me from my readings of these novels. Honestly, I can’t wait to read them again.

So, if I feel like it I may continue documenting my journey through this list. So check for updates if you’re at all interested. I can make no promises as to the regularity of those updates, or if they’ll happen at all. All I can say is that something might happen, and it might be interesting!

Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

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Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

Pride and Prejudice — the original literary chick flick.  I’m a little bit ashamed that, though I claim to be well-read, it’s only just now that I’ve gotten around to reading it.  It seems like one of those classic novels that a girl has to read at least once in her life.  I wasn’t going to post a review for it, because it’s been around so long and is referenced so much that it seems a little redundant.  I do want to record my thoughts on it, though–and, really, what’s a review besides exactly that?

I will say, I was a little frustrated about having to go on Wikipedia and look up a synopsis.  The book jacket on my copy said a lot about it being “a timeless classic,” and “beloved by generations,”  but it didn’t tell me what the story was actually about.  Maybe I’m lame for not already knowing, but all the prior knowledge I had of it was from lit majors mentally creaming themselves over Mr. Darcy.  And I do like to have a rough idea of what is going to happen in a book before I read it.

Pretty much, you have the Bennets.  They have five daughters who they are trying to marry off, and wouldn’t you know it, a rich and handsome bachelor (Mr. Bingley) happens to move in down the road from them.  He quickly becomes enamoured of the oldest daughter, Jane.  His friend, Mr. Darcy, is an even more handsome and rich bachelor, but everyone decides pretty fast that he’s a total prick.  He’s so much of a prick that he falls in love with Elizabeth Bennet, but decides that her family is too podunk for him, and so bundles Mr. Bingley off to London with the reassurance that Jane isn’t that into him, anyway.  When Mr. Darcy finally does come around and propose to Elizabeth, she naturally tells him to get fucked by the horse he rode in on.  Unfortunately, it won’t take long for her to figure out that he’s actually a pretty rad dude, and turning him down may have been the biggest mistake of her life.

Also, there’s a clergyman named Mr. Collins who’s a total tool.

Forest can tell you that I have very little patience for books that I can’t basically speed-read.  So, pretty much, anything pre-1900 or written by William S. Burroughs is out of the question for me.  Or it’ll take me forever to get through it because I konk out ten pages in (sorry Jane Eyre, I love you, but you took me six months to read).  But Pride and Prejudice was unexpectedly easy.  I read the bulk of it in just two sittings, and even found myself adopting the language style a bit when I’d break to talk to someone.

I can see why this story has appealed to girls through multiple generations.  Isn’t that just what we all want, to be pursued by the handsome bad boy, and for him to be so hurt by our rejection that he totally changes his act and becomes basically the perfect guy?  Oh, and you think that men and women play games now?  Nineteenth century courtship:  because it’s inappropriate to openly discuss your feelings, you have to rely on subtle manners and body language to convey your interest or lack thereof.  And even if you don’t like the guy, he’ll probably propose to you anyway.  At least, that’s the way it plays out in Pride and Prejudice.

Would read again.

A Lion Among Men by Gregory Maguire

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A Lion Among Men by Gregory Maguire

A Lion Among Men by Gregory Maguire

I was rather taken aback when I first saw that Gregory Maguire had written a third book in the Wicked series.  Huge fan of the first book.  It didn’t really need a sequel, but Son of a Witch was decently entertaining.  Maguire could have stopped there.  Or, if he had to continue, why write about the Cowardly Lion?  What could that possibly add to the story?  After a while, I did warm up to the idea of reading it, though I waited until it was released in paperback.

I was optimistic when I first started reading, despite my initial reservations.  Maguire effectively revives his rich, cultured version of Oz, and in the beginning alludes to previous events with the tantalizing promise of new information to come.  Perhaps A Lion Among Men would advance the plot of the first two books, tying up loose ends and closing out the series in a satisfying manner…

A Lion Among Men follows the life and travels of the Cowardly Lion, also known as Brrr, the Lion cub who was saved by Elphaba in Wicked.  Brrr has been commissioned by the Ozian government to collect information about people connected with The Wicked Witch of the West, and to discover the whereabouts of her alleged son, Liir.  His investigation leads him to a convent, and an ancient old woman named Yackle, who will only answer his questions in exchange for the story of Brrr’s life.

Turns out, my first impression of this novel was correct.  In the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t go anywhere.  You learn a lot about the life of the Lion, but he’s not a very interesting character.  His life is nothing but disappointments, and the book depressed me more than anything else.  The only reason I kept reading was because of the allusions to Liir, Candle, and their child, in hopes that they would come in to play later in the story, because clearly they were where the action was.  Maguire let me down.  Oh sure, you do find out a couple interesting bits of information that tie in to the two previous books—the whereabouts of Nor, and the identity of the individual who betrayed Elphaba and Fiyero—but it doesn’t make up for the time I wasted in reading the rest of the book.  I could have been doing something useful, like prying my eyes out with a butter knife.

Perhaps I’m not being fair to Gregory Maguire.  He is a great author, and even in this book, I cherished the opportunity to immerse myself in his Oz.  It’s the lead character in all three novels, and it’s always a pleasure to visit.  I wish, though, that he had stuck to the plot he was spinning with the first two books instead of attempting to get his readers interested in a character who—let’s face it—no one has ever been that interested in.

I hear that he’s in the process of writing a fourth book in the series, and that it will be about Glinda.  That has some potential, I think, seeing as she was a pivotal character in the first two books.  I’d certainly be more interested in reading about her than the Lion.  However, as bad as I feel saying this, I’ll be relieved when Maguire stops beating his dead Ozian horse and brings this series to an end.

Paint it Black by Janet Fitch

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Paint It Black by Janet Fitch

Paint It Black by Janet Fitch

Didn’t think I’d ever return, did you?  Truth is, after moving and unpacking all of the old books I haven’t seen in years, I was struck with the urge to re-read a lot of them.  So that’s where my literary energies have been focused for the past few months.  My apologies, to whatever extent they are required—I don’t venture to suppose that anyone missed me too horribly.

At any rate, on to business!  Today I am looking at Paint It Black by Janet Fitch.  This book was not on my agenda; it was lent to me by a young friend of mine, and therefore I was expecting a young adult book.  I found that, while this is probably still the type of thing I would have read at fifteen, I was pretty off the mark on the young adult assumption.  This book was filled with the sex, drugs, and other such debauchery of LA’s 1980s punk scene.  We’ll say I wouldn’t recommend it to my grandma.  However, it wasn’t untastefully done.  I’m actually a little torn about what kind of review to give this book, since I loved its poetic prose and was drawn in by my love/hate for the main character, but on the other hand didn’t feel that I really gained anything from reading it, once all was said and done.

Janet Fitch introduces us to Josie Tyrell, a girl about whom the reader doesn’t learn much in the first chapter, except that she’s a smoker, and her boyfriend has just offed himself.  Devastated by the loss of Michael, Josie’s grief isn’t made any less by the blame and threats brought down on her by his rich and famous mother, Meredith Loewy.  As the novel reveals more about Josie’s character (her troubled past, her dreams, and her lack of inhibitions) and her relationship with Michael, Josie moves tentatively into a closer relationship with Meredith in hopes of tasting the life that Michael once lived and to which he refused to expose her.  Through this, Josie begins to discover that perhaps she never really knew Michael at all.

I appreciated this novel for its clever use of metaphor, and its poetic imagery.  Fitch paints a vivid picture of 80’s Los Angeles, down to the dingy concert venues, the pompousness of its aspiring young citizens, and the sharp divide between the wealthy and the working class.  Overtly graphic while managing not to be overly so, one gets a good feeling for the difficulty of trying to make it in a town of such big dreams with such huge obstacles.

The character of Josie herself really came alive for me.  One thing that stuck out from the book, for me, was how I would forget that it was written in third person, just because everything was squarely from Josie’s viewpoint and it really got you inside her head.  We’ll be clear about one thing:  I didn’t find her to be a likable character.  She was too much of a contradiction, wanting so badly to be a pure, true person, while doing so little to keep herself out of the drugs and glamour of LA life.  However, I felt for her, and I think that that really speaks to Fitch’s ability to effectively develop a character.

Now, while I’ve already confessed to enjoying the metaphor and simile use in Paint It Black, I can still say that I thought it was a bit overdone.  Not everything needs to be personified or compared to another thing or phenomenon.  It drew out the novel a lot, so that where I was waiting for some actual advancement of the plot, all I received was twenty pages of flowery prose.

While we’re on the subject of plot…well, there wasn’t much of one.  Boyfriend dies.  Girl struggles to get over it.  And that’s pretty much the whole book.  By the end, there is no evident change in Josie besides her grief, and you never find out if she moves on, finds a new life, or improves the one she has.  It begs the question:  what is the purpose of telling this story if it ultimately leaves you in the same place you were at the end of the first chapter?  I could have saved myself a lot of reading.

I think that Janet Fitch definitely has talent as a writer.  I hear that her previous novel, White Oleander, was better, so I might give that a shot.  Ultimately, I have to say that Paint It Black is like a merry-go-round:  the ride was fun, but it didn’t take me anywhere.  If you’re into that kind of thing, then I recommend it.

Recommended Reading

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Greetings, from Hiatus City!  I realize I should have posted, like, three reviews or so in the time since my last post.  Unfortunately, I’ve been so wrapped up in moving and unpacking, I haven’t gotten any reading done in a couple weeks!  Because I love my readers, and don’t want them to see the same old post every time they visit, here’s a bonus:  Some old books that I’ve adored, and that I hope you will, too.

The Pendragon Chronicles by Mike Ashley

The Pendragon Chronicles by Mike Ashley

The Pendragon Chronicles by Mike Ashley

This first book is an anthology of short stories about King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table.  This was the first Arthurian literature I got my hands on after The Mists of Avalon, and it really cemented my obsession with Arthurian lore.  With stories from authors like John Steinbeck and Vera Chapman, you get perspectives and fresh takes on so many of the characters.  Additionally, the book includes a glossary of characters (variations on names, and a who’s-who), and an index of Arthurian novels from the past century.  Whatever your favorite genre, you’ll probably find something you like in this book.  Romance, history, fantasy, action.  The Pendragon Chronicles is definitely one of the treasures of my library.

Slapstick by Kurt Vonnegut

Slapstick by Kurt Vonnegut

Slapstick by Kurt Vonnegut

My very first Vonnegut book, Slapstick really made me fall in love with ol’ Kurt as an author.  It is narrated by Wilbur Daffodil-11 Swain, a giant born, along with his twin sister, into a wealthy family.  A genius, Wilbur eventually becomes president of the crumbling United States of America, on the “Lonely No More!” platform, which gives each citizen an extended family through the use of randomly-generated middle names.  Meanwhile, the US is breaking into rogue kingdoms, and the Chinese are taking over the world (and Mars) with their increasingly miniscule citizens.  Slapstick is engaging, imaginative, and hilarious.  If you don’t love this book, then you, sir, are made of stone.

Alas, Babylon by Pat Frank

Alas, Babylon by Pat Frank

Alas, Babylon by Pat Frank

Set in central Florida during the Cold War, Alas, Babylon is a what-if scenario of nuclear war between the United States and the Soviet Union.  The protagonist, Randy Bragg, is tipped off by his Air Force Colonel brother about the impending nuclear attack, and hardly has time to say “The Commies are coming!” before most of the country is blasted back into the Stone Age.  Alas, Babylon focuses on a small community as it attempts to piece back together some semblance of civilization.  Poignant, moving, and chilling when taken in context with current events, this is definitely a novel that will stick with you long after you’ve finished the last page.  It might also make you start a stockpile of canned goods and toilet paper.

Spook:  Science Tackles the Afterlife by Mary Roach

Spook by Mary Roach

Spook by Mary Roach

The second book by my favorite investigative journalist, Spook is a very worthwhile (and humourous) look into a multitude of theories about the afterlife, spirits, and hauntings.  Mary Roach covers everything from reincarnation to the Spiritualism movement of the Victorian era, as well as the people who have done some of their own scientific investigating (like the guy who put dying tuberculosis patients on a scale to see if the soul leaving the body would cause a drop in weight).  What I love most about Spook is that it presents evidence for each case, and then leaves you to make your own decisions.  In any case, whether you’re an atheist, devoutly religious, or just unsure, you’ll find Spook to be immensely informative and engaging.

I also want to take a quick second to thank my friends and readers for all the encouragement and kind words they’ve given me.  I really enjoy doing this blog, and it overjoys me to know that others enjoy it, too.

‘Til next time!